3. Waverly
3
WAVERLY
I ’d never seen anyone sit as still as Jax Palmer in stalker mode. He just perched on his chair, his back to the walk sitting perpendicular to me across the small walkway in my dimly lit section of the library –maybe not the best choice of seating after all in hindsight–and watched me.
Not that I understood what I’d done recently to earn his attention, but how was I to know he would stalk me for three whole hours without so much as flinching?
It was unnerving. Unnatural.
Rather like him.
And the longer he sat still, the more I twitched.
I couldn’t even concentrate, and I sure didn’t understand why he was so dead set on watching me . I’d sneaked enough sideways glances at him to make sure he wasn’t asleep–unless, of course, he slept with both eyes open.
But hey, this was Jax Palmer, artiste extraordinaire.
I wouldn’t put it past him.
Finally, I couldn’t concentrate on my books any longer. My feet were all tapped out, my pen jittered on the page more than my cruddy bee sketches had any right to allow, and I was past the point of frazzled. Well past.
Slapping my pen on the table I pushed my chair back and stalked across the small aisle dividing me from his darker patch of library space. Here, the lights seemed dimmer, like the shadows preferred his company to mine. I shivered for no logical reason at all and wrapped my arms around myself.
“What do you want, Jax?” I snapped, nudging his knee with mine.
Black jeans contacted brown tights and the electric shock that resulted shouldn’t have been possible through several layers of clothing and denier thick enough to ward off a deluge of wasp stings, the heaviest I could find.
Not that it was cold out. I just wanted protection from life. People.
Like Jax.
He huffed out a breath. “Did you come all the way over here just to fight with me, little bee girl?” He mimed walking two fingers across his opposite palm all the way up his arm and stopped, then looked up at me.
I got the full blast of Jax Palmer’s attention up close.
He was right. I made a grave error leaving my table. I should have stayed put, and never left the safety of my chair and my books and my bee drawings. Heading back there right now seemed the only feasible escape route.
“No.” I backed up, or tried to, but his knees trapped me in, his ankles closing around the backs of my calves and drawing me closer to his crotch. I closed my eyes and refused to look at his smirking face, shaking my head. “Jax, stop it.”
A plea if I ever heard one, but if I tried to back out of his odd embrace I’d end up on my ass with my head at hip height, and that brought memories of a different night surging back….
“No!” I whisper-shouted, shoving my hands to his shoulders and pushing.
My eyes flew open as, like I predicted, his legs didn’t let go. I flew backwards, ready to land butt-first in the worst position a girl could land with a boy like him.
Only Jax Palmer was so far from being a boy it wasn’t funny. No part of this was funny and I’d put myself into a whole lot of trouble. I knew he wouldn’t easily let me free myself, if he let me go at all.
Should have stayed at your table, Alloway.
I was still berating myself when I realized my butt didn’t hurt, nor that it hadn’t hit the ground.
I glanced around, but the library floor was still the same distance as it had been before from my ass cheeks. I twisted back to face forward and found Jax right. There.
Right in front of me, standing so my head reached his chest level. His legs dropped to frame my sides where he stood on the outside of mine in a different sort of embrace, and those long, leather encased arms wrapped around me.
“Are you okay?” he asked softly.
Completely out of place and countenance with his stalker self who stared at me for the last three hours.
Three. Hours.
“No. No, I’m not all right,” I assured him, trying to back up, and found I couldn’t.
It wasn’t just my hands or my arms or my legs. He still had me trapped, just in a different position than before. A different predicament. I didn’t understand this one, didn’t know what his endgame looked like.
If I’d been unnerved before, now Jax just scared the shit out of me.
Trying not to tremble in his arms, I twisted about and only succeeded in swiveling on the spot. His arms still wrapped around me, pressing my back to his front. I stared out at rows and rows of books and, because it was late on a Sunday evening, there was no one at all around to witness his unwanted manhandling.
Then why aren’t I screaming?
Because some stupid part of me wanted Jax’s attention. Wasn’t that why I’d come over here in the first place, to get him to stop staring and talk to me? That had been the point…right? I groaned at the uselessness of my suicide mission as he laughed softly in my ear, running his hands over the front of my clothing.
“Too much, Waverly. You don’t need all this on. I promise you.” His voice made silky promises I wanted to believe so hard.
So, so badly.
Bad enough that I whimpered when he pushed my hair aside, hooked his fingers into the high collar of my turtleneck knitted top beneath my constricting vest that looked cute before, albeit a little warm, but cute nonetheless but strangled me now.
Deftly, he pulled the material I used as a shield between me and everything else aside to suck on the exposed skin beneath.
“You should stop,” I whispered hoarsely. “Jax, we don’t match up. Not in any way. I’m not some heiress or princess you’re supposed to–” I stopped, unsure where that line of reasoning was headed as he picked another spot to suck on.
The logic departed me altogether as I let out a long moan.
A good thing, in the end, as the embarrassing sound covered the horrific squelch that emitted from between my legs. Heat gushed there with the long tease I’d let happen, not getting up and walking away when I should have left him staring at nothing and not me in the first place.
His knowing laugh made it all so much better and that much worse as I writhed under his touch.
Long fingered hands skated south, and as I thought he might go for the hem of my skirt, I freed my own grip from his arm banded beneath my breasts, ready for the fight. Ever the contradiction, Jax ignored my efforts and slid his fingers smoothly beneath the waistband of my stretchy skirt instead, under my tights and inside my panties.
Straight between my legs and delved two fingers into my wetness.
If I moaned before, the scream I let out should have revoked my library card on the spot.
“Naughty girl,” Jax murmured huskily, working his fingers in and out of the evidence I could no longer deny either of us.
Those clever fingers toyed with me, though his movements were restricted by my tight clothing that seemed determined to punish me for trying to protect myself. The layers worked against me, trapping his hand to my body, increasing the pressure. The heel of his palm ground against my clit as he worked in a hard, rough rhythm I learned fast to hate and love all at once.
My body responded as I rode his hand. His other digits caught my chin and drew my head back, tipping my face right up until his mouth hovered over mine, intimate enough that his breath out was the next I breathed in. My shuddering, shattered exhales became his air as we froze in a moment until the world frayed bright then dark at the edges.
A sharp cry broke from my lips, shattering the stillness between us. I clamped down on his fingers, and he let me ride out my orgasm without denying me. Some part of me was grateful for that break in his torture, knowing he could–almost should, if he held to his usual tease–have drawn it out. My body pressed to his, I curved my cheek into his chest, turning my head to flicker my tongue out along his throat.
Musky sweat and leather suffused my mouth as I begged for a kiss, my lips parted, every inch of my body soft and inviting.
Jax froze. When he looked down at me, his eyes were blown black with need. A vicious snarl ripped from his throat as he yanked his hand free from my panties. The same hand, wet hand slick with my release wrapped around my throat, restricting my air and my speech. He shoved me back against the wall he had leaned on for the past hours, stalking me from a distance.
Worst. Mistake. Ever.
But was it? He glared at me, all need and lust written across the snarl lifting his lips. I did the only thing I could think of, leaning forward against the pressure that bore down, cutting off my own air until shock registered on his face and he let me breathe as I pressed my mouth gently to his.
“Thank you,” I whispered.
His answering groan ignited something in me. Him, too.
That hot mouth crashed down on mine, his tongue thrust deep between my open lips, fucking me with his tongue. This wasn’t a sweet kiss, one where I could learn what he liked. This was a kiss to endure, to find a way to give him pleasure while I submitted and he took.
His hands squeezed my thick waist, pressing in as he molded his body to mine, grinding against me. His bulge met my swollen clit where he tormented me and though he’d given me satisfaction seconds ago it was like that never happened.
I rose onto my toes, seeking the same pressure in return, craving him. His hand slid under my leg, lifting me higer as he pistioned his hips like we were fucking, not dry humping frantically like a pair of teens in the library–
Then his mouth was gone. Jax glared at me as he swiped his knuckles across his lips as though to erase my touch altogether.
“Get on your knees, Waverly,” he growled, his eyes fixed on my face. Those hands I loved, that teased me so much worked fast at his belt. “Now,” he ordered when I didn’t move from the wall where he put me.
I shook my head. “No, Jax,” I whispered.
His hand stalled on his belt buckle, half undone. “What did you say to me?’ he asked dangerously.
“I said no,” I repeated clearly, pulling my skirt down. The skin around my neck felt damp, and tender. I winced a little as I pulled my turtleneck up and shook my hair out, watching him, and edged away.
“You think you get off that easy, bee girl?” His amused tone lay at odds with his tone as I stared back at him, dread seating deep in my soul.
“You want me to beg?” I tried to croak, but my words came out all raspy and sexy sounding.
His eyes widened, a shuddering breath freeing up as he leaned toward me, crooking a finger. “I want you on your knees. Right here.” He tapped a foot on the floor before him.
“No,” I whispered, watching him, wanting what he offered more than anything.
But this looked the same as that night, felt the same. And I couldn't.
So I fled and left Jax Palmer standing in the library, his eyes dark with unslaked lust, his belt half undone, and utter hatred written across his face.
I knew I’d pay for rejecting him many times over. It was just a matter of when.