by Mj Fields
With two hands, I shove him hard enough on the unsteady ground that he falls back against the door of his vehicle causing it to slam shut. Then I pound my fists against his chest. “Shut up!”
He grabs my throat to hold me back, and every cell in my body catches fire.
My hands shake as I grab his waistband and begin to work his button open.
“You’re out of your fuuuu …” he groans as I reach down his pants and grab his dick. He tries to push me away, but I grip firmer. “You really fucking think you can touch my dick after the shit you just said?”
I don’t answer him, I don’t tell him why, and I don’t apologize. When I push his jeans down and his cock springs free, semi-hard and hanging heavy, I grab it in my hand, all I can think about is the memory of his taste, and my mouth begins to water as I sink to my knees in front of him.
Heavy boots on his feet in the sand, pants around his knees, he stumbles. “You think I’m the same naïve kid from back then? You think I haven’t been inside the mouths of a hundred girls? You think I haven’t tasted so many pussies that I no longer get confused between lust and …” He stops and glares down at me as I start to pump his growing cock in my hand. “You think your needy, dripping little cunt has something all the rest don’t?”
I open my mouth, ready to take him, to show him, to prove to him what I know he knows, when he grips the hair on top of my head and pulls it back so I’m looking up at him. With his other hand, he grips his cock. “Open your fucking mouth.”
I close my eyes, swallow back the saliva pooling inside of my mouth, and open wide.
“You suck when I say suck, and not until then, you understand me?”
I nod as he steps forward, one hand still in my hair, the other pumping his cock.
“You want my cock, Queenie.”
I nod again, core on fire.
He taps my face with the tip then rubs his piercing across my lower lip as he growls, “You want my cum to fill your lying mouth so full it’s dripping down your chin, onto your fancy little yellow dress, so when you walk into school, everyone knows you’ve been on your knees for me?”
I close my eyes and nod, knowing how pathetic it makes me.
Stroking his cock, he steps back, releases my hair, and thrusts three fingers in my mouth, barking out, “Suck.”
I wrap my hands around his wrist.
“Did I say use your fucking hands?”
I let go of him as he shoves his fingers deep inside my mouth, causing tears to form in my eyes as I suck on his fingers while watching him stroke himself.
He glides his thumb over his tip, and glistening precum smears across it. I clench my thighs together, hoping to ease the ache, soothe the burn as he thrusts his fingers in and out of my mouth, not giving me a moment to swallow as I feel saliva drip down my chin.
“Nothing more real than that.” He pulls his fingers out of my mouth.
“Don’t you dare swallow,” he says, changing hands and coating his length with my saliva as he steps forward.
“Ass on your heels.” When I hesitate, he snarls, “Now.”
He pushes his jeans down farther. “Head back, mouth open wider.”
I do as asked as he steps close enough that the fine hairs on his thick, muscular thighs tickle the skin on my face, while he continues stroking his beautiful cock straight up and down with one hand, cupping his large sac with the other. He moves closer, lifting his balls right above me then letting them drop, landing heavy on my open mouth.
“Suck.”
I glare at him, and he seethes, “I said suck.”
“Fuck,” he groans, throwing his head back as I draw one into my mouth. “You—” He snaps his jaw shut as I lick and suck on one ball, then the other, watching him fight showing any sign of getting pleasure from it while hating that I am, too.
When he starts to move back, I grip his thighs, sinking my nails into his flesh, as I continue licking, sucking, soaking him. I watch him start to lose himself, not caring that it’s only a physical reaction. At least it’s a reaction. And as soon as he breaks his vengeful promise to me— “not a drop”—then we can move past this and maybe the next year of my life will be better than the last two, even if it is all a show.
I feel his balls tighten in my mouth and feel his legs tense beneath my grip as he moves back again. This time, I reach behind him and sink my nails into his rock-hard ass as I push up on my knees.
On impulse alone, I suck, working my way down his shaft, and he groans, “Not happ—”
He tenses as I take him as far as I can, and he hisses a slew of curses before removing his hand from his shaft. “Fuck!”
Mouth stretching near painfully, unable to take his girth, choking as he thrusts his hips yet still unrelenting, I struggle to take him any farther but refuse to allow this moment, a moment he swore wouldn’t happen, ‘not a drop’, slip away.
Tears slide down my face as I push past the natural reaction to pull back, saliva spilling down my chin. I look up, and his eyes meet mine, angry, so angry.
His head falls back as he grips the back of my head, thrusting fully into my mouth, his howled, “Fuck you,” echoing through the air.
Finally, he lets go, and I am somehow able to nearly swallow him as his grip on my hair tightens and his hips buck wildly, thrusting viciously as he hisses, grunts, and groans—none of his words are praise; all venomous, but I don’t care.
Watching him empowers me—his desire so much more evident than it was with her. And I don’t care that it’s fueled by anger. All I care is that no one will ever make him feel like I am right now. No one will ever make him despise himself for going against everything he never thought he was.
When I feel him swell in my mouth, I know I will be getting so much more than that drop that he so vehemently said he would deny me.
Suddenly, he releases my hair and pushes me away as cum spurts out of him and onto my dress. Then, in a ragged tone, full of malice, between perfect white teeth, he seethes, “Not. A. Fucking. Drop.”
I can see his chest rise and fall heavily against a heart I know still exists, and I know it’s beating faster because of me.
He pulls his pants up just under his cock that is hanging slick down his thigh. Then he swings open the door of his vehicle, opens one of the compartments, pulls out a packet of wet wipes, and cleans himself off as I stand. When he turns around and looks at me condescendingly, then looks down at the cum dripping down my dress, a smirk tugs at the corner of his lips.
Bastard. I use a finger to remove it from my now-stained yellow fabric, looking him dead in the eyes, and start to lift it to my mouth, purposely attempting to piss him off.
Quickly, he clutches my wrist and stops me as he grabs another wipe from the package and cleans it off.
His tone laced with self-amusement he repeats his words from before, “Not a drop.”
I shrug. “Fine by me.” I squeeze between him and the vehicle to the open door, climb in, and sit. Leaning back in the very comfortable leather seat, I look over at him. “Your precum tastes so much saltier than I remember.”
Inside his vehicle, I try to remain calm and hide the fact that I am shaking as I hold back tears that are caused by a swirl of emotions, most in complete contradiction to the next. I sit perfectly still, looking forward, as I feel the heat of his raging eyes boring into the side of my head.
In a deep, dark tone, he growls out a command in clipped words, “Put. On. Your. Fucking. Seat belt. Now.”
I do so, much slower than necessary.
Not one word is uttered as we drive back to Seashore Academy.
I have to walk fast to keep up with him as we hurry toward the side entrance of the school. I want to tell him to slow down, but I’m sure he’s trying to get as much distance from me as I should want from him.
When he opens the door, he doesn’t hold it open like he does for his crew; he swings it wide though, so I have enough time to sneak in behind him. I look down and button my blazer q
uickly to try to cover the stain as I look up at the clock. We have five minutes until next period, and he’s going in the opposite direction that I need to go.
“Justice,” I say loud enough so that he can hear me from the distance he’s created between us.
He looks back, disgust smeared heavy across his features. “What?”
I shake my head and turn around, beginning to walk in the direction I need to head, when he calls out, “Queenie.”
I turn back and look at him, hoping he’s going to say something, anything that makes me feel like what happened was going to erase the conversation he overheard with Harrison and the others when they had said awful things to me about being Justice Steels whore. But he doesn’t. He looks even more disgusted as he looks me over, confirming I am just that, his whore.
“Fix your face.”
Standing in front of the mirror, I look at the smeared mascara that has run down my face, the crusted saliva on my cheek, my chin, and my hair is completely fucked. I look down at my dress, the blazer doesn’t cover the wrinkles or the stain, my knees are covered in sand, and my shoes are filthy.
When the bell rings, I hurry into a stall and wait out the wave of peers coming in and out, listening to whispers about Justice and how hot he is, and how lucky I am.
Yeah, lucky, I think as the first tear spills.
After the bathroom is empty and the bell rings, I make my way down the hall and out to the parking lot, heading to Justice’s vehicle. Knowing it’s unlocked, I open the door and slide the envelope of cash under his seat, enough to pay him back.
Once inside and behind the wheel, I let it all go. Then, when the tears have stopped enough so I can see, I turn on my car and then the radio, my constant companion, only to find out my satellite radio subscription has been suspended.
I hit the local station knowing I’ll be inundated with commercials, but at least that’s company. Pulling out of my spot a new song comes on— “Green Light” by Lorde.
Rule Breaker
Justice
Walking into school alone, I look around and find she’s not at the door.
Rule breaker.
I guess one way to keep her away is to blow a load on her two-thousand-dollar dress, I think as I pass her friends standing at her locker, all gawking at me. I don’t make eye contact. Thirsty-ass bitches have all made some weak attempt at getting my attention. All sliding tittie shots in my DMs. All get the same reply, “Unimpressed,” and then blocked.
“JT.” I hear one of them call from behind me, but I keep walking.
When I get to my locker, I feel a tap on my shoulder and shake my head as I glance over.
“Hi.” She waves and smiles.
I don’t say shit. I just look at her.
She points to herself. “Nina. Gabrielle’s bestie.”
I turn away and toss my backpack into my locker, grab my book for first period English, and then turn around. “First, you don’t walk up behind a man and put your hands on him ever. Second, I know who you are.”
“Then why haven’t you ever talked to me?” She smiles with what I assume she thinks is A-seductive, B- cute, C- maybe even charming. But in reality, it’s D—none of the above.
“Got nothing to say to someone who acted like a little bitch to my sister.” I walk past her.
She catches up and walks right at my side. “Bygones, right?”
She’s not going to leave me the fuck alone, so I turn and glare down at her as I step toward her, forcing her to walk backward, right into Max.
She looks over her shoulder, and her fake as fuck smile wobbles between that and a frown, before he smirks and looks at me.
“I gave it a solid five out of ten. Take a pass.”
“You’re such an ass, Max Steel,” she snaps as she turns and walks away.
Max lifts his chin. “You ready for the game against Saint Mary’s?”
I shake my head. “Last game of the season on a Tuesday, and we’re playing our old school.”
“They don’t have any of us; you’ll crush them, man.” He winks.
“You wishing you were on the team?” I ask.
“Hell no.” He laughs as he throws his lanky arm around me. “Love surfing. Only thing I’m missing is you, big guy.”
Chuckling, I shrug his arm off my shoulders. “Get to see the rest of our crew, though, huh?”
“Westside crew.” He nods, and I can’t help but smile at the nickname he has come up with for our friends and family who still attend Saint Mary’s.
Our cousins, Francesca and Antoinette, Valentina and Franco’s twin girls; Fawn and Dromida O’Donnell, Abe and Nicolette’s girls. And Sabato and Melyssa Efisto’s kids, Torrance and Marcello. Marcello and Tris have been a “thing” since birth.
“They know to keep their lips shut about your sisters?” I ask.
Max nods. “Two days, and not one camera outside the hospital. So far so good. They’re sharing a room now, and both are supposed to be home tomorrow morning.”
“Perfect. Bella and Tags—”
“Staying at our place for a couple weeks,” he interrupts, “so Mom, Momma Joe, and the aunts can spoil them, Luna, and the little dudes.”
“Which means you’re officially not the youngest dude.”
He throws his head back and laughs. “Perfect.”
Not that I give a fuck, but I haven’t seen Miss Morales-Ortez all day. She wasn’t in any of the classes we have together, which is exactly four too many, including gym, where she eye-fucks me on the regular; the entire period when we’re coed. I’d say it bugs the hell out of me, but I like that she sees what she’s missing. I also love the way she gets called out in English, History, and Statistics for lack of participation. Apparently, until we moved here, she had that paw raised and was thirsty for knowledge. She’s still thirsty as fuck, just not for knowledge.
Cock gobbler.
Fuck her, and fuck you for even thinking about her, I scold myself.
I spent the better part of History class receiving and sending Snaps with Quinn, who told me I was full of shit. She called me a liar, because she saw a post on The Sound app that proved I was clearly with Gabrielle. I told her I changed my mind, and she told me I’d fit in perfectly with the crew I was getting in bed with. My reply? Mind your own business, and then I exited out of the app.
Wound tight as fuck, I hit the gym to take the edge off with my least favorite fitness center activity—cardio. Feet pounding against the rotating belt of the treadmill, trying to clear my mind, all I can think about is how, behind all the shiny, pretty things, the things we admire, the world is ugly and totally fucked.
No matter how sheltered myself and my crew have been, no matter the values instilled, no matter how hard my family presses on the fact that money and material possessions can be gone as quickly as they came, there will always be people who have too damn much, and those who have not nearly enough, and that is straight up what makes people nasty toward each other.
I sound like a fucking socialist, but I’m far from it. Hard work should always be rewarded, but so should consistent effort.
I feel a tap on my shoulder and pull out an AirPod, killing the music, before jumping on the sides of the belt and glaring behind me.
Tobias shakes his head. “Just me.”
After shutting the machine down, just shy of my seven-mile goal, I step off. “You gotta problem walking in front of the machine to announce your presence?”
He looks at me speculatively.
“What?” I ask
“Truth’s right; you’re in a foul mood.”
I grab my shirt and wipe the sweat dripping off my face. “You blame me? I took on that little snatch, and I have Quinn blowing my Snaps up, telling me I’m a fucking liar.”
“I’ll talk to Quinn,” he says, tossing me my water bottle.
“Something I’m gonna have to deal with since I …” I stop just shy of outing myself.
He looks at me again like he’s trying to read me
then gives up. “The Baysiders are all worried. They don’t know shit about you, JT, except”—he smirks— “well, they all saw you last weekend.”
“This isn’t gonna work, man. I pride myself on no one knowing me unless they need to, and none of them need to know shit about me.”
From behind me, I hear, “Couldn’t agree with you more.”
I look back and see Reeves and his boys walking in.
“You do get that I’ll do it just to spite you, right, Harry?” I ask, trying to keep the anger and annoyance out of my tone.
Fucker doesn’t respond to me; he just looks at Tobias. “Enough of this nonsense. You’re upset I took interest in Truth. She’s yours. Game over. Justice obviously doesn’t want the strings that come attached and, quite honestly, as annoying as Gabrielle can be, whatever the hell he did to her after overhearing our private conversation yesterday was disturbing enough that she’s locked herself up in her house and isn’t at school. She may be a bitch, but she’s one of us.”
Control gone, I step to him. “You keep Truth’s name out of your fucking mouth, and you keep Gabrielle’s out of it, too, you feel me?” I ask, pushing against him with my chest.
He does that pinched lip smirk shit and shakes his head. “Gabrielle and I have been friends for about two years now; you’re not going to change that.”
“Wanna make a fucking bet?” I sneer.
“I have no qualms with taking your money, but in an effort for you and I to be cordial for the next year or so, I’ll politely decline,” Reeves says with a smug look, and I step again, this time pushing him back a few paces.
“Enough,” Tobias snaps.
I swing my glare at him.
He looks at us both then rests his gaze on Reeves. “In a year, this means shit to you. For the next year, you deal with Justice. And FYI, I’m going to be watching.”
“Is that a threat?” Miles steps toward Tobias.
