Page 22 of Butterfly

“I got you. Although from what I observed, it doesn’t seem like she really wants you around, does she? Jocks like you always think you’ll win. But you may not this time.”

I gritted my teeth and counted to ten. Punching this guy before classes even started would get me in a hell of trouble with my coach—and my father, if he found out about it. Chris had heard the threat, and he’d stay away from Leslie…or he’d have me to answer to.

“I’ll let you get back to jerking off to sad porn,” I told him, wiggling my fingers in a wave. “See you, Kyle.”

“Fucker,” he muttered, as I stepped away from the door and closed it for him—in his shocked face.

That mission complete, I considered my next move with Leslie. She wasn’t going to bend easily, or admit that she wanted me, not yet anyway.

“Hi, Mason,” a girl giggled, playing with her hair and thrusting her chest out at me.

I wanted to bark at her that I was taken. There hadn’t been a hand, mouth, or pussy wrapped around my dick since that night in the pool with Leslie. And there wouldn’t be, as angry as my dick was from the lack of action.

That said…

I remembered the way Leslie had reacted to Tiffanie this summer. She wanted me, and if I felt this territorial over her, it stood to reason she felt the same way about me. So I considered my options. If kissing my butterfly hadn’t gotten her where I needed her, maybe jealousy would do the trick.

Huh.

Maybe the old Mason—the one who was a dick to my butterfly, and gave attention to other girls—needed to come out for a spin. There was no wake up call like seeing someone else’s hands on what was yours. And while Leslie abhorred violence, I didn’t. The idea of her scratching some meaningless girl’s eyes out for putting her hands on me? That was a cat fight I could get behind.

With that pleasant thought, I whistled, sauntering down the hallway and out of Leslie’s dorm, grinning and winking at the girls and nodding at the guys as I went.

Time to use a little bit of that Calloway magic. I’d known I’d need to do some wrong to finally get what was right—Leslie, submissive in my arms.

I couldn’t fucking wait.

9

LESLIE

Iwoke up the next morning for my first day of classes, a complete, exhausted mess. I’d slept terribly the night before, tossing and turning with Mason’s words replaying in my head over and over.

I swear to god, butterfly, if you let another man touch my pussy…

I was frustrated, uncomfortable, and embarrassingly wet. I took the coldest shower in history, trying to wash his words from my mind and his touch from my body. Afterwards, I stood in front of the mirror of the shared bathroom and tried to do something with my black hair. It was long and straight and hung limply from my scalp.

Ah, well.

A tall, curvy blonde stopped next to me at the sinks and began to apply her makeup. “I’m Lucy.”

“Leslie.”

She nodded. “Who was that hot guy I saw leaving your room yesterday?”

I blushed. “That’s Mason,” I mumbled.

“Boyfriend? Ex-boyfriend? Hate-fuck buddy?”

I choked on my mouthwash. “None of the above.” Although the last sounded a little too on point.

“Do you want him to be?”

“No!” I must have protested too much because she raised an eyebrow.

“Well, if he’s available, let him know I’m interested. He’s hot, like, lose your virginity to him and don’t care if he ever texts you back, hot.”

My eyes narrowed in the mirror. It was bullshit, and I knew it. Hypocritical bullshit, at that. But even though I wanted Mason to leave me the fuck alone, the idea of another woman getting her hands on him…

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