Never one to be bashful about these things, when the game winds to a close, I play it up, straining to give him a kiss on his cheek for good luck.
When he sinks the eight ball, his eyes find mine, mouth slanting into a wicked grin.
It’s such a thrill. Heston isn’t just good looking and popular. He’s a Devil. He’s one of the Four Horsemen of the school. He and the other guys have reputations beyond being smart and athletic. The Devils have impossible standards. Each one is rumored to have a ‘test’ girlfriends are supposed to pass to even be with them. Passing a test, getting ‘marked’ by one of them, is the fastest way to the top of the social ladder.
But that’s not why I’m here. I don’t really care about status. I’ve had my eye on him for a while—there’s something magnetizing about him. Dangerous. Sexy. I’ve heard the rumors about his cock and I’m positively dying to give it a spin.
Sometimes you see the big, life-altering events barreling like a freight train down the track. Other times it happens in a blink, no warning sound, no flashing light, no barricades keeping you off the tracks.
I should know this is one of them, but it’s hard to think when his lips are so warm, tasting bitter-sweet like beer when he kisses me, right in front of everyone. It’s impossible when he whispers in my ear, “You’re so pretty. Want to go upstairs?” And I’m too far gone by the time I’m up in his room, taking in the boyness of everything; the scent of his body spray, the box of condoms on his dresser, the grinning Devil on the flag hanging over his messy, unmade, bed.
“Do you live out here by yourself?” I ask, chills running down my spine from the feel of his lips on my neck. “Not in the main house?”
“I like how it’s quiet,” he answers, voice deep and smooth. “Private.”
It’s not quiet now—well, not downstairs. Down there, the party is in full swing; alcohol, skinny dipping, loud music. The bass vibrates through the guest cottage walls, shaking the dresser mirror with every thump and thud. It’s a crazy party, one made even crazier by the fact I was invited by Heston Wilcox himself.
He crosses the room and stops in front of his desk, fussing with a laptop. Music streams through the speakers, covering up the rowdy rap from downstairs. The curve of his shoulders, the way he moves—sure and masculine—makes something low in my belly spark.
I know how it is for guys. They have to flirt and put on a bunch of pretense to get into a girl’s pants. I’ve seen the games.
I’m not here to play.
I know what I want and I know how to get it. No frills, no bullshit. I want on Heston’s dick, like ten minutes ago, and I’m not about to make him work for it.
I take off my sweater and take a quick glance in the mirror to adjust my purple lace bra. The bra makes my tits look fantastic, probably my best feature. Guys are super into them and I know it.
When Heston turns back to me, he blinks once, slow and long, as he takes me in.
My stomach flips at the intensity of his gaze. “It seems so grown-up to be out here alone. No parents, free to do whatever you want.” I watch as his fingers tug at the zipper on his hoodie, and he shrugs it off, tossing it on the back of a chair. Next he removes his shirt and I’m treated to his lean and long body. The perfect swimmer’s physique. “It’s cool that you can have parties like this, even though you’re only a junior in high school, and no one cares. My dad is pretty strict—"
His mouth is on mine, cutting me off, tongue pushing through my lips. His fingers move quickly, confidently, under my bra strap. “Fuck, you’re stacked,” he says eyeing my tits hungrily. He’s right. My tits are big. He circles my nipple with his fingers, sending a tremor between my legs. He pinches it and grins. “You like that?”
Electricity zings through my body. Pain and pleasure. I arch back against it. “I do.”
“I heard you like it dirty,” he says, biting on my earlobe.
I’m distracted by his upper body. The hard lines of his chest and abs. I parse his words and look up, feeling dazed. “What?”
“I heard you like it dirty and hard,” he says, kissing me, lips rough against mine. One hand circles my waist, thumb digging into my flesh while the other squeezes my breast.
“Who told you that?” I ask, reaching for the button on his jeans. I unzip his pants and pull his cock out. I just about die when I get my hands on him, a slow heat building between my legs. He’s long and thick. Big like the rumors. Warm and ready.
His hips buck forward, pushing it into my palm. He shrugs at my question and gives me a smirk. “Think you can take that?”
I open my mouth to answer, to tell him that I’m not a virgin and I’m ready to do this, but he kisses me again, harder this time, using his body to angle me to the bed. I try to keep up with his kisses, with his warm tongue, and when the back of my knees hit the mattress, I run my hands down his chest, hoping to slow him down. This isn’t like Reilly from Spanish, or Trevor from The Nerd, or Lance from my parents’ Christmas party. Being with a guy like Heston is something I want to savor.
“You’re so sexy,” I tell him, kissing along his shoulders.
He cups my face in his hands and grins down at me, a twinkle in his eye. In that moment, I feel like I’m the only girl he sees. The only one he wants. I feel special. His thumb runs down my cheek, and he bends to kiss me. Sparks ignite across my body, down my limbs, to my fingers and toes. His hand runs down to the hem of my skirt and then back up, fingers twisting tight in my panties. When the kiss breaks, I look at him once again.
“You want this, right?”
“Yes,” I admit, but as I say it something feels… off. It’s the change in his expression. It’s the feel of my panties digging into my sides. It’s the dark glaze in his eye that tells me I’m not entirely sure what it is I’m agreeing to.
“Good.” He moves faster than I can blink, using his size, power, and athleticism against me. He pushes me back on the bed and before I can bounce, he’s on top of me, yanking my panties down my thighs in a sharp motion. His cock presses into me, hard and intimidating. He shifts and thrusts a finger inside, making me gasp. “Jesus you’re tight. Sure you’re not a virgin? Is Halloway a liar?”
I blink, trying to follow his words while he fucks me with his finger. John Halloway? We’d hooked up a few times over the summer. I’d gone down on him behind the tennis courts at the club and let him fuck me at the Fourth of July party. Did he say something to Heston?
“I’m not a virgin,” I gasp out, trying to get into the rhythm. Heston moves fast, hard. It’s a challenge to keep up. I sit up to meet him, to find his mouth. He withdraws his finger and plants a hand right into the middle of my chest, shoving me back down flat. He waits for a beat, glancing over to the laptop. From this angle, he’s like a magnificent animal, muscle stretched tight, corded and perfected. I reach for his cock, stroking it with my fingers. He looks down on me, his expression shuttered, and falls forward, both hands cinched roughly around my wrists. I grimace but spread my legs, giving him access.
This isn’t quite like Reilly, or Lance, or Trevor, or even Josh, who fucked me fast and hard in the coat closet. There’s this spark in Heston’s eye, a strange tightness at the corners of his jaw. He’s just excited, I think—by me—but a dark shadow flickers across his face, and a chill settles in my belly. It intensifies when his grip grows tighter and I say, “Wait, can you—”