I was even more impatient when I felt his fingers brush against my panties again. I shifted against his fingertips trying to get even more of him to touch me. I didn’t care where we were or who was watching. I wanted him more than I hated him.
I pulled away, not wanting to. His mouth messily kissed the edges of my lips, even as I spoke with my eyes still closed. “Can we go back to your room now?”
His arms wrapped around my waist, carefully helping me down from the bleachers and now standing on the same level—bringing me down, making us equal. We were king and queen.
No more bowing.
No crowns and royalty.
No more gods’ rules.
No more games.
No more lies.
Equal. Our rules. Our truths.
The crowd was still cheering when he gripped my hand so tightly I thought I’d lose feeling. He dragged me behind him down the metal stairs of the raisers. The smile on my face must have been infectious, because even from behind him I could tell he was smiling too.
He only let go of my hand long enough to fumble with his jersey and rip the shoulder pads off letting them drop on the floor. “Jasper, take my pads to the back.”
There was no question mark at the end; he was all hormones and feeling as shiny as their win. His hair was flatter than normal, sticking to the sides of his face, glued down by the sweat. He glistened in it. It wasn’t helping the ache between my legs. My legs were pinned together so tightly I was hoping the friction gave me some kind of relief until we were alone.
His under armor shirt outlined every muscle he had under the bright lights, and the way he moved to unburden himself.
I forced my eyes off Bolton, sweeping over the yard lines until I landed on Kate standing on Austin’s helmet. Her arms looped around his neck, holding him flush against her with their mouths connecting in an innocent kiss.
The romance was in the air, fogging all of our vision and pushing everyone into a confidence they needed to put their hearts on the line.
I took out Bolton’s phone snapping a photo of them, the perfect high school cliché: the oddball who scored Miss Popular. He wore fedoras and backwards caps that clashed with his outfits, loud button downs with cats or palm trees, and his pants always rolled up to his ankles.
Self-proclaimed crazy.
It made my smile expand, taking up more room on my face. Even the underdog could win on the battlefield of love. Unscathed.
I looked back at Bolton as the crowd died down and emptied from the field, leaving just the circle.
Even the team had already retired to the showers. Coach stopped yelling for Bolton, Austin, and Nyx to stop with the theatrics. It was just us.
Austin was beside himself, and a dorky wide grin covered most of his face, as he pushed his hair back and said, “Pizza? All these romantic teen drama vibes are making me hungry.”
The girls stayed quiet, blushing and biting their lips from smiling too big, like it would be embarrassing.
This wasn’t the kind of adventure I had in mind, letting my heart out of its cage, but adventure it was.
Nyx was the only one who didn’t look pleased. He looked conflicted, like Austin suggested sex or death instead. The scariest part was I saw him leaning towards death even after Luna said yes and after however long he pined after her. “I’m gonna go shower. I’ll meet you guys there.”
Bolton’s eyes followed him until even his shadow had disappeared down the tunnel’s mouth. “I’ve got shit to attend to,” he clasped onto my hand, again walking so fast I was taking twice the steps he was, just trying to keep up.
I didn’t speak until we stopped moving. I couldn’t juggle both speaking and keeping up with Bolton’s long legs. I hovered over the banister, trying to regulate my breathing, when he laughed at me. I pushed my hand messily forward, trying to smack him, but his agility was on high alert, still riding the adrenaline of glory. “What’s wrong? What do you have to deal with?”
He cupped himself through his football bottoms, eye level with me: “This.”
I had just got an exclusive invitation and front row seat to see Bolton’s rejections take a turn.
Bolton’s reserve was unheard of for boys our age. Maybe it’s the demigod in him—half uninterested and the other half ready to wage a war over some pussy.
I had been sleeping in his room for days, and he wasn’t breaking. Every morning was just as painful as when he rejected me in the library by asking if I was done, like he was some kind of sex toy.
I didn’t want the Bolton that bows and gives me what I want. I wanted the Bolton that hated me so much it created a thin line between destroying me and devouring me.
I stood up, letting the back of my hand touch him cupping himself, barely, purposely… “I’m still mad at you.”
“Be mad at me while I’m between your legs. I’m not waiting for you to remember anymore.”
There was the truth, squeezed from him. He wanted my memories intact while I moaned his name. I didn’t have the same requirements.
I grabbed his forearm, waving his phone in front of the keypad, hoping his card was lodged behind his phone like everyone else. The keypad turned a bright green, allowing access. Before I could even get further than the entryway, Bolton pulled me back, right into his solid chest.
His soft lips attacked mine; they were perfectly preserved, unused, not chapped from kissing anyone else.
His lips were mine.
His body was mine.
His crown was… mine.
Our mouths stopped attacking each other only long enough for me to kick my Doc Martens off and shed the school blazer I was still wearing. He pulled off his under armor that looked stuck to his abs and biceps, letting it litter his already trashed room. I sat on his bed, watching him struggle to remove the rest of his football gear, his cleats, and other layers shoved under his pads.
Loosening the wine-stained tie around my neck and the first few buttons of my white shirt, I teased him with my purple bra underneath. Bolton didn’t waste any time. He appeared in front of me in just his boxer briefs and waited to have my undivided attention before he hooked his thumbs in his underwear and pushed them down.
His length, already hard, fell out in front of me. My jaw went slack, and I followed the bulging vein right down past the muscles framing his hips, caging his monster.
I licked my lips to help the salivating to hopefully stop. It didn’t satisfy the ache anymore.
He leaned down enough to let his mouth take little nips at my lips. My lip was caught between his teeth, while his hands ripped my shirt open. Buttons popped off in the process and hit the wood floors.
Bolton’s hands pushed my shirt down my arms messily, just like us. His hands smoothed up the space left between my bra and where my skirt started. I felt the static mixing with the warmth of his hands, until I felt his thumbs push into my nipples, making them even harder.
My head leaned back all the way, soaking his touch in with small gasps. I felt my hair yank, pushing my head further back, just before his lips crashed against my neck.
“Take my panties off, Bolton.” I had to push the words out with my head being yanked back and between moans.
Letting go of his grip around the roots of my hair, I moved my legs, letting my thighs rub together, as he pulled down my panties.
“Already wet for me? I’ve barely touched you. Just wait for it.”
I pushed him down to a sitting position for me to straddle his lap, with my skirt still on but no panties underneath. I felt his length against me, teasing me and making me even more wet. Pushing my mouth onto his, I bit his lip hard enough to draw blood, and I watched him recoil in shock.