by K. B. Nelson
“It’s not about the grade. It’s not even about him. It’s about being the girl accomplishing what nobody else could.” I buck my hips and bounce against his restrained cock. “I’ll be a legend.”
“Wait a minute,” he says and pushes me off him and to the side. “Did you say I was flatlining?”
“I’m going to need you to keep up, Brick.”
“Nah.” He reaches down and adjusts his dick through the thin, black fabric of boxer briefs. It’s important—apparently—to make sure your junk is comfortable before confronting accusations about your stagnating reputation. “You can’t just put something like that out there.”
“What are you going to do about it?”
His eyes sparkle. Nothing good can come of this. “How about a bet?”
I roll my eyes and spin my feet off the edge of the bed. “You have nothing that I want.”
“How about this?” He crawls to me and kneels behind my lingerie-clad body. “You say I’m flatlining. I say I’m just taking my time.” He curls his fingers under the strap of my bra and leans in closer. “But if I can seduce Tyra Young, the unapproachable and untouchable daughter of Senator Young before you can seduce and break that poor man’s heart, then you have to sleep with me one last time before we head separate ways come graduation.”
“I’m still not seeing what’s in it for me.”
“If I win…” His mouth hovers along my neck, planting short, tempting kisses between each word. “You still win because then you can have this any time you want.”
I throw my hand behind his head and crane my neck to meet his gaze. “And if I win—“
“That’s not going to happen,” he interrupts with the most devious of smiles, the kind that could cut diamonds out of glass.
“It’s simple. If I win, you have to admit that I’m better at this game than you.”
“That’s all?”
I raise myself off the bed and onto my feet. “In person and in writing.” I can’t help but smile wickedly. “I’ll frame that confession for generations to come. It’ll stand as the eighth wonder of the world displayed next to the Mona Lisa in The Goddamn Louvre.”
“We have a deal.” He scoots to the edge of the bed, his steel abs contracting and expanding as he throws his hand out to shake mine. “I look forward to fucking your brains against that wall behind us.”
“And I look forward to the self-destruction of your own pride.” I slip my hand into a dresser beside the bed and retrieve two pairs of handcuffs I had previously acquired during a routine traffic stop gone awry. “Now lay on your back.”
“You surrendering already?” he asks with a curious, but content smirk as he rolls onto his back and stretches his arms to the posts of the bed. “It’s probably for the best.”
“Don’t you know?” I give him a playful toss of my shoulder. “You should always expect the unexpected with me.” I climb onto the bed and straddle his hips. “Since you can’t exactly claim what you haven’t earned, you might have to settle for oral.”
He pushes his groin upward, craving the friction that only I can provide. “That’s fine with me smokebomb.” His eyes shift upward to supervise me as I cuff his right arm to the metal post, and follow quickly with the left. “It’s just a waiting game until I get the entire plate, if you catch my drift.”
It would be impossible not to catch that. “I admire your tenacity to dream.” My fingers run through my hair as my body comes to a resting position with my ass planted firmly against his pulsing hardness.
“You’ll either fail and come running back to my bed, or you’ll get your heart broken and come running back to my bed,” he says as I push my body back, ass in the air and begin to make my way down the creases and folds of his ridiculous abs. “Either way, against your protests, I know you’ll never really be able to truly live without me fucking you to sleep every night.”
I pucker my lips around his belly button and flick my tongue directly beneath it, slowly making my way further south until I hook my fingers into the waistband of his underwear and pull them to his knees. The handcuffs clank against the posts as his body tenses. His eyes flicker shut and his teeth sink into his bottom lip.
My fingers tangle around his erection, lightly caressing the length of his shaft. I take pleasure in every moan that’s tossed from his helpless lips. “You know something, Brick?”
“What’s that?” he asks in his usual just-suck-my-dick tone that he often uses in times of sexual indecency, a tone that screams, I’m not listening to a word you say.
I grip his cock as hard as I can, forcing him to throw his head upward to throw me a death stare. “You have always underestimated me. I don’t have a dick swinging between my legs so I could never pull off seduction the way you do.” With relative ease—and satisfaction—I swing my left leg over his body and hop onto my feet. “But you’re forgetting something. I’m Apple Fucking Malloy.”
“Yeah, yeah.” He wiggles his hips, his erection ebbing with every little movement. “You’re a real badass.” His eyes lock on me and for the shortest of moments, I almost slip back into straddling position. That’s what I would do on a normal night—he’s my biggest weakness after all—but tonight isn’t a normal night. Tonight is the beginning of an all out war. Too much is on the line to give in now.
So, I simply smile. “Goodnight Brick.”
“Wait a damn minute,” he hollers and I can see the realization starting to sink in. “If you’re going to bed then why the hell did you chain me to your bed?”
“It’s just another game. Sleep tight.” I blow him a kiss and flip the light switch off. The moon blows through the window, casting shadows across his beautiful body. “If you need me, I’ll be on the couch.”
“You can’t leave me here,” he screams and I swear to God, if he wakes annoying Lydia from her peaceful slumber, we’re going to have a real problem. I’ll probably sic her on him. “You can’t leave me like this. I can’t even jerk off!”
“Oh Brick… Even old dogs learn new tricks. I’m sure if you focus hard enough, you can will yourself to come.”
“You’re going to pay for this.” He begins thrashing in the bed, trying to escape a night filled with misery and balls as blue as the ocean on a cloudy night. The handcuffs scratch against metal and it’s hard to think back to a time when I was more proud of myself. Because, while the game has just begun, I’ve already won the first battle. It’s a small victory, but Goddamn does it feel good. “You’re going to pay for this,” he screams again as I close the door.
“I never do,” I whisper to myself. “I never do.”
2
There is nothing more savory than sipping a mimosa in the early hours of a warm spring Sunday. If that says anything about me, it screams that I try my best to enjoy life. It’s a ride that can be cut short, or prolonged into creeping misery to the count of a hundred years. It’s not often that mortality flirts with perfect timing.
Even in my young age, with the heft of twenty-two years under my belt, I can’t help but to think about the tragedy of the number twenty-seven. All the good people die young, and that’s how I know I’ll fumble across the finish line at more than a century of life. I’m not a good person. I don’t deserve to live a life worth grieving if it should be cut short.
I’m parked on a black stool that is curled up next to a tall tabletop that passes for a college-sized version of a breakfast nook. It’s the same routine every morning. I sit alone and stare out the french doors, looking into the garden that lines the fence of the patio.
Today is different. The plants on the patio, and the trees beyond the wooden fence are in full bloom. Today has purpose, and it’s with purpose that I carry on. The game began the moment Brick and I made that bet. The best is my purpose. I’m nobody when I’m not actively engaged in the art of manipulation and deceit. I’m hollow without it.
And I don’t deserve to die young.
“Good morning,” Brick says from behind me, shattering a
ny sense of peace. “Woke up with a key in my hand.”
I spin the stool in a half-circle and face him. His tattoos are on full display as he stands in nothing but tight, black boxer briefs and sneakers. His jeans are draped across his arm.
“You were free to leave at any time.” I smile and take a sip of my mimosa. “Provided you woke your lazy ass up.”
“That’s okay, sweetheart.” He steps to me and places a soft kiss against the top of my head. He lowers his mouth against my ear and I’m hit with warm air and morning breath. “I just left five hours of an erections worth of a mess on your bed.”
“Really?” I reach forth and tug at the lining of his briefs then pull him close. I make a deliberate attempt to steal his attention so that his eyes rest on me as I hook my fingers into his underpants. Swiftly, I swipe my drink off the table and dump the alcoholic orange juice onto his flaccid cock.
“Fuck, that’s cold,” he yelps and jumps backward. “You’re a wicked woman.”
Tell me something I don’t know. “Were you planning on getting dressed before you leave?”
“Wasn’t going to.” He reaches down and adjusts himself through the thin fabric.
I swivel on the stool and pour another glass of orange juice into my empty glass. “I’d suggest you put your jeans on before you walk out that door. You’re in the middle of campus and I would hate for the entire block to think you pissed your pants.”
He pushes his tongue against his cheek and smiles in simple defeat. “Have a splendid day, Apple.”
“Don’t worry about me.” I fill the remainder of my glass with moscato, watching the alcohol sink into the pool of vitamin C. “I have quite the eventful afternoon planned.”
“Really?” He bends to push his feet through jeans, his abs folding over in the process. The morning light streaming through the patio doors looks magnificent on him. “Care to share?”
“Have you already forgotten about our bet?”
When he’s done buttoning his jeans, he strokes the side of my face with his thumb. “You’re in too deep, Apple.”
I pull away from him and jump to my feet, taking great care to avoid spilling my drink in the process. “I’ll be laying the groundwork this morning. While you continue to watch your beloved virgin from a distance, I’ll be sucking Mr. Moon’s cock.”
He shakes his head in mock disgust. “Must you be so vulgar?”
“Don’t pretend like it bothers you.”
“Doesn’t bother.” He shrugs. “Just a little unbecoming. Don’t you think?”
I place my palms on the crux of his shoulders and spin him around. “Don’t let your double standards hit you in the ass on the way out.”
He nods and steps through a doorframe where there used to be a door. I follow him through the living room and to the front door. He places his hand on the knob and pulls the door open. “Don’t let your heart get broke.” He turns back to me and his face is full of intent, a fragile reminder that underneath all of the bullshit, he’s the only one who has ever cared for me. “Heartbreak looks good on you, like every other man or woman in this world. But I prefer my Apple when she has a bite to her, so let’s try to keep it that way.”
I said he cared for me. I didn’t say it wasn’t in his own fucked up way that only I could understand. I force an easy smile. “I hope you’re ready to admit defeat.”
“That’s a word that isn’t in my vocabulary, sweetie.”
“Good luck hunting.” My easy smile curls into something much more devious.
“I make my own luck.” Like a mirror, he throws his brand of devious right back at me. “You, of all people, should know that.“
“Are we going to keep throwing jabs, or are you going to get the hell out of my house so I can get on with my day?”
“I have an appointment with a certain young blonde woman, so I should probably dart.”
“I’m prone to agree.” I push him against the chest and out the door. He spins on his foot and begins the short walk to his black sports car. But I have one last game to play. “Brick?” I ask with a pout of my lips. Like an addict craving his next fix, he comes running back to me.
“Yeah?”
Before he can finish his one-word inquisition, I tip my glass and pour another perfectly good concoction onto his jean-clad groin.
“Wicked, wicked woman.”
“Tell me something I don’t know.” The last thing he sees is my victorious smile as I close the door on his face.
3
True Love Revolution.
Somebody fucking kill me.
Sunshine, rainbows and unicorns reign supreme under the afternoon sky. Everyone glows in a way only the ignorant could. If ignorance is bliss, then it’s also its own makeup brand. Sit back in a park one day—it can be any day—and the people who are the happiest are probably the same ones living in the shadows of their own self-induced shelter. They don’t know this world for what it really is.
Abstinence—the mission of those who converge every Sunday to celebrate their purity with their comrades—is great in theory. In practice, abstinence is a dark mark on the freedom of our souls. It’s a beautiful lie that fades into shades of doubt when a bird spreads her wings for the first time. When she takes to the sky, the world below becomes distant and unknown. Everything she thought she knew evaporates with just one thrust of a cock.
Everyone should learn to fly.
And I love to give them that extra push.
True Love Revolution—like most organizations on campus—has a faculty sponsor. Jensen Moon watches over these lost souls, and today I must integrate myself with the herd of sheep. I’ll fool them into thinking I’m one of them, and like the best wolves, I’ll lure my prey into a trap come nightfall.
I’m one of the first to arrive. It’ll be easier to blend in this way. It’s a psychology thing. Instead of coming in late, where the attention will be squared on me, I’ll already be there waiting. I take a seat into one of the twenty-or-so white foldable chairs. I make sure to pick a seat beside someone who is already there.
To my left is a youngish girl who looks to be a freshman. I have never seen her before, but it’s a large campus so that’s not anything out of the norm. Her hair color matches mine, but is cut shorter, barely reaching the top of her breasts that are hidden behind a white cashmere sweater—how appropriate.
Her hands are folded in her lap, her two thumbs tangling with one another. This is her first time here, I reckon. Coming from a sheltered life, she’s nervous about conversing with strangers on the topic of sex—even if the conversation revolves around abstaining from it.
“Is this your first time?’ I ask for confirmation. The more I know about the people that surround me, the better. Knowledge is power.
“Yeah.” She cracks a nervous smile. “My parents told me I needed to get out of the dorm and meet some new people.”
“And you came here?” My brow furrows in shock that this is the social setting in which someone chooses to go for the purpose of meeting new people. “It’s a great group.”
“I’m Cece.” She reaches her hand to mine.
I hesitate out of habit, but quickly reciprocate and shake her hand. “I’m Apple.”
“Oh my God,” she blurts out and raises her hand to her mouth. “I shouldn’t have done that.”
“Do what?” I ask with genuine confusion.
Her tongue swipes her lip and she scans the growing crowd around us, as if to make sure nobody heard her. “Take the lord’s name in vain.”
Whew. I’m in deeper than I thought. “It’s okay. I won’t tell anyone.”
“I was just shocked, I guess.” She leans shyly against her shoulder. “I thought Apple was just something celebrities named their children.”
“No celebrity upbringing here.” I raise my hand to the tune of I solemnly swear. “Born in a trailer. Grew up in a trailer.” Why am I telling her this? I don’t tell anyone this.
“You grew up in a trailer? I never wou
ld have guessed.”
“Thanks…”
From across the circle of white chairs, I spot my target and begin the process of tuning Cece out. On this warm spring day, Jensen Moon has a cool stride. His hand, ornamented with a sparkling silver watch, is stuffed into the pocket of his grey slacks. His white oxford shirt is rolled to the crease of his elbow, and contrasts sharply against the dark, tan skin of his body.
Without fuss or showmanship, he slips onto a padded seat with perfect posture. He’s always in command. He makes the rules and I’m craving to break them.
Once he’s in position, most of the chairs around me quickly fill up. Everyone wears white. Everyone except me.
“You’re new here,” Jensen says from across the way and crosses his right leg over his left. “You’re not wearing white.”
These people jump straight into business. No prologue required. I clear my throat before speaking. “I didn’t get the memo.”
“That’s by design.” His hand massages his ankle where a brief strip of skin is exposed. “In foreign places, such as that of a new group, newbies aren’t fond of talking much. Here at True Love Revolution, it’s important that everyone has a voice, and since you’re not wearing white, we all know to take time out of our conversations today to ask, who are you?”
“Shit,” I mumble under my breath and then recite a quick, internal prayer that nobody heard me. One of the rules of master manipulation is that you must always be prepared. Today, I came unprepared. I don’t like being caught off guard. “I…”
“Start with your name.”
Does he really not remember me? “I’m Apple Malloy.”
“Yeah…” Well, that’s settled. The look on his face screams, how could I forget? “Tell me, Apple. What does purity mean to you?” His eyes pass over me, full of equal parts judgment and intrigue.
Purity means zilch to me. Of course, I can’t say that to this group of sheep. They would retrieve pitchforks from their asses and chase me to the far side of campus where I would be forced to hide in the janitorial closet until the witch-hunt is over. Once I would creep out of that ten by ten cell, they would burn me at the stake.
