by K. B. Nelson
“You went through my phone?”
“To be fair, you really should have a passcode,” he points out. “Especially if you’re going to be having an affair.”
“You couldn’t make up a name?” I question in shock and disbelief. No wonder she never answered my pleas for her take my shift when I felt too sick to my stomach to withstand the burden of overseeing unruly teens after school.
“I didn’t want it to be suspicious.”
“Suspicious?” I step toward him, and he retreats backward until he’s pushed against the locker, thudding against metal. I hover before him in a threatening manner. “I have spent all day engaging in a game of cat and mouse with you.”
He laughs to himself and chews into his lip. “You’re so fucking hot when you’re mad, Teach.”
“Call me that again, and I’m going to make you scream.”
“Really?” He arches his brow. “Make me scream, Teach.”
I reach down and squeeze the permanent erection in his jeans. He doesn’t scream, but he lets out a panty-melting yelp followed by a stifled moan. His head is thrown back against the locker as I tighten my grip.
He shuffles against the locker and reaches to free himself from his jeans. He pushes his boxers down, exposing his hard cock. I tease him with my fingers, drumming a pattern along the length of his shaft.
When I wrap my hand around him, he tangles his fingers in my hair and pushes my head down. At first, I hesitate so he applies more pressure until I oblige and sink to my knees.
I wet my palm with my tongue and move to stroke him in short, careful strokes. Fingers dig into my scalp and his knees buckle when I take him in my mouth completely.
I suck his cock, applying just the right amount of pressure while my hand twists up and down his shaft. He’s shaking and on the verge of an explosion, unable to hold himself together long enough to make this worthwhile, but on the other end of the equation, the longer it takes him for him to blow, the higher the chance we’ll be caught red-handed and then the gossip queens in this town will really have something to talk about.
“Fuck, Stass—“ His body spasms. “I’m going to come.”
But I can’t give him that satisfaction. I release my hand from his erection and pull my mouth free, resulting in a loud and wet pop. His eyes hunker down at me and he shakes his head furiously.
“Please,” he whispers, but I stand to my feet with an evil grin. “Fine.” He reaches for the back of my head and pulls me into a rough kiss, and from beneath, I can feel his hand stroking away at his cock. He guides himself underneath my skirt and aligns his cock with my panties and chokes on his throat as he releases his warm seed against the thin fabric of my underwear.
He struggles to catch his breath, and I make the task even more difficult for him by chewing into his lip and slipping my tongue into his mouth, stealing whatever breath he requires to remain standing. He collapses forward, hunkered over my shoulder as he comes down from his orgasm.
When he comes back down to planet Earth, I reach underneath my skirt and free myself from stained panties. I kick them over my heels, catch them in my hand and push them against his chest.
“These are yours now,” I whisper against his ear and tug against his flesh with my teeth. “I’ll see you this weekend,” I promise and take a measured step backward, watching him stuff my black panties into his back pocket, all the while never taking his eyes off mine.
I continue to pace backward until I reach the light switch and flip it off, leaving him in the dark as I exit the locker room and begin the long march to my car. As I push through the double glass doors of the school, and feel the cool air breezing through my hair, I feel at peace.
Something about that stupid boy makes me feel alive.
21
Game nights across the state are interchangeable with one another, with the only distinction that matters is where you’re seated on the bleachers. Tonight we’re in Old Town’s territory, where the currently undefeated Halo’s are pitted against the Chiefs. Coach insisted it was to be an easy game.
Unfortunately, the star quarterback, Kenny Laurence was arrested for a DUI late last night, which I’m sure I’ll get the blame for come Monday gossip circles. Unfortunately for the Somehow, Brock saw it fitting to promote Kemper to the position for one night only. It wasn’t an idea I was keen on because he’s been so far untested on the field, and has only attended seven practices, but Coach saw something in him.
Now, I see it too. He’s a star on the field, with the agility and dexterity of a budding pro. I should have known by the way he carried himself in bed. The Halo’s break from the line, and their quarterback launches the ball into a clustered field. The intended recipient is knocked to the ground, and Kemper dives toward the ball.
He intercepts it, and the crowd goes wild. I jump to my feet and howl as he rolls on the ground and picks himself up to run, jumping over the first Halo that attempts to knock him down.
He sprints toward the end zone and with nobody left within tackling range, and nobody on that field can run faster than him. It’s an inevitable touchdown as he crosses white line after white line and scores with a sexy dance in the end zone.
Across the way, in the home section of the bleachers, the crowd groans as they’re dreams of going to the State Championships are crushed. With fifty-four seconds left on the clock, and a thirteen-point deficit, it’s nigh impossible to pull out a win.
I look down on that field with patriotism and adoration in my eyes as the Chiefs swamp their temporary quarterback—the man I’ve entangled myself with. Ashley notices the sudden change in me since I’ve confided in her and shoots me a friendly smile. I smile back, and the happiness I feel in my bones comes easy and without hesitation or doubt.
I meet Brock in the parking lot after the game. He’s ushering boisterous players onto the bus after another winning performance. I stand to the side, waving at the students as they board the bus, but I don’t look at him. I don’t so much as glance at Kemper as his teammates cheer him on, and push him onto the bus with rowdy glee. Looks like he’s finally made some friends, but that’s only because he carried the team to a well-earned victory after all hope had been lost.
Kenny Laurence is one of the best players in the state. Coach was lucky to have him, but then he went and did something stupid, and the team was left deflated. Without Kemper leading the team tonight, any hopes of a State Championship could have been thrown out the window.
That’s my wonder-boy, always showing up when he’s needed the most. I need him right now. I’ve needed him since the last time I had him, and I’m aching for a night of freedom. I’m plotting and planning, calculating my next move, and tonight is the night my game plan is shifted into action.
“Good job, Coach.” I pat him on the back and his eyes shift to me, confused. “Brock, I mean.”
He ensures nobody is within hearing range, including the assistant coach who stands a few feet away, with his arms folded against each other and engaging in a post-game discussion with the coach from the losing team. “I’m surprised you showed up,” he says to me through gritted teeth that are too occupied wearing a fake smile.
“Can I congratulate you without this turning into a fight?”
“I’m sorry.” He shakes his head. “I just never know where I stand with you.”
The entire foundation of our marriage anymore is not knowing truths from falsehoods. “Right now, you’re standing right in front of me.”
“Is that some kind of metaphor?”
“We’re not fighting,” I whisper and wet my lips. “That’s something.”
“An empty something.”
Without warning, I lean in and plant a kiss against his lips. It’s supposed to be for show, and it is, but it’s loaded with a little something extra. Something spicy and a little sweet, seasoned with contempt and malice. If I’m going to continue this charade, I’m going to do it on my own accord.
He’s taken aback, and when I pull
away his eyes twist sideways, trying to read my intentions, but it’s near impossible to read dead eyes beyond the obvious decay. He leans back in for another kiss, but I bow my head so he collides with the top of my head, where he plants a kiss anyway.
I lay a careful hand against his chest, steadying him where he stands. The guilt begins to creep in. It’s chaos. Absolute chaos, how I can go from wanting to inflict pain to wishing I could heal it all.
“I’m going to go home and get some rest,” I say softly and then meet him at his eyes. “I think I’m going to my mom’s tomorrow afternoon.”
“Are you sure?” One brow arches. “It’s a long drive.”
“It’s fine. I’ll be home around two.”
“You could,” he begins but stops himself. “You could stay with me tonight.”
“I don’t think that’s the best idea.” I reach for his hand and tangle my fingers with his. “Besides, you need to get some rest for that charity event tomorrow afternoon.”
“Yeah,” he sighs. “I guess.”
“I’ll make it up to you.”
His eyes glisten with the promise that maybe we can fix what’s broken.
“I’ll have dinner ready for you when you come home Sunday.” I look at him for a second more and stand on the tip of my toes to kiss him softly, and in the corner of my eye, I see Kemper glaring at me from the letterbox window of the school bus.
22
It’s late at night, a little after the stroke of midnight when I make the call to Kemper while lying in bed in a pair of jeans and a plaid button-down—my signature look. He answers on the second ring.
“Don’t try and fight me on this,” I start the conversation with authority.
“You know I’d never fight you about anything.”
“I’m going to pick you up at that gas station two streets over from your hotel.”
“Wait,” he stutters through the phone. “I thought you went home.”
“As far as anyone’s concerned. I did.” I spin my feet off the edge of the bed. “I’ll pick you up in ten minutes.”
“What about Coach?”
“Trust me when I say he’s not paying attention.”
“What if he catches me?”
“Didn’t I tell you not to fight me on this?”
“Right. I’m on my way.”
Parked under the shadow of a towering tree hanging over the run-down gas station, I await Kemper. My eyes scan the street ahead, the direction from which he should arrive, but with the exception of a passing car here and there, nothing catches my eye.
Finally, I spot him jogging across the street, his head craning both ways to check for traffic after he’s already crossed into the intersection. That’s the boy I’ve chosen to link myself to. For better or worse, I’m shackled to him, chained at the heart. He tears me one direction, while the other man shackled to my soul tears me in the other.
Once he’s crossed the street and steps foot on the concrete, I flick the headlights at him. He looks around nervously before fast approaching my car and jumping into the passenger seat.
His hair is slicked to the side like a proper gentlemen and he wears an ironed blue dress shirt over dark, well-fitting jeans. Sharp boots cut against the bottom hem of jeans, and it thrills me he saw it fitting to dress up for our date.
“My heart is pounding,” he says as he slams the door shut. “I feel like I’m going to have a heart attack.
“Don’t be a puss.” I turn the ignition to start the car then peel my eyes over at him. He’s sweating and shaking. “Seriously, this makes you nervous yet you wanted to bend me over my desk at school?”
“Touche.” He points to the road ahead. “Where we going, Teach?”
“Somewhere where you can chill the hell out.”
Kemper and I stand before a carnival, the moon shining bright, painting the scene in an eerie light. Tall rides bleed against the night sky, with soft white light reflecting upon metal cages.
We parked the car three blocks away on a tree-lined street separating the small town of Old Town from the highway that eventually connects back to Ridgefield.
He holds my hand, his fingers interlaced with mine as we both look past a chain-link fence that surrounds the entire property of the fairgrounds, with only a small break for an entrance. We could have snuck in the front, but we decided it was too risky. We didn’t think about how we were going to get over the fence.
“I’ll go first,” he exclaims and breaks away from me. He grips onto the fence and kicks his foot against the bottom. He hoisters himself up and twists his head over his shoulder. “Are you coming?”
I nod and join him at the fence. I take a nervous glance around me before reaching as high as I can, and inserting my fingers through a small opening. It’s not too difficult to climb, and we make it to the top with relative ease, but when I kick my first foot over the top, I lose my balance and fail backward, landing on my back.
“Are you all right?” Kemper questions from above me as maneuvers over the top of the fence. He lands on his feet beside me.
“I’m alive.”
He reaches for my hand and assists in pulling me to my feet. I arch forward and stretch out. “You’re quite the acrobat.”
“Shut up,” I command and release my hand from his. “Do you want some cotton candy?”
“Uhh.” He takes a quick look around then narrows his eyes on me. “I don’t think they’re selling.”
“Follow me.” I roll my eyes and march toward the sweet concoction car. There’s a lock on the door, but it’s not in use. I whip out my phone and use the light to find what I’m looking for once I’m inside. There’s a row of stuffed cotton candy bags hanging from a tight line. I snatch a bag and jump out of the car.
“You know this is stealing right,” he points out as I shut the door, and do the owner a favor by clicking the lock over the hinge. “Incredibly immoral.”
“That’s rich,” I say under my breath and turn to him. “Coming from the guy banging a married woman.”
“I don’t think that’s how this works.”
“Then enlighten me.”
“I don’t know.” He shrugs. “I think everything that’s considered wrong in this world sits on an always-revolving axis. Nothing is stagnant.”
“You know,” I say as I twist the tie off the bag, “sometimes, you come off deeply intelligent.”
“Can I continue?”
“Sure thing, Nobody.” I smile before pushing a cloud of blue cotton into my mouth. It dissipates against my tongue, and I let out a soft moan that rivals the verbalization I throw out when being stuffed with a cock.
“Stealing is wrong. Cheating is wrong. Killing is wrong, but they’re all different levels of wrong.”
“I see your point,” I point out and tease his lips with blue cotton. He opens wide and I stuff the candy in his mouth. “I just don’t think we can rightfully judge anything. Not after what we’ve done.”
“But where is the line?” He rips the bag out of my hand and holds it behind his back.
“Hey,” I grumble. “That’s mine. You’re lucky I was sharing it with you.”
“Why are you upset?”
“Because you just stole my shit.”
“I rest my case.” He steals a handful of blue clouds, leaving a tiny piece for me, and passes the bag back to me.
“So, you’re going to educate me, huh?” I laugh and toss the bag into the trash. “Is there anything else you would like to teach me?” I purse my lips and place one hand on his chest and dart my tongue against the candy, and then take the rest in my mouth. When I raise my eyes to look at him, he meets me halfway and chews against my lip, cleaning the candy from my flesh, and then tasting my tongue the way I taste his; blue raspberry passion.
I pull away from his kiss and take his hand. “Come on.”
“Where are we going now?”
“Follow me into the wasteland, and you’ll soon find out.”
23
My first memory as a child is waiting in line for the carousel ride, a rousing fantasyland of wonder, where horses come alive and I would be the reigning princess. My memory begins and ends in that line, because my parents deemed the line to be too long for them to stand in the hot sun.
I’d end up riding the horses for the first time the following year, and revel in the freedom every year that followed. Until I was thirteen years old, it remained my favorite ride. Back then I had an incorruptible soul, where every little thing evoked a sense of promise and endless possibility.
As a child, I was a princess galloping on a horse. Tonight, I’m the Queen held in place by my lustful King as I stampede toward the inevitable, and though the carousel is dark and void of life, it moves just the same in the pitch-black imagination behind closed eyes. I hear the music that refuses to sound. I feel the rising and lowering of the gears as we spin in slow circles.
Kemper holds me tight, a strong hand caressing my stomach and I’m trapped between two extremes—the heat of his body and the hardness of the gold and white cane-painted pole.
“Well,” he huffs, “this is eventful.”
I politely disagree with his sarcasm, “It’s peaceful.”
“Maybe,” he sighs as he jumps off the horse and lands on his feet beside me.
I slide back on the seat, taking advantage of the additional space. “Just pretend it’s moving.”
He tilts his head and scuffs his boot against the metal and rugged flooring. “My imagination doesn’t work like that.”
“Really?” I stare him down. “Does it work when you’re thinking about me? When you’re lying in that ancient motel bed with your pants around your ankles, polishing your dick and wishing I were there to finish you off?”
“Jesus,” he groans. “That’s a little graphic, don’t you think?”
“A little graphic, but wholly appropriate.”
“If you insist on knowing,” he says lowly and leans down to my ear, breathing warm fire against me, “it’s a little more graphic than that.”
