Eighteen (18)(20)

“So I can watch.”

I look up at my patio-facing window and there he is. I can barely make him out in the darkness, but I see him well enough.

“Do it,” he says. “You might like to think you’re in control, but you’re not. I am.”

“You’re creepy, Mateo.”

“Thank you. But you’re keeping me waiting.”

“I told you, I don’t like stalkers.”

“I’m not a stalker. I’m your boyfriend.”

How many times can he stun me silent in one day?

I get up and flip the light on, walk back to my futon, and lie down. But instead of lying down the right way, so my feet face the opposite wall, I lie down sideways, so Mateo can watch.

I’m sick. I realize this.

But I’m turned on like crazy too. So I close my eyes and reach between my legs.

“Fuck, you’re hot,” he says into the phone. “Stick your fingers inside yourself.”

I gush at that. Like, I’m so f*cking wet, I might have a problem.

Mateo starts breathing harder on the other end of the phone. “Are you getting off?” I ask.

“Shh,” he says back. But I know he is. I picture him in my head. His fat cock in his fist as he pumps up and down along his shaft. I picture myself lying on the desk in the classroom, panting with surprise and lust. I picture the look on his face when he came on my shirt.

I come with that picture in my head. We groan at the same time, him in the phone next to my ear.

“Feel better?”

I nod.

“Lick your fingers.”

God, I want to come again. Like right now. But I do as he says and place them in my mouth.

“What do they taste like?”

“You,” I say softly. “They taste like you.”

I don’t even bother looking up at the window. I can almost feel his smile. “You’re perfect,” he whispers back. “Should we make it even?”

“Wha—How?”

“I’ll let you watch me get off tomorrow in class. Don’t be late.”

And then I get the hang-up beeps. I stare at the phone for several seconds, relaxing into my post-orgasm state, lying naked in my bed, and thinking about all that happened today. This man, I moan internally. He’s probably more than I can handle. No, not probably. He is. Ten years makes a big difference in sexual appetite.

I have no idea what all that was but holy hell, it was hot. And I like it. I might not think it’s normal, but I like it. And I’m going to picture his perfect cock and what he might look like sitting in that chair at school when he beats off in front of me.

Sick, Shannon. You’re sick.

But I don’t care.

I get up and grab my shorts from the patio, realizing that he took my shirt with him.

What will he do with it? Smell it as he jerks off? Wrap it around his cock? Sleep with it under his pillow?

I smile at that image and walk back inside to put my clothes back on. I check on Olivia. She’s still asleep, so I go back to reading my assignment for English, wondering what kinky shit Mateo will have for me tomorrow.

Another text comes in. It’s a picture of a fully erect cock from Unknown Number shooting semen all over my tank top.

He f*cking came on my shirt and sent me a picture of it.

Unknown Number: Tomorrow it will be your face. But don’t worry, I’ll have my fingers inside you when I do it. You can come on them.

I go back in my room and lie on the bed.

Facing the window.

It takes me less than thirty seconds to come again.





Chapter Thirteen




“Why not?”

I sigh. Poor Sunday. He’s confused. “I got back with my ex-boyfriend,” I lie. “And he doesn’t want me riding to school with anyone.”

“OK.” Sunday sighs as we turn into the parking lot. “But you know what they say. Once an ex, always an ex.”

“Do they say that?” I laugh.

He smiles big but doesn’t look at me as he pulls into a parking spot. “They do, Daydreams. They absolutely do. So when the shit goes bad again, you know where I am.”

“You’ll be here, huh?”

“I will,” he says.

We both get out of the car and then we’re standing on opposite sides of the hood again. “See you at lunch? Surely he doesn’t care if you sit with friends at lunch?” Sunday asks.

“Yup, see you at lunch.”

He smiles as he turns away and just like yesterday, a couple of other boys join in with him as they walk.

I turn away too, heading to my locker out in no-man’s-land.

“Hey, Daydreams,” I hear from behind me. I turn to see Sunday smiling at me. “Don’t ditch me, OK? I still like you.”

“Promise,” I say. I watch him turn back to his friends and they push him and probably make jokes about him saying that in front of everyone. But I like that about him, I realize. He’s honest. And even though Mateo said to stay away, I really don’t understand what makes Sunday such a bad guy. It’s not like he’s a teacher f*cking a student, right?

First period is graphic design, which is pretty much the only class I enjoy. But since I took nothing but art most of last year, it’s not challenging.