Page 122 of Withered

When I glance at Jake, he has a smirk on his face. “You are enjoying this, aren’t you?” I whisper.

He dips his head so his lips are near my ears. “Absolutely.”

The first bell rings, saving me.Perfect.“You can ask him everything else. I gotta go.” With that, I break free from Jake and start running toward my history class.

I hear Kristy shouting at me to wait. Even in heels, she manages to catch me.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Kristy looks a little hurt.

“I was going to. I swear, I was going to. I just didn’t know how,” I tell her as we walk down the hall.

“Are you sure about this?” Kristy asks with a concerned tone.

“Yeah. We spoke yesterday, and he said he liked me too.” I tell her about last night.

“I have a boyfriend. Isn’t that crazy?” I say this with silliness popping out in my tone.

Kristy chuckles. “High time. But if you’re happy, then I’m happy.”

“See you at lunch,” I say as we wander off to our classes.

The whole school is aware of Jake and me.

Even at lunch, people keep glancing our way. It was stressful to be in the spotlight, and now it’s exhausting. But as long as I have Jake by my side, I’m fine. People fade to nothing when I look at him.

Also, if I fail my Math class, Jake is to blame. He is a distraction. He keeps his hand on my thigh throughout the class. It must be nothing to him, but it makes me squirm. I try to focus, but his hand travels higher.

Halfway through the class, Jake leans in closer and asks, “Are you okay?”

The smirk on his face is enough for me to know everything. He knows what effect he has on me, and he dares to ask. My body tenses as his hand gets very close to my clit, but I still manage to nod. I give him my best glare, but he doesn’t remove his hand. I’m not going to lie; I kind of like it.

The whole week went rather well. While Jake was at practice, I was busy catching up on my assignments. I’ve been having trouble concentrating since Jake came into my life. Now that he’s my boyfriend, I can’t stop thinking about him. At school, we talk during class and lunch. At night, we stand near our respective windows and talk for hours

Friday night, Jake comes home tired from practice, but instead of our usual ritual, he jumps into my room. He sits on my bed and pats the space next to him, and I take my seat beside him.

He places something on my lap, and it’s a jersey. I turn it around, and it has his name with the number 33.

“Wear it for me?” Jake asks.

“No,” I say, and his facial features twist into confusion.

I quickly add, “I’ll not only wear it, but I’ll also cheer for you. Go Westwood Wildcats.”

His face breaks into that dimpled grin. “What were you up to?” He glances at my desk.

“I’m catching up because you won’t let me concentrate,” I said, narrowing my eyes at him.

He smirks and kisses me softly. I, however, have no plan to stop. I put my hand on his cheek and press my lips against his warm ones. I nibble on his bottom lip, causing him to groan.

He lowers me down on the mattress, one hand on my cheek, the other slipping inside my tank top. He curses against my lips because I am not wearing a bra underneath. His thumb plays with the hardened nipple; a moan escapes my lips, and I’m relieved that my parents aren’t home.

In a swift motion, he removes my tank top. His lips latch on the same swollen bud, and my hands disappear into his hair. My back arches, pushing that swollen nipple deeper into his mouth. After sucking on it, he gives the same attention to another bud before moving southward. His hands stay near the hem of my shorts.

I get up and remove his shirt, tossing it and lowering his mouth to mine. Every muscle in his body is caressing my skin. Jake leans forward on one elbow and looks down at me.

“Is this okay?” His cheeks flushed, and his hair's a mess.

“Yeah,” I reply breathlessly.

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