Ruthless Love

by Bloom, Penelope

  I slapped his arm. “Don’t call me that.”

  “The best terms of endearment are the ones that started as insults.”

  I frowned. “I’m pretty sure that’s not true.”

  Tristan stood, reaching for my hand. “You coming, or not?”

  I took his hand in mine, secretly enjoying the way it felt to be pulled along through the shelves of books by him. We weaved our way to the back of the library where he turned around and put my back to a shelf.

  We were relatively isolated, except for a window behind us that looked out on a parking lot that would be empty of people for another few hours. I suddenly understood his little secret was bullshit, but I wasn’t sure I cared.

  Except for the distant, easily ignored pang of fear that I was missing something important that was going on with Tristan, I was happy. For once. He made me feel normal. He made me feel cool, as ridiculous as that concept seemed. I was so far from cool that it hurt, but when I was with Tristan, he was the king and I was the queen. It was fun getting dragged into his world, and I wondered if I’d ever grow too tired of the thrill.

  I knew I couldn’t imagine growing tired of this.

  His hand was on my cheek and he was only inches from me, filling me with the sweet, subtle scent of his cologne. “The secret to a perfect essay is a satisfied libido. Your sexual frustration is practically dripping from every page of that essay.”

  “It’s one page,” I whispered.

  “Front and back, though. It’s dripping from both sides.”

  I smiled. “You’re trying so hard. It’s cute.”

  He pressed his body closer until I felt the warm hardness of his erection against my belly. “Can you blame me?” He cupped my cheeks. “You’re all I think about, Wheels.” He planted a kiss on me that was tender and sweet.

  Something about the kiss and his words felt like it clashed, but I pushed that to the back of my mind, too. I wanted this to work. I needed it to. Tristan was the only thing helping me to keep my nerve when it came to hiding the truth from my mom. I knew if he was out of my life, I’d be right back where I started, swallowing any pill she brought me.

  But Tristan made me want to be stronger than that. Independent. In his own way, he’d been teaching me how.

  “I think that’s an example of hyperbole,” I said. “If I was all you thought about, you’d become a pretty bad quarterback. And student. And general human being.”

  “If you think sassing me is going to get you out of this, you’re wrong. I’ve been waiting all day for you.”

  “What is it you think we’re going to do in the middle of the library?”

  “Mrs. Beverly naps at her desk every afternoon around this time. She never restocks the shelves. We’re practically alone.”

  “Except we’re not,” I said.

  “All I want is a blow job.”

  I sputtered. “No way.”

  Tristan put his hand on my shoulder, urging me downward. “You want that ‘A+’ or not?”

  “I don’t want to give you a blowjob at school in front of a window and while the librarian could walk back here at any moment.”

  “Got it. So the only problem is location.”

  He turned me so my back was to the window, then pushed me down to my knees. “Now you’re not in front of the window, and if we hear Mrs. Beverly coming, we’re looking for a book for class. Problems solved.”

  Before I could protest, he had pulled his fly down and pulled himself free.

  I tried to look away but couldn’t quite manage. The idea of being caught was oddly sexy, even if I didn’t quite understand why. I looked up at Tristan, who was watching me with heavy eyes. I could see how badly he wanted it and felt myself grow a little bolder.

  There were way more reasons to tell him “no” than there were to give in, not least of which was the fact that I had no idea what I was doing. I guessed I could figure out the basics, but there was also a risk of overlooking some major component of a good blow job.

  Tristan didn’t seem to care, he put his hand on the back of my head, urging my mouth closer to his length.

  “Tristan,” I said quietly.

  “What?”

  I waited, biting back the words that wanted to come. Not now. Maybe later. What about the fact that you’ve been drinking more? What about your dad selling the house? There were dozens of questions, but I’d spent my whole life letting uncertainty chain me down. It felt good to embrace the unknown with Tristan.

  “If I don’t get an ‘A+’ on my paper, I’m going to hold it personally against you.”

  I put my hand around the base of his cock, unable to even wrap my fingers completely around it. I swallowed, then tentatively eased him inside my mouth. It was warm and surprisingly soft against my tongue. When I stole a glance upward and saw how his head was thrown back with his eyes squeezed shut and his lips parted, a buzzing excitement passed over me.

  I moved my head back and forth, trying to create a little bit of a seal with my lips by applying some suction. He tensed when I did that, his grip on my hair tightening.

  I kept going, instinctively pumping my hand with the motion of my lips, which earned a low groan of satisfaction.

  I thought I heard a shuffling noise, so I stopped for a second to listen with his cock still inside my mouth. I felt it thumping faintly with his heartbeat against my cheek, tongue, and lips. After a few seconds, Tristan grabbed a fistful of my hair and started moving my head for me, practically fucking my face.

  I had to hold back the reflex to gag when the tip of his cock nearly reached the back of my throat, but he seemed to know how far to push it without making me actually gag. After a few seconds, I relaxed a little, trusting him not to make me throw up.

  I let my neck go soft and stopped pumping my hand. I let him use me, thrusting his hips against my face and breathing hard now. I could feel myself getting insanely wet, even though I’d always thought of blowjobs as the sort of thing that were for the enjoyment of the man and the man alone. It made me wonder if he’d enjoyed going down on me this much. I certainly hoped so.

  Without warning, his grip on my hair went painfully tight and he stopped. A warm rush of something came in my mouth, making me pull back in surprise. A second burst of hot liquid hit me across the nose and lips, dripping to my chest.

  I blinked back surprise, realizing what had happened a second later.

  Tristan stroked my hair, smiling down at me, almost proudly. He ran his thumb across the line of semen on my face and stuck it in my mouth, waiting until I sucked it clean and swallowed. His cock twitched when I did.

  I chewed my lip, then ran my tongue across my mouth, cleaning up the last of remnants.

  Tristan stood me up, then grinned down at my chest. “If anyone asked, you can just say you sneezed on yourself.”

  I looked down and groaned. There was a small spot of it on my chest. I did my best to rub it away, but it sank into the fabric, leaving a little circular reminder of the absolute insanity I’d just participated in. My heart was still pounding.

  “I can’t believe we just did that.”

  “I know.” Tristan smirked. “I was sure you were going to tell me to go fuck myself.”

  “That was an option?”

  He laughed. “You knew it was.” His voice lowered to a raspy whisper as he pulled me in to him, pressing his still hard cock between us. I felt a dirty longing for it—to reach down and touch it again, to ease it into myself and feel that wonderful fullness again with him. “You enjoyed that as much as I did. I bet you’re absolutely dripping right now.”

  I pushed myself back. My idea was to casually tuck his penis back into his pants, but it was a little more difficult to manage with the size of it than I’d anticipated. I struggled with it for a few seconds, before realizing I had to pull his boxers far enough forward to slide it in through the flap. Then I zipped up his pants, buttoning them with a shy smile. “That’s a mystery you’re going to have to live with.”


  Tristan laughed. He ran his thumb across my lower lip, planting another kiss there. “For now.”

  30

  Tristan

  It was a refreshingly pleasant day, especially after all the scorching hot ones we’d had this summer. I waited outside Kennedy’s house in a collared shirt and a nice pair of pants. The goal of this little operation was simple. I needed to win her mom over.

  I’d been letting my mind wander during history class the other day and couldn’t help thinking how many similarities there were between dating and war. You could storm a city with a superior army and occupy it. But it wasn’t a game of force. If you destroy the city in the process of taking it, then all you’re left with are the broken ruins. The goal to claiming something valuable is to leave it intact.

  But even after that valuable asset is in your hands, you still need to win over the hearts of the people, or it’ll never last.

  At least, this was all according to my teacher. Mr. Snyder. As far as I saw it, the people were Kennedy’s mom. As long as she was hostile to me, I’d never truly have Kennedy. We’d always be sneaking around. Always one parental blow-up away from sabotage.

  So, tonight, I was bringing the heavy weaponry. Manners. Good manners were about as natural for me as wearing dresses, but I could fake it well enough.

  Kennedy answered the door in her wheelchair. It was a little strange seeing her in the chair because I’d been seeing her out of it so much more often now. I gave her a coy smile, tapping the side of my nose before bending down to hug her.

  She rolled her eyes, then invited me in.

  Her mom was waiting by the kitchen table with a wary look on her face. “Tristan,” she said.

  “Miss Stills,” I did my best, I’m not sleeping with your daughter smile and walked over to give her a hug.

  She stiffly returned the hug. “Tea?”

  I nodded. “Sounds delicious.” It actually made my stomach queasy with the memory of last time I’d tasted it, but I was on my best behavior.

  Kennedy gestured to the dish on the table. “I hope you like this. It was kind of adventurous. I watched a YouTube video and it looked really good, but this was my first time actually trying to make it.”

  I pursed my lips. “You’re quite the chef.”

  She smiled in that universal way that said she believed she was, too, but didn’t want to look boastful. While her mom was in the kitchen, I bent down, stealing a quick kiss. She always tasted so incredibly good.

  Lately, it felt I was a faulty piece of machinery. Like the pressure release valve had gotten stuck, and the only thing that let me vent out steam was being with Kennedy—touching her.

  She smiled but frowned slightly. “Have you been drinking?”

  Okay. Two things helped me let off steam. That was the other one. “Just a little to help keep myself behaved for tonight.”

  Her smile was tight, but she busied herself serving up a plate of the food for me. It looked like sheets of lasagna in a creamy Alfredo sauce with mushrooms and a clear vegetable I didn’t recognize.

  “So, what is this?”

  Her mom returned, setting the glass of sweet tea beside me a little roughly. “Thank you,” I said.

  “It’s a wine sauce, sort of,” Kennedy said, making her mom a plate and then herself as she talked. “And chunks of sausage. Three kinds of cheese. Heavy cream… Some other stuff.” She gave an adorable little shrug, then wheeled her chair to the spot across from me.

  “So, Tristan,” her mom said, showing no interest in her food. “What are you two doing, exactly?”

  I raised my eyebrows. I wasn’t exactly sure how to answer that question diplomatically. Did she mean literally? Figuratively? I took a bite of the food to stall. “We’re getting along great.”

  She stared for a few seconds without responding.

  Kennedy smiled suddenly. “Tristan is a really amazing writer, mom. He helped me with my English essay. I even got an ‘A+.’ Without his extra help, I think it might have just been an ‘A’, at best.”

  I nearly choked on the sip of tea I was taking. I almost didn’t notice the slightly strange, bitter taste. I couldn’t remember if I’d tasted that the first time, but decided the stuff was so horrible I probably just hadn’t noticed it over the cardboard sweetness.

  “Is that right?” Her mom asked. “So, you two are spending time together at school?”

  “After school,” Kennedy said. “He tutors in the library, and he was just giving me a little help.”

  Kennedy’s mom motioned to my tea. “If you don’t drink your tea, I’m going to be offended.”

  I grabbed the glass and took a few chugs. I tried my best not to wince at the sweet, bitter taste, and mostly succeeded. “So good,” I said, choking a little and coughing.

  She didn’t seem bothered by my reaction. Finally, she cut herself a bite of the food and made a small grunt of approval.

  We made passing attempts at small talk for the rest of the meal, and I nearly had a panic attack when I’d finally finished my glass of sweet tea, only to have Kennedy’s mom get up and fill me another. She made sure I finished it, too. I thought maybe it was some twisted form of hazing and decided to just suck it up and deal with it, even though the bitter taste was hanging in my mouth and making Kennedy’s meal taste horrible, too.

  I felt like I’d been through the ringer by the time the food was done.

  “I was thinking Tristan and I could watch a movie before he goes, if—”

  Her mom stood, grabbing our plates. “Not tonight. You need your rest.”

  “Mom, it’s barely seven.”

  “And you have school tomorrow.”

  Deciding to win a few points, I joined in on her mom’s side. “It’s okay, Kennedy. I’ll see you at school tomorrow, okay?”

  Kennedy looked like she still wanted to argue, but she finally nodded her agreement. “Okay.” She pushed her chair toward me and hugged me. Logistically speaking, it was unfortunate that the relative height of her in the chair meant she basically pressed the side of her face against my crotch.

  I swallowed, meeting the eyes of Kennedy’s mom at the worst possible moment, too. She looked like she was trying to find out if she could psychically blow my head up by sheer force of will.

  As much as I normally would’ve enjoyed rubbing something like this in her face, I really wanted it to work with Kennedy. So I didn’t do any of the things my instincts were itching for me to do—like bend down and shove my tongue down Kennedy’s throat or make some kind of crude comment.

  “Thanks so much for dinner,” I said instead.

  I hurried outside. I felt nauseous, which wasn’t surprising. If I ever had to look at another glass of sweet tea in my life, I think I would puke on the spot.

  When I got home, I had to stop in the kitchen, hunched over the counter. There was an icy, stabbing pain in my stomach. Being the wise person I was, I grabbed a beer, hoping it would dull the pain.

  I put one hand on the counter, steadying myself. I shook my head, blinking away the strange wooziness I felt making me sway on my feet.

  A moment later, I realized the bottle had slipped from my fingers. The sound of shattering glass felt muffled and distant.

  31

  Kennedy

  I sat beside the hospital bed where Tristan was sleeping. He looked so painfully gorgeous, even when his skin was pale, and his eyes were red and puffy. I reached out, running my finger along his forearm. Goosebumps rose on his skin, making the hairs there stand on end.

  He turned his head, looking at me through sleepy eyes. “You found me.”

  I gave him half a smile. “I was at lunch when Logan told me.”

  Tristan’s eyes searched the room, finding Logan, who was leaning against the wall by the door. “You two came together.”

  “He gave me a ride.” I squeezed Tristan’s hand. “That’s it.”

  “I’m not after your girl, Tristan,” Logan said. “Stop looking at me like that.”

&n
bsp; Tristan sighed. Even though he still got jealous at the drop of a dime, he was at least learning to trust me more. He nodded slowly. “Did coach hear?” He asked.

  “Not yet,” Logan said. “You going to be good to go by Friday?”

  “What’s today, Monday?” Tristan asked.

  “It’s Wednesday.”

  Tristan let out a croaking laugh. “Couple beers and I’ll be good to go.”

  He caught the look on my face and laughed again, but the sound was so weak it made my heart ache for him. “It was a joke, Wheels.”

  “What happened?” I asked. I’d spent a while thinking about how I would approach it, and eventually decided the direct approach was the way to go. I knew they’d pumped his stomach for something. My darkest thoughts went to the idea of him trying to hurt himself, but it didn’t feel right. I’d just seen him before it happened. Apparently, an anonymous caller had let the police know someone at his address needed medical attention.

  Still, who else would have called for help? He was alone.

  Tristan looked at me with no concern on his face, like it was the most casual thing in the world. “Apparently I had a generous helping of drugs in my stomach.”

  My eyes stung, but I held back from letting tears come. “Tristan. This is serious. What is going on?”

  He clenched his jaw, staring ahead. “You guys had better go. I need to get some rest if I’m going to make the game on Friday.”

  “Look, man,” Logan said. “You know I would happily let you destroy your body for the team if it meant giving me a better shot at a scholarship. But maybe you should focus on yourself for a little while and let this Friday go.”

  “Fuck that,” Tristan said. “I’m playing.”

  “Unless coach hears about the drugs. Remember, he said—”

  Tristan reached out suddenly, grabbing Logan’s shirt. It looked like Logan could easily shake Tristan’s weakened grip, but he let himself be held there. “Are you threatening to tell him?” Tristan hissed.