Morris tries too hard. He’s the biggest guy in school, clocking in at just under 250 lbs. When he tried out for the football team freshman year, Coach was so excited, I thought he was going to piss himself, but Morris is an alternate for a reason, and although I tolerate him for the sake of the team, he can’t go two sentences without the words pussy and tap it coming out of his mouth.
Inwardly, I groan, but I tilt my chin toward him by way of greeting.
“What’s up, man?” Morris says, hanging onto my arm like a lovesick puppy. I think if he ever was just genuine, not pretending to be whatever he thinks he needs to be, I’d actually like the douche.
“Nothing much,” I say, though that’s a lie because I just spotted Stormy down the hall, and I have risen to the occasion, literally. I shove my backpack in front of my junk and pretend to search for something as I pull the old tuck trick.
Shit. What is she doing to me?
“You?” I let the word slip past my lips, mostly because I’m distracted and I don’t think better of it with all the blood rushing down south.
Morris gives me a toothy grin. “Oh, you know, man. Just tappin’ that pussy.”
Point. Made.
“See you at the game tonight,” I say.
Morris frowns at my lack of a reaction to his bedroom exploits. I should probably try harder, but I only have so much self-control and all of it is currently devoted to not pinning Stormy to her locker and making her day, and mine, in front of the entire school.
“Sorry, man. Gotta keep your eye on the prize, you know?” I add, and that seems to appease him because he nods and heads over to his next victim.
Her hair falls into her eyes like strands of white snow as she searches for something buried in her disaster of a locker. It’s not gross—no moldy food or shit like that—but it is a disaster. Papers and pencils fall out of the thing every time she opens it. It’s basically like Jenga except with textbooks and notepads instead of wooden blocks. I don’t know why she won’t bring her laptop to class like the rest of us.
I’m going to ruin you, I think, stalking toward her. I’m going to spoil you for all others—men and women alike—because I don’t discriminate.
Vic passes her locker, the man slut, and says, “Lookin’ good, Weathersby.”
His stare lingers on her ass because she’s on the tips of her toes, shoving her butt out and the skirt she’s wearing can only take so much.
I groan aloud at the sight.
“Hmm,” she mumbles, and I know she has no idea what he’s said or that every guy passing her locker right now is watching the show.
Something dark and deadly in my chest purrs in satisfaction.
I want to shove her admirers to the floor and shout, “Back the fuck off!” But they’re just looking, and honestly, I can’t blame them. I may have called dibs at the beginning of the semester, but half of them forgot the moment they saw her and the other half forgot to make sure I wasn’t watching.
My tongue flicks over a canine.
Everything has changed now. She is mine. And if I have anything to say about it, she always will be. It’s time to remind everyone who’s the alpha in this pack.
I come up behind her, and she has no idea I am there. I place one palm against the neighboring locker and one on the other side of her, but she remains painfully oblivious. I do mean painfully because normally a girl would be swooning in my arms by now. I’m not used to being ignored, even unintentionally.
I lean down and breathe her in, letting my breath warm her ear. I am dizzy in her scent. She stills, her back going rigid.
My lips kiss the shell of her ear as I purr, “I can still taste you on my tongue.”
She lets out a little whimper, and that’s all the permission I need. I grab her just above the hip bones and spin her around. Her blue eyes look a little dizzy, a little dazed, before I cover her mouth with mine.
Her hands are pinned between us, my palms on either side of her face as I explore her mouth with my tongue. A burst of lemon zest greets me from the tea she’s been drinking. How can a person taste this good? She always tastes this good.
I can’t help myself. I move closer, press against her tighter, until I know even with the old tuckaroo, she can feel me, iron-hard against her. I’ve never done this before. Normally, I don’t give enough of a shit to mark my territory.
The school erupts around us. Someone wolf-whistles. Another cheers. A third claps. Morris is down the hall making barking noises, and somehow I just know he’s pumping his fist as he does it.
“Get a room!” Archie yells over the commotion.
I don’t care about any of them as I ravish her mouth.
She’s like a caffeine rush when you’ve had two hours of sleep the night before a final.
I want her.
I crave her.
I need her.
When I finally pull away—and believe me, it’s solely because breathing is a human necessity—her cheeks are flushed with warmth, her lips a little bruised, her breath erratic.
I play with the black lock of hair near her temple.
“Will you be my good luck charm at the game tonight?” I ask.
She shrugs, though the pulse visible at the nape of her neck belies her nonchalant expression.
“Depends. What do I have to do?” she asks, her fingers skimming over the buttons on my shirt.
“Well for one,” I make sure I say it loud enough our audience hears it. They will have it spread around the entire student body in less than ten minutes. “I’m going to need those panties you’re wearing.”
She is boring a hole through my button-down before she lifts those big blue eyes
