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“Every time you got angry because I said something offensive, or you acted like you couldn’t stand the sight of me, I’d be hunting down an empty classroom or a secluded spot where I could rub one out.” Another lick of his lips and oh my God, I’m going to reach up and bite it if he doesn’t stop that. “Every.Fucking.Time. I probably hold the world record or some shit for jerking off in a high school classroom.”
I want to laugh.
Iwantto.
But I can’t. I can’t do anything except sputter out a few words. “I’m… I didn’t… That’s…”
Making him chuckle.
And his chuckle is even worse than him licking his lips — which is not a surprise but still — that a quickening starts up in my belly as he goes on, “But that’s nothing compared to what I’d do when your boyfriend would tell me.”
“Tell you what?”
He leans closer then and my tits aren’t just grazing his chest, they’re all mashed against it. They’re all flattened against his hard,hard, chest.
So much so that his mysterious tattoo might be mine.
His heat might be mine.
His heartbeats too.
And as if that wasn’t enough, this sudden and overwhelming contact between us, he goes ahead and flicks the side of my breasts. His rough thumb finally,finallymaking contact with my plump flesh, and my thighs jerk and ride higher along his tight obliques.
“That you still hadn’t given it up.”
“Given what…”
Oh.
Oh! He means…
He means my virginity.
The thing he was asking about the other night. For his best friend.
“It’s…” I go, sounding all outraged or wanting to at least. “It was none of your business.”
He chuckles again, his hands going even more restless on my body. “No, it wasn’t. It was more than my business.”
“What?”
“It was my fucking obsession.”
He’s stroking me harder now. Squeezing my belly, massaging my sides, pressing into my breasts.
I’d tell him to stop.
Only I’m doing the same thing. I’m rubbing my palms over his shoulders, stroking his biceps, the sides of his neck, tugging at his hair.
“And so I’d ask him,” he swallows, “if he’d taken your cherry yet.”
“You…”
“I’d try to be sneaky about it, you know,” he continues. “I’d try to provoke him at practice, give him shit about his passes. Tell him to loosen up, get laid and then he’d get mad and tell me that he couldn’t. Because his tight innocent girlfriend wouldn’t put out. Or when we’d get drunk, I’d try to get him to talk. I’d share my escapades just so he’d share his. And he never had anything.”
“That’s…” I pull at his hair, looking for a word, “sneaky.”
“Yeah, I know. I said that.”
