Chapter 16 #2
PPPS: I want you to know that the orgasm I gave myself had nothing on the one you so very nicely gave me. Also, you were right. My pussy is swollen and tight and pouty. Perfect for a big, fat cock such as yours.
Again, I go through my day in a haze but when the time comes to get on the soccer field, I’m bursting at the seams.
I get there early even, hoping to impress him, but he’s already there.
He stands at the edge of the field, watching me walk over to him, his expression smooth and his arms folded across his chest.
I open my mouth to say hi to him when he abruptly clips, “We’ll work on your running.”
“What?”
“Running,” he says tersely. “We’ll work on it.”
“Why?”
“Because running involves knees. And we need to work on your knees.”
I look at my pale knees. “What’s wrong with my knees?”
He looks at them too but there’s a certain absence of emotion. He does it all so clinically, so professionally that I’m… disappointed.
“You need to lift them up more when you run,” he explains while raising his eyes back to my face. “It helps with the posture, and that helps with striking the ball and making goals. That’s pretty much what soccer is all about.”
He looks so coach-like right now. Like he did back in his office.
At least in his office there was a thrum of emotion sitting just under his skin. Here, he is completely emotionless.
There’s even a whistle around his neck. Along with that big watch strapped to his wrist, he looks so freaking unapproachable and authoritative.
Mindful of a few lingering students around the field, I step closer to him. He barely shows any reaction to that but I don’t get deterred. “Aren’t we gonna, like, talk about things?”
His jaw moves then. “Does it involve soccer?”
“Well, no. But –”
“Then, no. We aren’t going to talk about things.”
The sun is setting, and the sky is all burnt orange, illuminating the golden strands of his hair. I rub my fingers together, remembering the velvety feel of them.
That gives me the encouragement to go on. “So what, I’m supposed to run around the field until you tell me to stop?”
He gives me an inscrutable look. “That’s the idea.”
“And you’ll watch me.”
“I’ll watch you, yes.” He taps his watch with his finger. “Now get moving. We’re losing daylight.”
I cock my head to the side and give him a small smile. “Fine. If you want me to run for you, I’ll run for you. And if you want to watch, you can. But let me tell you something, Coach, I’m not afraid to make a show out of it.” Then I lower my voice to a whisper. “For you.”
And that’s what I do. I give him a show.
I pump my bare legs and run around the field. I smile at him every time our eyes meet. And he watches me and that smile with a ticking jaw and narrowed eyes.
And when we’re done, I untie my hair and shake it out. Because he likes me messy.
I even stretch out my muscles for a few minutes.
Once that’s done, I bend down slowly to collect all my things. All in front of him, all part of a show.
I have no idea where I learned these things but I’m not going to stop myself now.
“Thanks for the lesson,” I tell him when I walk over to his still-immobile and watching form all sweaty and flushed. “I think we really worked on my knees and my posture, don’t you? Can’t wait until you work on me more.”
Okay, so maybe that last line was a little cheesy.
But whatever.
I never said I’m the goddess of seduction. I’m only Salem, a girl with witchy eyes and a witchy name. Not a witchy heart though.
I ride the high of that win – and I do think it’s a win because his veins were bursting out of his tanned skin and his jugular was perpetually taut by the end of our session – until I find a note in my locker the next day.
That was quite a show you put on for me yesterday. I’ll admit that I underestimated you. You looked really determined as you ran around the field, bouncing your little legs and working hard for me like you were interviewing for a job position.
As tempting a candidate as you are, I’m afraid I’ll have to decline the offer of you spreading those legs for me and volunteering up your swollen and tight and pouty pussy for my pleasure.
At this time, I’m looking for someone more experienced. Someone who doesn’t come just by riding my thigh and me playing with her nipples. Someone with an actual résumé of fucking. So I don’t have to waste my time teaching her basic skills such as how to suck my big, fat cock or how to ride it.
Someone with whom I can skip to the part where I fuck all my frustrations out.
Good luck, next time.
I almost crumple his note when I finish it. I almost dash upstairs to his office and slap him in the face for being such an asshole.
Throughout the day, his words echo in my head and they’re still echoing when I’m at the library with Poe, Callie and Wyn working on my trig homework. Maybe that’s why I miss Arrow walking down the aisle. But my girls don’t miss him.
In fact, Poe even calls him over. “Hey, Coach. Fancy seeing you here.”
My head’s bent and I was about to write something down on my notebook – though I can’t remember what – when I feel him walking up to our table in the corner.
As soon as he reaches the desk, Callie bursts forth, “Are you looking for something in particular? A book, perhaps.”
I am going to kill her, Callie and Poe both.
“Maybe we can help you look,” Wyn says, and I add her to my list.
I thought they were my friends. I thought they cared about me.
In all fairness, they don’t know anything. As in, they don’t know his secrets – the fake injury and the cheating; and mine – that I’m in love with him.
All they know is that I blush really hard when he comes around and disappear in bars when I see him standing in a corner. And sometimes I stare off into the distance for long periods of time.
I still have my head down so I only have a view of his gray sneakers but I can imagine his expression, since that’s my thing now, when he says drily, “That’s a very kind offer. I never knew how helpful schoolgirls could be. But I think I can manage.”
I’m afraid I’ll have to decline your offer of spreading your legs for me…
Jerk. Asshole.
Poe leans forward then. “Okay, real talk. I have no interest in soccer whatsoever. But I like you.”
“And what’d I do to deserve that?” he drawls.
“You helped our friend out last week,” Callie replies. “With those evil girls.”
“Yeah, I don’t care about violence,” Wyn goes. “Because why make war when you can make art? But we really appreciated that. So thanks.”
Oh yeah, they heard about that. They were all in the dorm when it happened and they were really impressed when I told them about it.
He doesn’t say anything but I can feel him jerking his chin at them in all his arrogant glory and it makes me squirm in my seat. I’m about to look up and put an end to this charade when Poe goes again. “Well, since you’re so helpful, maybe you can help our girl out once again.”
What?
“Yeah. She sucks at math. And Miller’s starting to notice. Maybe you can talk to Miller about it?” Callie chirps sweetly.
“Oh, and can you also teach her a little bit of trig, if you have the time?” Poe asks in her typical troublemaker voice.
Wyn throws out a soft chuckle. “I second that.”
I abandon all pretense of staring at the notebook then and look up. Only to find that his eyes are already on me.
Dark blue and hot.
But I ignore him for now and look at the girls. “I do not suck at trig.”
Callie reaches forward and squeezes my hand in sympathy. “You so do.”
“No,” I lie. “I like trig.”
It’s Poe’s turn to squeeze my shoulder. “No, you don’t. Because nobody likes trig.”
“You know –”
“Is Miller giving you trouble?” he cuts me off then.
Finally, I have to look at him and when I do I have to crumple the corner of my notebook because his eyes have gone completely black and he’s staring at me intimately.
I glare at him. “No. She’s not.”
He doesn’t like that, as evidenced by his sharp exhale. “I thought I told you to come to me if there was a problem.”
God, he makes me so angry with his highhanded ways. Like he owns me or something. Like he wants to slay all my dragons and make all my problems go away.
I tamp down the flutters it causes in my belly and how I want to clench my thighs at his dominating tone. “And I told you that I can handle myself.”
Arrow goes silent as he stares down at me, all tall and authoritative, the globes of his biceps and shoulders bunched up and on display in his gym t-shirt.
“Is that your trig homework?” He jerks his chin up.
I bring the notebook closer to me as if hiding it from his view. “Yeah.”
“I can teach you,” he offers.
“Excuse me?”
“They’re right. You do suck at trig.”
And oh my God, I lose my shit.
I completely lose it.
I shut my notebook with a loud snap, so loud that even I flinch.
“Thanks for the offer. But I’m afraid I’m going to have to decline.
I don’t need your help.” I even stand up under his fiery eyes.
“I don’t need you to teach me anything. I can learn everything by myself.
In fact, I’m going to get started tonight.
Learning things, I mean. The basic trigonometry skills.
And by the time I’m done, I’m going to be so good at it that you’ll cry and curse at your fate that you ever offered to teach me anything. ”
Ignoring him and the tightly coiled and dark form of my sun, I turn to my girls who’re all looking at me with a mixture of amusement and awe. “I’m leaving. And you guys need to follow me so I can make a dramatic exit.”
Which I do.
I make a dramatic exit and my girls, like the sisters I never had, follow me.
Hours later at midnight, they follow me to the bar too where I plan on getting educated, meaning I plan on finding a random guy and fucking him and getting rid of my stupid virginity.
I know it’s an overly emotional reaction and I need to stop and think, which has all been said by my friends, but I’m too angry.
I’m too upset and I’m too hurt.
It hurts, okay?
It hurts.
It hurts that he’ll fuck anyone, any random girl that he finds at a bar, but me. It hurts that after all these years he finally sees me but still, I won’t hold his attention. He still doesn’t find me attractive enough to fuck me.
I’m not asking him to love me, am I?
I’m only asking him to use me, use my body, and he won’t even do that. And I’m too hurt and too much in love with him so I’ve lost my mind over it.
That’s why I walk to the dance floor to find someone. Someone who’ll take my virginity and make me perfect for the guy I love.
I don’t know why I want to cry though. I don’t know why I feel like throwing up.
The song that’s playing is my favorite of all – “Born to Die” by Lana Del Rey – and my body is already writhing to it. I’m already twisting my hips, moving them in the shape of a figure eight, the way I did when I was chasing my orgasm on his thigh.
I throw my hands up and dance to the slow rhythm of the song, to the lyrics. I dance when my eyes cry pretty tears that flow down my cheeks. I dance when I want my legs to give up and make me fall.
At some point, a guy comes to dance next to me and my tears flow harder. He can’t see them though. It’s dark and he’s drunk.
He’s perfect.
He won’t even know that I’m a virgin, completely unfit for the love of my life.
I’m about to ask him to take me somewhere equally dark, where he won’t be able to see my tears, and fuck me, when I feel someone at my back.
Someone tall and strong and familiar.
Someone whose chest is moving, punching my back in a haphazard rhythm. I can even hear his breaths in my ears, noisy and loud, agitated.
He’s so warm that he flows like liquid heat in my veins.
My Arrow.
I close my eyes in relief and Lana’s voice explodes around me.
He grabs my waist, his fingers digging into my flesh.
A wave of heat grips me and I sigh.
I’ve been feeling cold and shivery, but he makes it all go away when he pulls me into his body. His hard, hard body and oh my God, I feel it.
I feel his erection at the small of my back and I can’t help but arch up against it, rub up against the heat radiating from it.
He growls in my ear, his lips rubbing over my delicate shell, his hips shifting, pushing back. “Turn the fuck around.”
I hiccup and do as he says.
His features are shadowed by the rim of his baseball cap but I see the movement of his jaw when he notices my tears. He wipes them with his rough thumbs, his digits lingering around the area of my parted lips.
“You’re coming with me,” he tells me.
“Where are you taking me?” I whisper.
“Where you belong.”
My heart shrivels. “I’m not going back to St. Mary’s.”
His eyes flash. “No, you’re not. Because you belong with me.”