Page 9 of Study Games

I rose onto my toes, seeking the same pressure in return, craving him. His hand slid under my leg, lifting me higer as he pistioned his hips like we were fucking, not dry humping frantically like a pair of teens in the library–

Then his mouth was gone. Jax glared at me as he swiped his knuckles across his lips as though to erase my touch altogether.

“Get on your knees, Waverly,” he growled, his eyes fixed on my face. Those hands I loved, that teased me so much worked fast at his belt. “Now,” he ordered when I didn’t move from the wall where he put me.

I shook my head. “No, Jax,” I whispered.

His hand stalled on his belt buckle, half undone. “What did you say to me?’ he asked dangerously.

“I said no,” I repeated clearly, pulling my skirt down. The skin around my neck felt damp, and tender. I winced a little as I pulled my turtleneck up and shook my hair out, watching him, and edged away.

“You think you get off that easy, bee girl?” His amused tone lay at odds with his tone as I stared back at him, dread seating deep in my soul.

“You want me to beg?” I tried to croak, but my words came out all raspy and sexy sounding.

His eyes widened, a shuddering breath freeing up as he leaned toward me, crooking a finger. “I want you on your knees. Right here.” He tapped a foot on the floor before him.

“No,” I whispered, watching him, wanting what he offered more than anything.

But this looked the same as that night, felt the same. And I couldn't.

So I fled and left Jax Palmer standing in the library, his eyes dark with unslaked lust, his belt half undone, and utter hatred written across his face.

I knew I’d pay for rejecting him many times over. It was just a matter of when.

4

JAX

Ismiled inanely at the top of Waverly’s mousy brown head and plotted her downfall.

Hers, then mine. Because the itching powder that coated the inside of my jacket was motherfucking torture. Even the neck to fingertip long sleeved fitted Henley I borrowed from Crush didn’t keep the grains out. I’d be cleaning the jacket–my favorite article of clothing–for weeks afterward, I knew, but tonight would be worth it.

After the way she looked at me in the library, I had to shut her down.

Shut down whatever the fuck this mess was building between us.

I spent too many nights fucking my fist to a ruined orgasm because of her. Hell, I even tried out the itching powder for shits and giggles.

That’s how I knew how much of an ordeal tonight would be for both of us.

But mostly for her.

The humiliation, the rejection…it’d break the sweet little thing who was so out of her depth perched on a bar stool beside Crush, surrounded by the Allstars without the help of any wingwoman because, bless his Allstar frat boy socks, he did what I asked and brought her drinking with us.

Alone.

“Such a good boy,” I mocked him under my breath as I passed him a fresh, cold beer. My rounds. That was the deal. Not that money meant anything to any of us. Except to her, because she didn’t have any.

But that wasn’t the point. A deal was a deal, and we made one over her.

From the creases around Crush’s tanned face and usually clear eyes, he was having serious second thoughts on that front.

“I’m sure Jax will look after you,” the ice hockey captain said stiffly.

He ducked out from beneath the arm I slung around him, no doubt to avoid the powder that trickled out the end of my sleeve. His baby brother, Nash, whose eyes were never as clear as his big brother’s and held a slightly crueler edge, watched me with a lilted smile.

Waverly waited on her barstool, looking sideways up at me. “Hi, Jax,” she whispered, all breathy and pretty as fuck.

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