He stares down at me, not saying anything as his chest touches mine. The room is dark, except for the dim light coming through the windows, and muffled sounds of laughter and talking drift through the wall from the lunchroom.
He’s close.
Everything heats up under my skin, and his breath falls across my lips.
“This cheerleading outfit is fucking lame,” he says.
I cock my head. “Funny, ‘cause you couldn’t seem to take your eyes off me in it a minute ago.”
His eyes drop to my lips, and he leans in, both of our breaths turning shallow, and I can almost taste him.
I lick my lips.
And he loses it.
He reaches down, grabs the backs of my thighs and hauls me up, and I wrap my arms and legs around him, letting out a small whimper. Yes.
I part my lips, running them over the lip ring and savoring the feel as he groans and digs his fingers into my thighs. I tighten my legs around him, needing to feel him.
“Bitch,” he whispers.
“Loser.”
And when I dart out the tip of my tongue to lick the little piece of metal again, he’s done being patient.
Masen Laurent slams his lips down on mine, moving hard over my mouth and brushing his tongue with mine, the heat and taste sending my mind reeling. I stop breathing. I don’t care. I just go in for more and more.
He bites my bottom lip, moving his hands to my ass and squeezing, and I let out a little cry, the feel of him driving me mad. I don’t want people to hear us, but right now I don’t care about anything.
My eyes close as his lips and teeth move over my neck, sending shivers down my spine. Heat gathers low in my belly as I tighten my thighs around him.
I want to be closer.
He presses his groin into me, and I come back down, taking his lips and dipping my tongue in, teasing him like that every time I come in for a kiss.
“Keep doing that,” he gasps.
I hear laughter outside and jump, twisting my head toward the door.
But he doesn’t let my head leave the game. He reaches over and twists the lock and then carries me over to a chair at a lab table and sits down, keeping me straddling him.
Grabbing my hips, he brings me chest to chest. “Did you think about me this weekend?” He bites my lip and lets go. “Hmm?”
The feel of his teeth sends my stomach flipping, but I bite out anyway, “You wish.”
I press my body into him and sink my lips into his as he pulls my hips in again.
“You were talking shit to your dumb friends, weren’t you?” he pants, his kisses and nibbles quick and teasing. “I never wanted to teach someone a lesson as badly as I wanted to teach you one just now.” He pulls me again, my clit grinding against the bulge in his jeans. “I should’ve walked over, flipped up your skirt, and started going down on you right there, so they all know what you really like.”
I start rolling my hips, slow and taunting, but when he darts out and tries to catch my lips again, I pull away, teasing him. “You don’t know what I like.”
“I don’t think I’m going to disappoint.”
His threat lingers between us, and I look down, seeing the tip of a tattoo coming out of his shirt from his shoulder and drifting up just about an inch onto his neck. I can’t tell what it is, but I lean down and kiss it, trailing my lips slowly up his neck, to his ear.
“Sorry to eat and run,” I whisper, “but my friends are waiting for me.”
I don’t want to leave, but I have to.
I move to get up, but he yanks me back down. “That’s not how this works, princess.”
His eyes challenge me, and I feel his fingers squeeze around my thighs.
My heart beats faster. “Someone could come in,” I warn.
“And what? Find out I’m your dirty little secret?”
“Mas—” But he leans up and snatches my lips, cutting me off. He kisses me deep, and all of a sudden I just want to wrap my arms around him again.
“Don’t call me that when we’re like this,” he whispers against my lips.
Don’t call him Masen? “Why?” I ask.
“Just don’t.” He shrugs me off and stands up, forcing me to climb off his lap. “Now do me a favor and go in the lunchroom and sit in Trey’s lap, would you? I wanna look while your fucking prom date has no clue that I just had that ass grinding my cock a minute ago.”
He gives me a cruel smile, and I inhale a deep breath, raising my chin and trying to look unfazed.
But my heart pounds like a jackhammer. What an asshole.
Before I can reply with a witty, sarcastic, or utterly childish remark, he walks past me and out the door while the sound of the students in the lunchroom floods in.