Chapter 19 #2
So I send him little notes about how much I need him and I keep sending them until he sends for me. When I get there, wearing my mustard-colored skirt and my hair tied up in a braid, I find him sitting in his throne-like chair.
He tells me to lock the door first.
Then he tells me to untie my hair and when I do that, he commands, “Show me.”
With my back against the door, I inch up my skirt. I slide my thong off my core and show him the peach between my legs.
He stares at it for a few seconds, his fingers gripping the arm of his chair in a harsh, violent grip before he commands me to play with my pussy.
I do that too until I make a mess of my fingers and my thighs, and until he’s springing from his chair and coming at me. Picking me up, he brings me to his desk and spreads me out like a meal he’s about to consume.
Flipping my skirt up, he enters me in one go and I arch my back.
“But I-I thought you had a rule,” I tell him, scratching his abdomen under his t-shirt as he pounds into me.
“I changed my mind,” he growls, fisting my messy hair. “You need my cock. So I can straighten out your bad girl pussy, bang her into shape.”
Biting my lip, I smile and moan and scratch. “And see? The world is still well and alive around us even if you broke a rule to make me a good girl.”
That makes him pause for a second, his lips parted and swollen from my kisses, his eyes lust-burnt.
“You think you’re so smart, don’t you?” he growls, punctuating those words with a harsh stab of his cock, making my entire body jiggle. “But that’s not what you are, remember?”
I pant, my thighs trembling around his hips. “Arrow…”
Grabbing the edge of his desk over my head, he shoves his cock into me again, inching that heavy piece of furniture up with the force. “Tell me who you are.”
I dig my nails into his stomach when he stops, waiting for my answer. “Your fuck doll.”
“Yeah, so you don’t make the rules, do you?”
“No.”
“Who does then?”
“My Arrow makes the rules.”
Still, he doesn’t move, making me wait and wait and wait…
“Arrow, please…”
“It hurts, doesn’t it?” he asks, his chain pooling on my throat, over my madly pulsing vein. “It hurts to wait. Is your pouty, bratty pussy hurting, Salem?”
I squirm my ass on his desk. “Yes.”
His dick lurches inside of me, throbs like my soppy channel, and yet he’s stubbornly stationary.
“Who’s making it hurt, baby?” he whispers, going for my lip, nipping the fat curve of it.
“You,” I reply. “My Arrow is making my pussy hurt.”
As soon as I’ve said it, he gives me what I want.
He resumes his movements and I close my eyes in relief.
“And who’s making your pussy feel good now?” He licks the spot on my lip that he’s just nicked with his sharp teeth.
“My Arrow.” I grab his sweaty hips, urging him to move faster. “My Arrow is making my pussy feel good.”
When he makes me come a few minutes later and empties himself inside of me – or the condom actually – almost simultaneously, I wonder again.
How can I stop?
He needs me.
He needs me to love him.
Because if I don’t, then his rage will eat him alive.
His rules and aggression. His pursuit for perfection.
His anger.
So yeah, I can’t stop.
I have to tempt fate.
For him.
It’s way past midnight and I’ve just woken up after my coma-like after-sex nap.
I’m at the foot of his bed and I blink my eyes open to find him directly opposite to me, propped up on the pillows, chest bare and one of his knees bent.
He’s reading something on his iPad that’s resting on his folded leg, a frown of concentration between his brows.
Well, at least he isn’t killing himself down on the floor like he usually does.
I watch him for a second, absorbed in whatever he’s reading, all lit up and sexy under the yellow light of his lamp.
This is exactly how he used to look back when we lived together while he did his homework or studied for a test. I’d watch him, hiding behind a wall or a piece of furniture, wishing I could go talk to him. I could tell him good luck or I know you’ll do great on the test or something.
Which makes me realize that I can do that now. I can tell him things.
At least, some things.
So I move.
I get under the sheet and slither toward him in the yellowed darkness. I kiss his foot, the naked calf of his leg that’s stretched out.
Getting on all fours, I shower kisses on his pretty dick. It was flaccid before, but now it’s hard and radiating his signature heat.
Every time my lips touch his hot flesh, he tightens, his muscles strain and his dick becomes even harder.
I smell it and moan.
I suck his head into my mouth and hum, my body writhing on its own, reveling in his taste. I’m about to dig my tongue into the little slit up top to bring out more of his juices, but his hand creeps inside the sheet and fists my hair.
He jerks me away and forces me to crawl over his sexy, muscular body. Until I’m out of the sheets and straddling his tight abdomen, his cock in the crease of my ass.
“Hi,” I whisper, smiling.
Arrow takes his time studying me, my naked form. His hooded eyes sweep over my face as he counts my freckles before moving down. He stares at my pointed dark berry-like nipples – he calls them pouty too – before twisting one with his fingers, making them harder and achier.
He smirks. “Hey.”
I put my hands on his chest and play with his chain. “Why’d you make me stop?”
“Because we need to go in a little while.”
“Can’t I stay with you?” I pout.
Moving away from my breast, he brings both his hands to my ass and grabs the flesh. “No.”
“Maybe a little longer?”
“No.”
I pout harder. “Why not?”
“Because I don’t need a needy girl clinging on my back.”
I slap his chest and he swats my ass. Then, “And because I’ve got something to say.”
At this, I completely sober up.
Arrow never has something to say. Never.
I’m the one with all the things to say.
So I frown and look into his eyes; they’re slightly amused. “You’ve got something to say?”
“Yeah.”
I lick my lips and his eyes take in the movement like they always do.
He asked me what my lipstick was called as soon as I met him at his motorcycle.
When I replied Good Bad Girl, he proceeded to wipe it off my lips with his mouth before spreading me open on his motorcycle and eating out my bad girl pussy.
I shiver at the memory but manage to control myself. “Well, what is it?”
He studies me a beat and I start to die with all the anticipation when he murmurs, “I think you should apply for the Galaxy’s youth program for next summer.”
“What?”
“Yeah.” He nods thoughtfully. “They pick people from high schools and colleges and train them to go pro. And they have summer camps every year. I played with them, back in high school one summer. They’re pretty good. Taught me a lot.”
I know he did.
He was a junior when he went. That entire summer I missed him like crazy. I didn’t feel the sunshine until he came back. As always, I wanted to run over to him but couldn’t. So I watched him from afar, while he greeted his mother and hugged my sister.
“You want me to go there,” I say.
“To the youth program, yes.”
I open and close my mouth for a second before I manage to ask, “Are you saying that I… I play soccer. Like for real. On a team.”
“Yes.”
“But I’ve never played soccer for real. I-I mean, I don’t even know how to play with a team. You said it yourself that first week. I’m not… I’m not good enough for that.”
I mean, I have improved.
I do play with the team now and try to gauge their plays and assist them. Plus Arrow trains me three times a week.
We do all kinds of drills and God, the way he makes me run. It’s only for an hour but I almost want to die by the end of it.
The other night, he taught me how to head the ball.
He told me that you don’t really use your head.
You use your shoulders and your upper body.
You get the strength from there and balance from your legs and then you shoot from your head, all the while poking and prodding at my body and positioning me.
“What happens if I don’t follow these rules?” I asked, just to tease him because he was starting to look really serious.
He spun the ball on his finger before launching it in the air and kicking the shit out of it. It soared over the field and punched the net right in the center.
“Then you break your neck and you die. Or you break your neck and spend the rest of your life in a wheelchair. Now can we start?”
God, he’s so sexy and authoritative, isn’t he?
Plus we watch game tapes together. Well, when I’m not forcing him to watch chick flicks. He teaches me things from it. Like why he didn’t go for that shot or why he went for the one he did go for. And sometimes, I argue.
“You know, you’re so very careful about these things. You could’ve easily made that shot,” I said about one of the plays that he deliberately missed.
“You see that?” He pointed to the screen. “That’s a defender. He’s right there. He would’ve stopped it.”
“No, he wouldn’t have. If you just bent your leg a little, got enough momentum in your body to kick the ball harder than you usually do, the ball would’ve flown right past him and hit the net.”
“I knew what I was doing. You don’t take chances like that at a championship game.”
“I would’ve done it.”
“That’s because you’re reckless.”
I stuck my tongue out at him and said in a sing-songy voice, “And you’re boring.”
That did not go over well with him.
Or it did go over well, if you count him fucking me into submission while the game played in the background and he won the trophy.
So I don’t know. I mean, I don’t think I’m good enough to play on a team, you know?
I can kick around a ball with him and talk strategies, but an actual team?
Yikes.
“You’re not good enough,” he murmurs, bringing me back to the moment.
“I, uh, I mean I don’t know. I’m not…”
“Did I say that?” he asks.
“No, Sarah…”
I trail off as soon as I say her name.
My sister’s name.