by Esme Devlin
Ada replies a few moments later. I’m sorry I’m going to Newcastle for the weekend with Scott. I’d cancel but we have train tickets and he’d shit if he found out it was for Tommy Heenan’s birthday party.
Scott Parker, her boyfriend. I don’t actually dislike Scott, he’s a decent guy, so I can’t really complain.
Michelle: It’s fine, honestly. I just don’t want to go alone.
Ada: Lawrie is enough moral support for the both of us LOL.
I send a crying with laughter face back, because it’s what you do, isn’t it?
Lawrie: We should do something before you go.
Michelle: I would, but I’m on house arrest remember?
Lawrie: Ask him if you can come over to my house for a film and food or whatever on Thursday night. Tell him he can pick you up. We can go out and he’ll be none the wiser, as long as we’re home in good time.
Ada: I’m good for Thursday.
Hmmm. It’s risky… but fuck him. What’s the worst that could happen if he finds out? He’s already doing the worst thing I could imagine, and he’s doing his best to make me suffer through every second of it. I can at least ask him, and if he says no, I’ll try to think of a Plan B.
Michelle: I’ll see what I can do.
With that sorted, I lock my phone and put it out of reach. No more thoughts of Tommy.
But I don’t think I can help myself. I close my eyes and I see his face. His piercing blue eyes and the way he can see into my fucking soul with them. He does things to me and now whenever I’m in his presence we have one of those… episodes? Moments? I don’t know what to call it. But I know how it makes me feel — like a deer stuck in the headlights. Or a mouse being chased by a cat.
All the satisfaction I took from winning yesterday, he stamped on and crushed.
And now we’re back to square one… he is the predator, and I am the plaything.
Yesterday, when he kissed me, I started thinking to myself that maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad thing to give in to him, just the once.
Just to see what it would feel like to be devoured by a snake.
I won’t beat myself up about feeling that way — it’s a perfectly human reaction. It’s just like thinking of the worst possible thing that could happen and playing it out in your mind… giving your mind a wee treat. It’s the - imagine this plane just crashed - during take off. It’s the - imagine getting a blowout - when you’re speeding down the motorway at eighty miles per hour. It’s human.
That’s what giving into Tommy would be for me. I like to be in control of everything, always planning and plotting and thinking further ahead. How would it feel to give that up, just for a moment?
I can’t decide if it would be the ride of my life, or the ride that ended it.
Forgetting about his vile tongue and his talent for tormenting me, Tommy Heenan is attractive physically. Wickedly handsome, and a smile that could stop traffic. He has the ruggedness of a working class man, and a body like he hoes fields for a living. He’s filthy rich, but you wouldn’t know it. He’s what 99% of girls in school would call a catch.
Okay, not a catch, all things considered. But definitely that deadly mix of fuckable and unobtainable.
And he’s mine, he has been for years.
Except he’s not. Not really. He’s just as unobtainable to me as he is to every other girl in school. Tommy isn’t a person who becomes someone else's.
Tommy is not someone who is owned.
I think that’s why I can’t get him out of my head. It’s just hormones and chemical reactions and shit. Perfectly natural. And perhaps if I admit it to myself then I can stop getting caught up in those piercing blue eyes. I’d fuck Tommy Heenan. There. I admitted it. I’d fuck Tommy Heenan if I could walk away and never see him again.
And logically, I know that would never happen, he’d never let me walk away because he hates me and he knows how to make me suffer.
I’m just giving my mind a wee treat.
I sit up in the bath and pull out the plug, willing him out of my head now that I did the thing, and unraveled the ball of thoughts that’s been rolling around my head since the weekend.
Think about Dollar. Yes, Dollar. Think about dogs instead. Don’t think about him crouched on the kitchen floor, Dollar looking at him like she’s found a new best friend, because that would be stupid.
I get out the bath knowing full well I am fucked.
It’s lunchtime, five minutes before the bell rings for afternoon lessons and I’m sitting in the disabled toilet. Stuart Sergeant was in my last class, and I told him I needed Tommy’s number to let him know I would be late after school. He bought the excuse, and now my phone is unlocked and my finger is hovering over the send button.
I allow myself a few moments of hesitation while I psych myself up. I’m not only poking the bear, I’m inviting it right into my fucking lair.
But if I can pull this off, then it’ll be worth it, and the perfect payback for what he did to me yesterday. I’ve never wished for rain before, but I’m wishing for it this afternoon.
I hit send and unlock the door, then I undo the top two buttons of my blouse for good measure.
A few moments later and the door opens, a confused Tommy sliding inside and locking it behind him. I’m sitting on the cistern of the toilet and my legs aren’t as closed as they should be.
The room is tiny, so he stands about two feet away from me and raises an eyebrow. “What is it?”
I smile playfully at him and shrug. “I missed you.”
He cocks his head to the side and eyes me up, wary, but there’s a hint of playfulness at the same time. “I’m not buying that for a second, princess.”
I giggle and roll my eyes at him. “Why don’t you come over here and let me prove it then?”
He’s deliberating, likely trying to work out if I’m bluffing. I’m acting through my teeth but I’m not bluffing. I want him to kiss me. I make the decision a little easier for him and my hand moves up, undoing the third button on my shirt. I make sure my finger catches the fabric on the way back down.
His eyes travel over my body, down to my chest where they linger for a second and then lower still to my parted thighs. He smirks, shaking his head. “You’re fucking mental, do you know that?”
I nod slowly and our eyes meet. I feel mental. This is mental. “I think you like me better that way.”
“It’s growing on me,” he says.
“Prove it.” I nod at his cock and he takes a couple of steps forward. He’s standing between the toilet and the wall, and from my spot on the cistern he’s not that much taller than me. I look at his lips while I bite down on my bottom one. He presses the knuckle of his finger into the hollow of my chin and tilts my head up.
I glance up to his eyes, that’s what he wants after all, one final bit of eye contact, and that’s all it takes. He’s on me like a storm, his lips crashing against mine, forcing my head back against the wall. I open for him, kissing him like I’m hungry, like I’m desperate for a taste of him.
That’s all I can think about.
I want to devour him.
I want to eat him up whole.
My hands take a hold of his head and I run my fingers through his hair, short on the sides like velvet and long on the top, like silk.
He pulls my shirt apart and slides his rough hand inside my bra, pinching my nipple between his two fingers and sending shock waves of pleasurable pain right through my core.
It doesn’t matter that this is pretend, a trick, it feels so fucking good that I almost don’t want it to be. I don’t even feel like I’m pretending anymore.
But I can’t let him go to sleep tonight knowing that this was real, and thinking that I actually like him. I don’t like him. Doesn’t matter what he does to my nipples, I don’t fucking like him.
His hands move down over my belly and he takes a hold of my hips, squeezing them firmly while he makes my whole body rock forward. I do the same, feeling every tight musc
le on the way down. He’s built like a god. No, not a god. There is nothing holy about Tommy Heenan.
He’s built like a demon.
My fingers trail around his hips, our mouths never separating for a second. His breath his hot and heavy and he groans into my mouth when my nails trail over the head of his cock. I find it through the fabric and take a hold of it in my hands and… well shit. Was not expecting that.
That would impale me. Like, I think I would possibly die.
Not going to happen anyway, Michelle.
That hand takes a hold of his balls while the other one goes into his pocket, my fingers kneading his bulge. I shift my hand around.
Where the fuck is it?
And then the back of my thumb rubs over hard plastic and I know I’ve got him.
I just need to get it out without him noticing.
I take a hold of his hand with the one that’s not in his pocket, and quickly shove it between my legs, biting down hard on his lip when he makes contact. I feel like a brazen hussy, but I’m enjoying it and my plan is going to work, so fuck it.
Turns out the hand/bite combination was just the distraction I needed. I take the key-fob between my two fingers and I slip it out of his pocket, putting it behind me, then I quickly grab a hold of the hand that’s parting my underwear and hold it still.
“Good luck hiding that thing in class,” I tell him, breaking the kiss and nodding at his erection.
The bell goes and we both look up.
I use the distraction to do up my buttons one handed, all the while still circling his wrist. His hand is still there, his fingers just inching under the band of my panties, but I don’t push it away.
“It’s you who seems to be struggling, darlin. You want me to fetch you a wet floor sign?” He kisses the side of my cheek, almost at my ear, and I know he’s right. I’m wet, seriously wet. Fuck him, I’m only human.
“Cheeky bastard. Now go! Get out. We’re going to be late,” I tell him, giggling as he nuzzles my neck.
“We’ll finish this later,” he says as he turns to leave.
Oh honey, I’ll be the one finishing it later. I smirk at him as he heads through the door.
The bell rings to signal the end of the day and I’m up and out of my seat before it goes silent. I hot-foot it along the corridor, down the stairs, and straight out to the car park, reveling in the drizzly rain that’s catching in the wind and hitting me sideways.
I go straight to his car, a gray Merc AMG and hover the fob against the handle to unlock it, diving into the driver's seat and making sure I secure the doors the second I’m inside. Holding the clutch down, I start the engine, and then I wait.
From my spot I can see the courtyard below the main entrance, the place where we should meet right about now.
I spot him standing with his friends, glancing around every once in a while to see if I’m coming out.
Around me, people are already getting in their cars and pulling away.
Stuart must tell him what I told him earlier, about me being late, because Tommy turns around and starts heading towards the car park.
I fiddle around behind the steering wheel, trying to work out how to switch the full beams on. His windows are tinted dark, so he probably wouldn’t notice me sitting here straight away.
But he’s about to.
I push the flicker thing forwards and the lights go on. He’s standing right in their path and I watch his face turn instantly to confusion.
And then he clicks.
And it’s beautiful.
I hit the button on the dash for the radio and Capital FM comes on with a remix of Higher Love — I think it’s Kygo — and I twist the volume dial up to full. My ears are practically bleeding but it’s soooooo fucking worth it.
He stands with his hands in his pockets on the raised grass in front of the car, lit up my the white headlights, getting wet in the rain, and I start lip singing dramatically like I’m Whitney Houston herself.
He smiles and shakes his head at me, obviously trying to laugh it off, but I know right now if he gets in the car I’ll feel the full brunt of his annoyance.
So I decide not to let him in the car. I kick my shoes off, adjust the seat so my feet can reach the peddles a little easier, and I buckle up my seatbelt.
He’s over at my side of the car in a second, shaking his head again but this time the smile is gone.
“Don’t you dare,” he mouths to me.
I put my face up against the window and I blow him a kiss, shifting the car into reverse and letting down the handbrake.
He rushes around to the other side, and by the time I’m on the road ready to drive forward, he’s standing in the middle of it, effectively blocking my way.
I rev the engine. He doesn’t move so I rev it again, louder this time. I let the car inch forwards and he still doesn’t move. So I drive forwards, slamming on the brakes just in time.
He doesn’t flinch; instead he’s laughing like he’s daring me to hit him.
I could hit him. I think I have the balls to hit him, what I’m not sure about is if I have the balls to deal with the consequences he’d dish out if I did hit him.
Fuck it, he’s going to do his worst, anyway.
I’m ready for him.
Chapter 11
TOMMY
She’s not going to do it.
But she’s looking at me like she is going to do it.
If she does it, then there’s not enough length between us for her to pick up speed, anyway. She wasted the distance on her last attempt at playing chicken with me.
But I didn’t count on her reversing the car back, like she’s doing now. Bitch.
The tyres screech against the tarmac as the car rears forwards. It’s either jump or break my legs.
A smart man would jump.
A proud man would break his legs.
I’m a proud man, but I value my legs, so I jump to the side at the last second, narrowly missing my car as it speeds passed me.
She doesn’t even make it to the end of the row of cars before she slams on the brakes. Since no one else can reverse their cars with her playing the arsehole, people are standing watching us.
Watching me.
I’m going to kill her. I’m going to snap her pretty little neck the second I get my hands on her.
The passenger side door swings open and I make my way over. She’s letting the car roll so I have no choice but to jump in the passenger side.
“Fucking move, now,” I tell her, but she doesn’t even look at me; she’s still singing along to the music. I turn the volume down to nothing while I slam the door shut. “Michelle, I’m not playing.”
“Me neither,” she shrugs. “Do you want to walk home? Sit down and shut the fuck up.” She speeds away, turning the corner at the end of the row and heading for the exit. “Oh, and get your fucking seatbelt on, darlin.”
“You are dead,” I tell her, putting my seatbelt on because I trust her driving skills even less than I trust her in general.
“Aww, babe. I was just playing with ya.” She pouts her lip while she adjusts my rear-view mirror. I laugh when I see it’s so she can look at herself, and not the road behind her.
I shake my head at her, checking her blind spot because she just pulled right into the overtaking lane without a backwards glance. “I’m going to kill you.”
She giggles, the little witch. “Tell me how? Tell me how you’re gonna kill me? Make it brutal — I’m still horny as fuck from lunchtime.”
Lunchtime.
I’m a fucking idiot.
Why does this girl make me lose every ounce of sense I ever had? Her hand was in my pocket, I thought she wanted a piece and she was just wanting the car keys. I rub my neck and shift my head from side to side. “Fuck, Michelle, you’re a sly wee bitch.”
She laughs like it’s a complement. “What are you going to do about it?”
What am I going to do about it? She’s running rings around me. Whatever I do, she d
oes one better. I hate her guts, but at the same time, I have the desire to rearrange them with my cock. Put her right back in her place, which should be wrapped around me. I’m the one with the power. I’m the one in control. So why doesn’t it feel like that?
Why does it feel like she’s winning?
I look over at her and she’s glancing at me expectantly, half of her waiting on my response and the other half watching the road. I try to pull myself together, to let go of the urge to break her bones or slap her pretty face or pound her with my cock.
None of that will solve my problems. I need to stay cool, so I shrug at her and smile. “I’m going to marry you, little princess.”
There we go.
She stops looking at me and focuses her attention on the road, easing off the gas and sitting back in her seat. She’s blinking rapidly, like she’s deep in thought. Like she’s trying to form another little scheme.
I don’t give her the chance to get that far. “I’m going to marry you whether you like it or not. I’m going to marry you whether I like it or not. You only get one choice in this darlin, and you should be grateful I’m giving you that. I’m going to let you decide what you want to be. I own you, remember? So do you want to be my slave, or do you want to be my queen?”
She glances over to her passenger mirror and manoeuvres the car in to the side of the road, pulling the handbrake up and switching the engine off and throwing the key right at my face. “I want to walk home, how’s that for a fucking choice?”
Then she jumps out of the car and starts storming down the side of the road, barefoot. I climb over to the driver's seat and switch the car back on, driving up beside her and rolling down the window. “When are you going to grow up?”
“When you leave me alone.” She doesn’t look at me and she doesn’t shout, she just keeps marching along beside the car. Meanwhile, people are honking their horns at me while they overtake, we’re on a 60mph road so I stick my hazard lights on.
Can they not see I’m dealing with a petulant little shit here?
“But you make fighting so fucking enjoyable,” I tell her. “Get in the car, you’re getting wet. You’re going to cut your feet again.”
