Page 14 of Study Games

“You don’t get to tell me what to do, Jackson Palmer.” Her pretty eyes flashed, giving away her intent and every emotion that crossed her face in an ever shifting array of news bulletins.

“Don’t I?” I smiled thinly, leaning into her space while the sea of students parted around us, leaving just enough space to breathe in her honey sweet scent to torture myself with endlessly.

I mean, why not? It wasn’t like I came here for the Allstars’ version of sport. This was so much better.

The flow of students thinned to a trickle until that ran out too, and Waverly still glared up at me.

“No.” She stamped–yeah, actually stamped–her foot.

It might have been the sweetest damn thing I’d ever seen.

I laughed at her, enjoying watching that same shade of pink suffuse her rounded cheeks that stained her skin the night I trapped her in my leather jacket.

The jacket I loved that still itched abominably like all fuck, and stank of honey and sugar and all things nice, just like her.

I wanted to shred the damn thing.

“That was…cute. Do it again,” I goaded, whipping out my phone and sticking it in her face as I pressed record.

The way she recoiled from me five steps faster than I could keep up meant I never took any video of her at all. Horror crossed her face as she shook her head.

“Stay away from me, Jax. I mean it.” She stumbled back, twisted on her heel, and took off in the direction she’d come from at a run, every curve jiggling in all the best ways.

And I couldn't even enjoy it, because I had no idea why she was running from me.

“Because you’re a grade-a asshole, that’s why.” The girl she’d been walking with–not with, exactly, but beside–tossed gold hair over her shoulder and glared at me. Her fire was there too, but it had nothing on Waverly’s.

I ignored her and stared after my bee girl, taking a step in her direction.

“Like hell.” A manicured palm slapped my chest. “Just– leave her alone, all right? Haven’t you bullied her enough?” The friend demanded.

I flicked her hands away with no small dose of contempt, and less interest. “Go watch the game, friend. Let me worry about Wavey.”

She didn’t move, and the grounds around us fell still before the crowd erupted somewhere above us as one of the teams–likely Rippton from the sheer volume–scored.

“You like her.” She looked a little shocked at her own outburst as I wheeled to face her.

I blinked at the surprise written there. “No shit.”

Apparently it was the day for revelations.

She nodded to me cautiously. “She’s been hurt. That’s why she…” The friend waved her hands over her body, indicating to the mass of layers Waverly always wore to cover up. Her eyes narrowed as she seemed to consider the information she passed to me and how much damage I might do with anything she said. “If you hurt her, I’ll take a teaspoon and show you that it’s not only special forces who know how to do massive damage with one.” She spoke slowly, enunciating every word to make sure I got the point. When I nodded, she tossed her hair over her shoulder, blonde bombshell curls bouncing about, and gave me the brightest smile ever. “Perfect. So don’t hurt her. Go for it?”

I returned her smile, not letting mine reach my eyes. “Yes, ma’am.”

Accord thus reached, we turned in the opposite directions, her toward the sports stadium entrance, me in the direction Waverly took.

But try as I might, I couldn't find the girl who haunted me with the image of her trapped in my coat, restricted and wriggling and just out of my reach.

Waverly evaded me long enough for me to make it back to my attic well before the game ended and the horde of frat boys returned to home base to drink it up for the night. By then my door would be locked to prevent them tossing some poor, wayward cheergirl in on me as a thoughtless dare, and I’d be lost in my next piece of art.

Which, for the time being, involved a girl trapped in an iron maiden looking contraption, struggling to free herself, but without the piercing torture implements usually involved. Instead of blood, her body was coated in honey and where her hands were restricted above the device, bees crawled with their tiny feet over her flesh, itching her without relief as shown by her twisted features.

Tonight held a mood of its own, and I was glad Waverly was nowhere near me, or else I’d end up breaking my promise to her friend, the girl to whom I swore I wouldn’t hurt her.

Because right now, with my thoughts as dark as they were? I couldn’t promise anything of the sort.

My cock grew hard as I thought of my subject, her dark hair laden with the heavy, sticky honey and the bees walking her body as she writhed under my hand. Her features stayed pretty as they twisted in their suffering. By the time I finished with her feet, leaving her dancing on her bare, exposed toes just outside the device, my jeans were as slick as the flesh I drew, glossy with precum.

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