Punk 57(43)

I groan again, unable to keep my eyes from falling shut. The wet heat from that small spot filters across my face, down my neck, and swoops low in my stomach, making my fingers dig into the leather seats.

Her breath hits my skin again, and I open my eyes to see hers watching me intently as she goes back for more. Her tongue slowly traces a trail over the ring before she darts out and bites my lip around it, pulling the whole thing in her mouth.

My skin burns and tingles everywhere, and I nearly lose the f*cking strength to hold myself up. Her eyes stay open, watching me pant and groan at everything she’s doing. She sucks and bites and licks and tugs as I just hover there, not moving and not kissing back as I let her explore.

A horn honks, but I barely register it.

“Masen,” she whispers, running her lips over the ring, again and again, and snaking a hand around the back of my neck.

Masen.

I reach out and splay a hand across her stomach, finally taking her in my hands. I want her to say my name, dammit. I want to hear my name from her lips right now.

“Yo, idiot!” A car horn honks again, and I blink, realizing someone is here. “Where’s my girl at?”

Oh, shit.

Ryen pulls away, hearing Trey’s voice, too, and stares up at me, a hint of fear in her eyes.

I glance out the window, seeing the blue blur of his Camaro sitting in front of the bay. I can’t see him, though, so he can’t see us through the water. If he could, I’m sure I would’ve felt him before I saw him.

I look down at Ryen, still feeling the desire roll off her.

“She’s right here, Burrowes.” My voice is low so only Ryen can hear me as I run my hand across her stomach. “And she feels really good.”

Ryen bites her bottom lip and shakes her head, pleading.

“Hello! Wake up, *!” Trey barks again.

I stare down at Ryen. “Are you wet now?” And I climb off her and out of the truck, shooting her a smirk. “Stay down.”

Slamming the door closed, I see Trey sitting in his car with his window down. The rain is still pouring and the clouds have grown darker.

I grab the hose and shut it off, hanging it up. “She bailed,” I bark. “Walked home. Now f*ck off.”

He laughs, shaking his head. “Don’t worry, man. You can have her all you want after our baseball game against Thunder Bay next week. I like a little * after I win, so until then, you wait your turn.”

What the f*ck did he just say? I watch as he speeds off and disappears down the road, curling my fists.

I will not wait my turn.

He can’t have her.





I lick my lips, feeling the warm metal graze my tongue.

Misha.

But then I blink awake, my room coming into view and the fog in my head slowly clearing. Misha? I was kissing Masen in my dream. Why did I call him Misha?

Damn. I take my pillow out from under my head and cover my face with it. I’m a mess. I’d fantasized about Misha before, in one of my kinky alternate realities where he writes me dirty letters and finally sneaks into my room, and that’s the first time I meet him, when he’s sliding into me.

But he never has a face. I always got the impression he was tall and dark, though, but I never knew for sure. I guess after everything last night, and how this new guy is in my head now, my brain made a connection.

My fantasies finally found Misha a face.

Taking the pillow off my head, I drop it to the side, yesterday’s events playing in my mind. I bring up my hand, twisting it around to see the remnants of his Sharpie on the inside of my finger. I glance at my chalk wall ahead and see where I added Shame to the bottom of the list.



Alone

Empty

Fraud

Shame



The words hurt, but last night I realized something. There’s more I’m not seeing. The first word, Alone, was written in his bunk at the Cove. That’s not about me. It has to do with something else. These words mean something else.

And then the car and the fight… I’d walked out to the parking lot after school, immediately spotting Masen putting something in my Jeep. I’d charged down the steps, ready to tell him off, especially after what he did to my scarf, but when I saw what was sitting on the seat of my car I paused.

Of course it was tacky to give me another woman’s scarf, but I was a little thrown off that he would feel guilty enough to want to make up for it in the first place. It was beautiful and soft and I wanted to keep it.

And then the car wash. How excited I felt when he stalked me like I was prey. How the smooth curve of the piercing felt when I slipped the tip of my tongue through the hoop. How he was so patient and not greedy or selfish, just letting me explore.

How his hand inched possessively up under my shirt, sending me reeling.

I bring my fingers up to my mouth, grazing the tip of one with my tongue. It tickles a little, but it’s teasing, too. Did he like it when I did that? I wanted to feel good to him, even if I only admit it to myself.

I trail my hand across my cheek and down my neck, wishing it was his hands. Wishing I could go back to last night and not cut him off, making him take me back to school, so I could get my car and run away.

But the truth is…I’m starting to think about him. A lot, and I don’t know why. Especially when he’s constantly in my face, telling me what I’m doing wrong.