by Leila James
I shrug, biting my lip. “My parents will be home soon.”
A little whimper escapes me as he flicks his thumb over my clit again and boldly demands, “So?”
My hips angle toward him, giving him better access, even as I protest. “I should put my shorts back on.”
He sighs. “If you insist.” His fingers make one final pass over all of my hypersensitive skin before he removes his hand from my panties. He hasn’t released my neck, so I’m staring into his eyes as he sucks clean the fingers that had been inside me. He closes his eyes, moaning as he tastes me. “Fuck, that’s good,” he growls. “Next time, you’re coming on my face. I want my tongue inside your pussy.”
The thought of it has all my muscles clenching. I release a breath through pursed lips. Gingerly, I climb off of Micah’s lap, tug on my shorts, and sit down in the chair next to him. My tea is lukewarm when I take a sip, but I’m beyond caring. “You can reheat your coffee in the microwave, if you want.”
He lifts his mug, takes a sip and immediately gets up, crossing to the microwave in three long strides. When he sits back down, he gestures to the worksheet. “I’d say you enjoyed my winnings as much as I did.”
I grin behind my mug before I take another sip of my tea. “Maybe.”
“That means you should plan on coming to the party, too.”
My brows lift as I internally panic. “You’re kidding.”
“Nah. It’s at my house. You’ll be fine.”
“Um …” For a second, I’m about to refuse, but then I think about what’s happened between us and blurt out, “Okay.”
His eyes light up. “I could have sworn you’d fight me on that one.”
“I almost did.”
He chuckles, planting his hands on his thighs. “I should find my T-shirt.”
My gaze roams over his bare chest, his nipples still taut. I want to run my thumbs over them but have no idea if guys like that. “What? Why?” I’m enjoying the view too much to connect the dots.
“Because your parents just pulled up.” When he stands, it clicks. A very long, very thick erection tents his joggers.
“Oh shit!” I fly out of my seat, hands to my face. “Your bag is still upstairs?”
He nods, giving me a little smirk.
“I’ll get it.” I dash up the stairs, grab his bag out of my room, and toss it into his hands as I race back down. “There’s a bathroom that way.” I point down the front hallway.
With Micah’s long legs crossing the distance in no time flat, he, his naked chest, and his rock-hard dick are safely tucked into the bathroom just as my parents walk through the door.
Chapter 26
Jeez. I have no idea how long we’d spent messing around cleaning the car, showering, and reviewing Spanish homework. And I’d lost all sense of time and space and gravity while Micah gave me that orgasm. If my face wasn’t already pink enough from our earlier activities, blood rushes forth again when my parents walk in. If they’d come back just ten minutes earlier … oh my God.
“Hey, Daphne. Whose SUV is that out front?” Dad’s expression is quizzical.
“Micah’s.”
Dad’s brows inch toward his hairline. “Micah?”
Mom pats his arm. “The boy she’s tutoring. Remember? I told you about him.”
His jaw works back and forth. “Huh. I guess I’ve been more distracted lately than I thought.”
I gesture to Micah’s Spanish book and worksheet on the table. “He helped me get the whipped cream off my car, and then we worked on his homework for that dual-level Spanish class I’m in. He’s one of the Spanish II students. I was helping him with irregular preterite tense conjugations.” Because my parents really needed all of that info. I clamp my lips together so I stop babbling before they question me further.
Dad sighs and looks at his phone. “Well, it’s close to ten. You should probably finish up. School night and all.”
I nod quickly. “He was just using the bathroom before taking off.”
As if summoned by my words, Micah strides down the hallway toward us. “Hi, Mr. and Mrs. Davis. I’m Micah Robertson.”
Mom offers him a smile while Dad grumbles something about Micah looking more like he’s in college.
“It’s nice to meet you, Micah. How’s the tutoring going?” Mom tilts her head to the side, appraising him.
“Well, your daughter is really smart, that’s for sure.”
Dad clears his throat. “But how’s it going? Is it helping you?”
Micah gives me an amused smile, lips twitching before he returns his gaze to my parents. “Daphne says things are coming along really well.”
Oh my God. I don’t miss his emphasis on the word coming, and I almost reach out to smack his arm but figure that would be more of a hint to my parents than anything else.
Mom nods. “Well, that’s great to hear. We’re going to pop some popcorn and watch a movie in the den.” She tugs on Dad’s arm.
He hesitates, eyeing Micah. Dad’s voice is gruff as he addresses him. “Nice to meet you.” He puts his arm around Mom, and they walk into the kitchen together, just out of sight.
Micah picks up his worksheet, tucking it into a folder, then puts that and his book back inside his bag. “Walk outside with me?”
“Yeah, sure.” My parents are no doubt listening in the kitchen, so I don’t say more.
Once we’re outside, I assume we’ll go directly to Micah’s SUV and he’ll take off, but he surprises me by plunking himself down on the porch steps. “So, you said they’re in some sort of therapy?”
I inhale sharply through my nose. “Yeah. They’re okay. They own Davis Bookstore in town.”
“Ah. I know that place. I’ve never been inside, but it seems really nice.”
“Yeah, well, it’s about to go under. It’s mostly money at the root of my parents’ issues. At least, I think so, anyway.”
He presses his lips together and rests his well-muscled forearms on his thighs. “I’m sorry. That sucks—especially if it’s messing with their marriage.”
I let out a depressed sigh. “Yeah. They have distinctly different thoughts on what needs to be done to keep the store, so it’s starting to cause arguments, and—”
“So, that’s why you’re so hell-bent on your studies? It’s a money issue?”
“Partly. I’ve always been a good student, but now the pressure is on. I have to be. I need to earn another scholarship.” I rub my hands nervously on my legs. “And I like to be in control. Most of the time.” I sink my teeth into my lower lip, thinking about how out of control Micah had made me just fifteen minutes ago. I’d been writhing on his lap, completely giving myself over to his ministrations.
With his head turned away from me so I can barely hear him, Micah murmurs, “Well, at least your parents are trying. My parents just ignore each other. It’s kind of like they’re leading separate lives. I don’t even think they like each other anymore.”
“That sucks.” I swallow, wondering again about his family. “Do they ignore you too, Micah?”
“You could say that.” He stands, brushing off the seat of his joggers. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” His shoulders are held rigid, and the muscles in his cheek keep flexing, his jaw tense.
If I had to take a wild guess, I’d say Micah’s home life is not all it’s cracked up to be. And there’s nothing that could keep me away from his football game tomorrow. Because I’m pretty sure he needs someone to be there. Someone who is there for him.
Chapter 27
Oh boy, I’d gotten so wrapped up in my whipped-creamed car and then Micah himself that I hadn’t had time to think about my spirit girl duties until after he’d left last night. So here I am, racing around again. It’s all good, though, because I have a plan.
Ducking into the little drugstore on the corner, I pull three bags of Starburst candies off the rack—three because Micah’s favorites are the orange and lemon ones, and unfortunately, they don’t make bags of those flavors alon
e. I know this from the form he’d filled out at the beginning of the year that the advising teacher for the spirit squad finally left for me in the library the other day.
Pulling into the school parking lot, I rip open the bags, glad to see there are enough of the flavors he likes to make him two treat bags, one for each locker. I’d stayed up until one in the morning finishing the signs for his lockers. Hopefully, I can pull off doing this in secret again. Now it’s just fun for me to hide it from him and not because I think it’s a problem. Except for Alora. Yeah. Better keep this on the down low for now. I don’t want to incite her wrath—as if I haven’t already.
The little chirp from my phone has me pulling it out to check my messages.
Daph’s Dream Dick: Don’t forget to ask Roudebush what my score was on the test.
Daph’s Dream Dick: I really do think I kicked that test’s ass.
Smiling to myself, I decide to tease him.
Me: Oh. I forgot about that.
Daph’s Dream Dick: Did not.
Me: I take it you still want me to come?
Daph’s Dream Dick: I definitely still want you to come. Again and again.
Daph’s Dream Dick: On my face.
He did not just say that. One glance in my rearview mirror tells me my face is beet red. I should have known better than to mess with him, because Micah is way out of my league when it comes to flirting and innuendo. My legs clamp together involuntarily as the rush of dampness hits my panties.
Daph’s Dream Dick: But if you were referring to the game and the party, that’d be a yes.
Daph’s Dream Dick: Daph?
Me: I’m here.
Me: Just trying to figure out if it’s obvious that I’m blushing really hard now.
Daph’s Dream Dick: It’s going to be fun finding all the ways to make you blush.
Blowing out a breath, I pull myself together, gather my things, and step out of my car. Once again, there aren’t many cars in the lot. I hurry inside and make quick work of getting the sign up on Micah’s locker in the main hallway and tucking a baggie of lemon-flavored Starburst on the shelf at eye level so he’ll see it. Closing the locker door as quietly as I can, I hear voices coming in my direction. I freeze for a second, then scamper down the hallway toward the gym.
Outside the locker room, I pause for a second, listening. When I don’t hear any hint of anyone, I proceed inside, make my way to Micah’s locker, and set my things down on the bench. The sign for his gym locker is pretty damn cute, if I do say so myself. Last night, I’d drawn a caricature of him running with the ball, complete with his number twelve jersey. It looks a lot like the star tight end—long legs, broad shoulders, and a literal tight end. I chuckle even as I struggle with his locker dial. I finally get it open and tuck the baggie of orange Starburst inside, close it, and rotate back to the bench to grab the tape and sign. I’m just about finished when someone enters the room. Micah’s locker is in a spot where I’m not immediately visible, but— Crap! I need to get out of here before somebody starts taking off clothes or something else equally mortifying.
Scrambling, I secure the sign to the locker, throw the roll of tape back into my book bag, and hike it over my shoulder so I can make my escape.
My heart hammers behind my rib cage, and I strain to listen again. Whoever is here seems to have stopped and opened a locker. I can hear the unmistakable sound of clothing being shucked off. Oh. Oh no. No, no, no!
My pulse races. Can I hide? Can I somehow sneak past without anyone knowing I’m here? Shit! Peeking around the corner, I see two huge football players—Shayne and Carter—in varying states of undress and another, Derek, who I actually have a class with, has just walked in and dropped his duffel on the bench.
Thinking only to flee, my sweaty hand grips my bag strap. The problem is I have to walk past them to get out of here. I hide my eyes behind my free hand, and slowly begin to creep forward.
When a big hand encircles my bicep, I freeze in place, and my eyes squeeze shut. “Sorry. I’m sorry,” I gasp.
“What the fuck are you doing in here?” I don’t know which guy the voice came from, but it doesn’t matter. The gruffness, the attitude, the manhandling—it all reminds me of that day at the park—and suddenly, I can’t draw a breath.
This is my worst nightmare coming to life. Huge guys with big muscles, capable of doing whatever the hell they want. Clawing, heart-clenching, mind-numbing fear grips me.
“She’s flipping the fuck out, man.”
Yes. Yes, I am. I’m shaking so hard I can’t even put one foot in front of the other to get myself out of here. It’s like my feet are welded to the floor. And I couldn’t escape even if I wanted to because this guy won’t let go of my arm.
“What are you doing playing at the park so late, little girl?” A group of boys advances toward me. I’m only eleven, so they have to be … I don’t even know how old. They’re big boys. Fifteen? Sixteen? Older? Definitely high school kids. Definitely older than me.
The closer they get, the bigger they seem—and there are three of them. They stalk toward me as I try in vain to back up and get away. Oh my gosh. My skin becomes sticky with sweat, and I get a funny feeling in my belly, like a swarm of angry butterflies.
“How old do you think she is?” One of the boys has managed to work his way behind me, and he speaks right before he reaches out a hand to flip up my skirt in the back. I swat it back into place and hold it down with both hands.
“I’m eleven. Um, I have to go. I was just going home.” I try to edge to the side between two of the boys so I can take off down the wooded path to my housing development, but they put their arms up, barring my escape.
“Middle school, huh?”
“She’s kind of skinny and gangly.”
“I have no doubt she’ll grow into those long legs.” This boy flicks his hand at the front of my skirt and, as a tear rolls down my cheek, I turn one way then the other, desperate to break free of the circle and run away from here.
“Still has pudgy baby cheeks.”
“Leave me alone. I-I have to go home.”
One of the guys tilts his head, a terrible smirk on his face. “Well, you know what I always say …” He chuckles, pausing for effect as he pulls my skirt up. “If there’s grass on the field, play fucking ball. Why don’t we have a look?”
The other boys snicker at that, and I blink, not fully understanding. Something about the looks on their faces oozes its way down my spine, stealing my voice and making me feel sick.
From behind, big, bruising arms wrap around me, like a band around my biceps. I struggle, trying to twist away, and I’m crying big fat teardrops that roll down my cheeks. “We’re going to turn you into our perfect little slut, okay, baby?” He laughs harshly in my ear. “Don’t worry, it’ll feel good. We’ll show you.”
My lips tremble, and I can’t talk because I’m trying so hard just to breathe. I squeeze my eyes shut as rough hands grab at my legs and then my undies.
My eyes blink open to this new horror, and I quickly scan their faces. All three guys are looking at me like I’m some strange curiosity.
“Hey, isn’t this the girl who wears the Star Wars panties?” It’s Shayne who snickers beside me, his eyes roaming down to my skirt as his meaty fingers continue to dig into my arm. He yanks me in front of him, wrapping a steel arm around me, trapping my other arm to my body.
Derek crosses his arms over his muscled chest. “Yeah, that’s her. She’s in my government class.”
“I’ve been wanting a peek at Baby Yoda for days now.” Carter edges closer, eyeing my legs and raking his teeth over his lip. I want to vomit.
Cold sweat trickles between my shoulder blades. They wouldn’t. Please, no.
My heart rate shoots through the roof, but this time I find my voice. “Let me go!” I shriek. The words fly out of my mouth and pierce the air before echoing through the locker room. I struggle, but it’s no use. Tears prick the back of my eyes. “Stop!”
“Aw, come on now,” he whispers near my ear. “Don’t be like that, baby girl. We just want to see those cute-as-fuck little panties of yours we’ve all been hearing about.” Shayne takes the edge of my skirt between his fingers and starts to lift it as Carter guffaws with laughter, covering his mouth with his hands.
Derek, on the other hand, swallows hard. I pray he mans the fuck up, and fast. My eyes connect with his, silently pleading with him.
“Fuck, dude. Let her go. Don’t be a dick.” Derek shakes his head and turns around, slamming his locker shut and picking up his duffel. “Come on. Let her go.”
Shayne gives a rough chuckle and shoves me away from him. “I was just fucking around.”
My chest heaves as I whirl back around, my eyes piercing his. “No you weren’t, you fucking asshole!”
My eyes flick to the other two guys one last time before I spin on my heel, and stumble blindly toward the exit.
When I make it to the door leading out to the main gym, I run smack into someone. I cry out, half sobbing.
“Hey. Hey, hey, hey …” Hands grab at my arms, stopping my progress.
“Let. Me. Go. Let me go!” I flail, wrenching myself free and covering my face with my hands. Terror still tears through my very being.
When I sense that the person responsible for stopping me hasn’t left, but also isn’t touching me, I slowly pull my shaking hands away. Micah’s watching me cautiously, his expression a mix of confusion and concern. “Are you okay?”
I shake my head. My voice croaks out, “N-no.”
My eyes follow the movement of his throat as he swallows. His voice comes out low and practically murderous. “Tell me.”
