Page 32 of The Rivals' Touch

“There’s a good girl.”

I walk away without another word on the hunt for something to dry him off with. When I return with a roll of paper towels, he scoots the chair out from the table and spreads his legs. “On your knees, Remi.”

“You’re sick!” I sink down between his thighs and start patting down his wet shirt.

“You missed a spot,” he taunts, pointing to the bulge in his ripped, black jeans as I get dangerously close to his leather belt. I tear off another sheet of paper towel and press it over his lower belly. I refuse to touch his dick.

“Look at me,” he whispers, brushing my blonde hair away from my eyes.

Jacob scares me. Something about him makes me want to run far away, but at the same time, it draws me to him. Like an Anglerfish with a glowing lure on top of its forehead.

“Forget who you were at your old school. Here you’re nothing but a Hedgewood whore.” He flattens my hand over his dick beneath the table. “You missed a spot.”

He’s rock hard. I try to pry my hand away, but his grip on my wrist is too tight. “You don’t want Bennett to see the photograph, do you? I’m not Zayd; I will send it without hesitation.”

“You’ll send it anyway!”

He grinds his dick into my hand. “What would I gain from that? If you make me feel good, I’ll keep it between us.”

I peek at the others at the table, but they’ve resumed their conversations.

“Eyes on me,” he whispers huskily, lowering his zipper and moving my hand inside his boxers. His hard dick throbs in my hand.

“Someone will see,” I hiss, sweeping my eyes across the room.

“You’re half-hidden under the table. No one is watching.”

I gulp as he wraps his hand around mine and guides it over his big cock in long, languid strokes. I can’t believe I’m doing this. And in the cafeteria, of all fucking places.

As if he can see the doubt in my eyes, he tightens his grip on my hand and says, “Good girl, keep going.”

I squeeze my thighs together. I’m aroused.

“Shit!” he grunts under his breath as I stroke him faster.

Images flash in my mind of the times I’ve watched Jacob and Zayd score for Aycliffe, their sneakers squeaking on the floor, their triumphant cheers bouncing off the walls.

Hedgewood and Aycliffe are equally matched, and it’s always a nail-biter each season, seeing who will win the title. Zayd is quick on his feet, but Jacob is excellent at scoring from a distance.

His body stiffens, and he covers his dick with a piece of paper towel as he comes. Then he pulls up his zipper and says, “That’s enough. I’m dry!”

I rise to my feet and discreetly wipe my hand on my jeans.

Jacob dismisses me. “Take the lunch trays away.”

I bristle.

“And throw this in the trash.” He hands me the used paper towel.

My cheeks flame with anger while his teammates chuckle. Something tells me not to test Jacob’s patience, so I obediently collect the trays and make my way to the stands. “Fucking asshole!”

“I can’t believe you dropped your drink on him!” Brenda says, startling me.

“Dropped… Yes, let’s go with that.” I slide in the last tray and chuck the paper cup in the recycling.

“What did they say to you?”

I peer at Jacob over my shoulder, but he’s not looking. “Oh, you know, just the usual. A couple of threats here and there. Nothing overly concerning.”

Yeah, right!

“I can’t believe he made you dry him off on your knees. Actually, scrap that! I can believe it. He’s a sadist.”

“Believe me, I know. Can we go? I need to wash my hands. I’ve got sticky coke everywhere.”

Coke…

Brenda links her arm with mine. “Let’s go, before he spots you and makes you clean the table with your tongue.”

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