Pretty Reckless (All Saints High #1)(41)

“I hate you,” I cry. “Marx, I do. I hate you so much.”

His hands meet the back of my knees, and he hoists me up. I knot my legs around his waist. He cups my face and squashes it as if he is milking this kiss out of me.

“Yet you’re still fucking kissing me. With the girlfriend. And the baby. And the sister who will always be better than you. You’re kissing your foster brother who hates you, Followhill. A whole fucking lot.”

“Fuck you.” My tears are unstoppable, raining down hard and fast. My body shudders violently as the sobs rip through me. We’re swallowing each other’s words and secrets and lies with our mouths. My body moves with his. He groans into my lips as though it’s painful. As though he wants to pull away, but he can’t.

He unbuckles his tattered rope belt and unzips his jeans, grabbing his cock through his briefs and grinding it over my slit through my Daisy Dukes.

“Eat me,” I moan. “You don’t deserve to enjoy this. I’m the one who should be taking everything in this situation.”

He drops down to his knees and tugs my Daisy Dukes and panties aside, stretching the denim against my skin and causing me delicious pain. He throws one of my legs over his shoulder and presses his nose into my slit, inhaling deeply.

A feral growl rips from his throat, coming from somewhere deep and primal, and he bites my inner thigh.

“Blythe might be pregnant, so good luck paying child support for two children at eighteen, asshole.” I groan. His tongue drags along my slit, then his mouth clamps on my clit, and he sucks on it hard. I moan. He grinds his straight teeth along my pussy, creating delicious friction. “Marx,” I mutter.

He laughs a gruff, grown-up laugh that makes my bones quiver. I don’t know why this eighteen-year-old feels like more of a man than my almost forty-year-old principal.

“Will you babysit?” he taunts me. I grip his silky, light brown hair and pull hard, wanting to inflict pain.

“It’s not funny.”

“She’s not pregnant,” he says between lazy strokes of his tongue, eating me so willingly and happily, I don’t know what to do with myself anymore. He is driving me crazy. No one has ever gone down on me, and when I asked him to, I was expecting him to laugh in my face and say no. I couldn’t deny myself it, either. All my friends get action at Lenny’s. I wanted to, too.

“So why is she having a meltdown?”

“Because she saw Vaughn before the game with Las Juntas fucking some other chick’s mouth under the bleachers.” After another flick of his tongue across my clit, he’s back to sucking on it hard. My thighs begin to shake around his beautiful head.

“H-how do you know that?” My teeth are chattering. It feels too good to be legal. I want Penn to go down on me for the rest of our lives.

“Because I was doing something similar at the time under the same bleachers. You know, to get rid of all the stress.”

Yeah. I know. With Adriana, most likely.

I throw my head back and squeeze my eyes shut as his lips clamp on my clit and suck hard while he rubs his chin over my opening. It’s messy and hungry and beautiful. He squeezes my ass, and my body breaks into small spasms, a wave of heat blanketing me from head to toe.

My orgasm gallops through me like wild horses. I’m shaking all over. I’ve never come so hard in my life, and on someone’s face, no less.

He sucks my clit between his lips one more time as I come down from the high before he rises to his feet. His whole face is glowing with my lust for him, his chin dripping my juices.

I want to tell him that he is an asshole, but his mouth crashes down on mine, and he demolishes me with a kiss, forcing me to taste my sweet, earthy musk. I hate myself so much for letting him do this to me over and over again when he has a girlfriend. It makes me sick to my stomach. I touch his chest through the hole in his shirt and tug at his lower lip until I suck all of it into my mouth. I take everything he is willing to give me, and then steal some more moments, watching his gorgeous silhouette under the starlit sky.

“This is the last time,” I promise. To him. To myself. It’s not about Adriana; it’s about me. I’ll never be a cheater. And taking someone who doesn’t belong to you knowingly—that’s cheating.

He tears his lips away from mine and grins. “You really thought me going down on you is you winning?” he mocks, dragging his palm across his chin and sucking the rest of my juices from his finger.

I stare at him, stunned. What the hell happened to the fourteen-year-old kid who gave me a precious sea glass, the equivalent of a rare diamond?

“Oh, sweetheart, we’ll be over when I say we’re over.”





She’s a work of art And as such

There’s nothing more devastating Than watching her break





“We can grab Starbucks on the way back home.”

That’s his peace offering after eating me out against a filthy auto-shop sign with his girlfriend not even one hundred feet away.

Penn offers the olive branch in his taciturn tone the morning after Lenny’s while I’m sitting at the kitchen island with my family, sipping coffee and messing on my phone. Since I haven’t slept a wink, analyzing the entire timeline of our relationship, I decide to play along. This is what I’ve come up with so far: