22. Margo
Chapter 22
Margo
Caleb
Meet me in the locker room at lunch.
I ’ve been ignoring him. He’s been ignoring Amelie. It’s only been a week, but…
Rumors have been swirling that she’s been duped—and dumped. She sulks behind a wall of cheerleaders, who all send hateful glares in my direction. They’ve extended the same courtesy to Riley, even though my quiet friend walks around like a shadow half of the time.
The girl’s got some serious talent staying under the radar, that’s for sure.
And Caleb? Theo? They’ve all been acting like nothing is wrong. Theo sends an occasional wink my way, and Caleb snarls at him under his breath.
He’s worse than a feral dog.
Caleb
Answer me.
Your read receipts are on, little lamb. Don’t make me hunt you down…
Or do. You’re my favorite sport.
You’re with Amelie.
I think . Honestly, maybe he did dump her.
That didn’t stop us the other night.
He has no boundaries.
Did I make him that way?
I bite my lip as I type out a reply under my desk. Sure, this could absolutely backfire on me. He could become worse than he already is. How, I don’t know, but I’m sure he would think of something.
He’s managed to get under my skin, and as much as I try to scrub him free, he isn’t leaving. Hell, I don’t think he ever left.
And he accused me of the same thing.
It should’ve. What do you want in the locker room?
There’s a long pause. Class will be ending in about ten minutes, and we’ll break for lunch. Then two more classes, and I’ll be able to go hide at home until tomorrow. And then we’ll just do that a hundred more times until I graduate.
Or less, seeing as how I turn eighteen in just over three months.
Not that anyone is counting…
I focus on my fifth period English teacher, Ms. Devereux. She’s attempting to talk us through an analysis of a short story we just read, but it’s kind of going over my head.
I slouch lower in my chair. This is one of the only classes I have without Caleb or any of his friends, and I pretend to be studying the story again while I collect myself. My phone buzzes against my leg, sending another pitter-patter of nerves through me. My heart pounds so loud it’s the only thing I can hear.
I take a deep breath, then check my phone.
Caleb
Thinking of your mouth
[IMAGE]
Oh God.
It’s a dick pic.
I squirm in my seat, trying to ignore the sensations traveling between my legs. Why does the sight of his cock turn me on? Why is he sending me a picture of it? Is that real time?
He’s thinking of my mouth?
My mouth turns him on?
When the bell rings, I stow my bag, shoot a text to Riley that I’m running an errand, and make my way across the sprawling building to the athletic wing. I locate the boys’ locker room and hesitate outside it.
He said in.
So…
The door swings inward under my fingertips, and I walk inside.
It’s a mirrored layout to the girls’ down the hall, with rows of smaller lockers on one side and shower stalls on the other. Farther back are the bathrooms and sinks.
Caleb sits on a bench in the second row. He straddles it, his phone face-up between his knees. His gaze lifts, going from my shoes to my bare legs, all the way up to the skirt—I’ve somehow managed to avoid questions from Lenora and Robert about the pants—and my tucked-in shirt.
He leans back, exposing the top of his unbuttoned pants.
“I keep thinking about you.” His voice is husky. “Namely, that noise you make when you gag on my cock.”
I gulp.
He rises. “There’s a football game tonight.”
My brow furrows. “Okay?”
“We don’t have a game until Sunday afternoon. Come with me.”
I shake my head. “No, I’m good. I don’t like football.”
He raises an eyebrow. “You said the same about hockey, but…”
Yeah, I was proven wrong.
“I don’t want to be stared at.”
“You won’t.”
“Amelie will make fun of me.”
“She won’t,” he promises. His gaze turns calculating. “Do I need to give you something in return?”
There must be a song about making deals with devils… but I can’t think of any.
“I want to see my old house again,” I blurt out.
He goes still.
Well, minus his dick. That just seems to be stiffening, until it’s tenting his pants. They’re unbuttoned, but the zipper is hanging on.
“Remind me of that noise you make,” he murmurs, “and we’ll have a deal.”
Seems like he’s getting more out of it than me. Attendance at a football game— yuck —and a blow job?
And yet…
I want to get back in that house. I want to unravel all the mysteries of what happened and what was left behind.
The most infuriating part is that I don’t remember the key moments. I remember flashes, little pieces that don’t make sense, and my father being arrested at the park. But other than that, there’s nothing coherent.
Being there could settle my memories.
I go to my knees in front of him, and he braces a hand on the locker. The other on the back of my head.
Immediately, he takes control. He doesn’t go easy, and I fight between closing my teeth on him and relaxing my throat so it doesn’t hurt as bad. The first time he pushes past the ring of muscles protecting my throat, he cuts off my breath.
I dig my nails into his thighs, but he only withdraws when my grip loosens. My head swims. As soon as I get air, I inhale a ragged breath. It’s almost enough.
He fucks my face until saliva drips from the corners of my lips and tears roll down my cheeks. I give him the satisfaction—I’m assuming—of gagging around his length.
“Unbutton your shirt,” he grunts.
I don’t question it, releasing his legs to fumble with my uniform shirt. It hangs open, exposing my nude-colored bra. Just when I think he’s going to come in my mouth, he pulls out at the last minute. His hand takes over, pumping once, twice.
He comes on my chest. My throat.
It misses my face and hair, with the majority across my breasts. It’s warmer than I thought it would be.
After the initial shock fades, horror takes over. I look down at myself, then up at Caleb.
He’s grinning like the Devil.
And then the flash of his camera goes off in my face.