Page 52 of King

Moving around him, I'm further away from the door but at least I'm not trapped. "What are you roleplaying as this time? A bully or a psychopath?" Taking a couple steps back, I stumble and he raises a brow.

“Are you drunk, Rowland?” His damp hair swoops over his blue eye, grey one bright and exposed. He approaches me again. “Is that why you’re here making a scene, kissing my friends—”

“Telling your girlfriend where to shove it." I stand my ground.

Damien doesn't back down either. His bare chest presses against my body and I try to push back but it’s no use. His weight is too heavy, body too stiff. I don’t notice where he’s headed until my back meets a cold wall. There's green tile on either side, a curtain behind Damien.

It's only now I realize I've wandered into the boy's locker room. Right into the King’s domain. The thought of his teammates finding me in a shower with Damien comes to my mind, but I'm too tipsy to care. I'm not backing down. Not after today's victory.

He brings his hand to the wall on either side of my head. My breath is short, stomach queasy and I'm not sure if it's him or the alcohol.

“Lea’s not my girlfriend.” He looks down at me. “But you wouldn’t be able to put that together with your tongue down Luca’s throat.”

So he did see.

“Wait.” I tilt my head to the side, a victorious smirk pulling at my lips. The way his nostrils flare when he mentions Luca gives him away. “Are you jealous?”

He smiles before he lets out a deep chuckle. It gets louder and I wince as his laughter turns into one fit for a maniac. His deep voice echoes against the walls, “Jealous? Of a whore from The Grove?”

“And you’re a rich kid with mommy issues and an abusive father.” I match his stare. “How clich—”

A cold hand comes around my neck before I finish my sentence. He brings his lips an inch from mine. “You don't know my life, Medusa.” His eyes drop to my lips and even with his hands around my throat, I remember what it feels like to kiss him.

Warm. Like a fire burning through me.

And it makes me damn near breathless.

"You like this." Blame the whiskey or the adrenaline but the words fall out of my mouth and I don't stop them. “You like fucking with me. It's like foreplay to you. Does it get you off, you twisted fuck?"

"It might." The fact that he doesn't deny it doesn't make it better. Does it? Damien moves his hand from my neck under my chin, tilting my forehead towards the ceiling. His breath lands on my ear, “Bet you're nothing the entire Grove hasn’t felt before. Sorry Medusa, I don't take sloppy seconds.”

“You know I'm not that, and you know I'm not like the other girls here and you like it.” I attempt to smirk, cheeks squished in his hold. Damien can have any girl in this school. I see the way they look at him. I know how hard Lea fights for him but still, he’s always after me. “I bet you think about getting me like this all the time."

A cold finger brushes up my thigh, lifting the fabric of Christian’s jersey. “I don’t think about you at all, Medusa.”

“Bullshit.”

“Why?” He's in my face again with narrow eyes. “Are you thinking of me?”

“No,” I snort, ready to tell him where to shove it. But before I can, his lips are on mine.

All my thoughts turn to mush, my legs feeling like noodles. Damien's lips are soft. Warm. So fucking satisfying. Like a warm blanket on a cold day.

The taste of peppermint washes over my buds and the room disappears from around us. A cold hand sends goosebumps to my thighs, a finger moving between my legs. My cheeks are warm, his touch electrifying. It's like I've forgotten that I’m kissing the ass that is Damien because it's easy to part my legs for him.

Closing my eyes, my head falls against the tile when he moves a finger between my slit. He’s slow, using gentle movements that contrast his exterior. Every movement of his touch makes me feel undone. Every swirl of his finger has me craving for more.

When I sigh against his lips he pulls away from my mouth, a loose grip on my neck, "You sure you don't think about me?" Ignoring his words my head moves closer, wanting to feel his lips again but he doesn't let me. “You’re fucking wet Joelle. So I call bullshit too."

Hearing my name, the l’s rolling off his tongue makes me buck against his fingers but he chuckles, pulling them away. He pulls them up my thigh before dragging them to my navel. His eyes drop to my chest, the smirk fading. “Didn’t know you were a part of the team.”

“It’s Christi—”

“Take it off.”

“Want another look?” Feeling proud of my little stunt earlier, I pull the jersey off, throwing it to the wet, tiled floor. The minute it makes a floof on the ground Damien pulls my hands above my head.

He reaches for the large strap covering my tits, pulling it down with two fingers. Cold air and desire already have them puckered, nipples erect towards him. I bite my lip when he pulls on the tip, the graze of his thumb sending a rippling tingle through me.

---