Page 142 of Anarchy at Prescott High (The Havoc Boys 4)
There’s a long stretch of silence that follows that statement, but there it is, a trauma that repeats in my head almost every day. It’s impossible to forget. I know that I could quite easily be diagnosed with all sorts of emotional disorders, and I’ve never cared about that until just now.
Until Bernadette.
“That’s why you were a virgin,” she repeats, and I cringe at that word again. Virgin. The sound of it makes me think of pure untouched snow and blushing young girls. Neither of those things has anything to do with me. It was purely out of survival instinct that I abstained, the instinct that if I went too far with one of those women, I might hurt them.
“Aren’t we over that yet?” I ask, but Bernadette gives me an incredulous look as I drop my hand from her face. “If it bothers you so much, I’ll go fuck somebody else, so I have more names to my roster. I’ll never be able to catch up to Hael though, so take his grand achievements for what they are.”
“Stop picking on him,” she chastises, reaching up to touch the side of my face with the palm of her hand. I cringe, but I let her do it. “I’m not mad that you were a virgin, I’m just surprised is all. I didn’t expect that.”
We stare at each other in the quiet dark for a moment until Bernadette steps back just a few inches and tucks some long hair behind one ear.
“Do you want me to keep touching you?” she asks as I struggle to keep my breathing controlled. It’s too dark and quiet in here; she’ll know if I have too strong a reaction. Or maybe she already fucking knows? Because normally, she wouldn’t ask to touch me; she’d just do it. She’d touch me until I felt like I was falling apart on the inside, rotting at my very core. And yet … this is her trying. This is Bernadette making an effort in an arena where I have, thus far, only managed to fail miserably. “Or do you want me to back off?”
“I want you to touch me,” I tell her, and even that comes out sounding like an insult.
Bernadette lifts her eyes to mine and then, slowly, carefully, she kneels down in front of me. I don’t stop her as she unbuttons and unzips the jeans, releasing the inked length of my cock. One of her thumbs finds the piercing on the underside, rubbing at it as she takes the tip of me into her hot mouth.
My breath escapes in a rush and I lean my head back, knowing this is a stupid thing to do but letting it happen anyway. I’m not sure if Callum would kill me for making such a dangerous choice … or applaud me for it.
Bernadette wraps her hand fully around the base of my shaft, letting her saliva drip down the length of me. She uses that wetness as lubricant to pump her hand, licking and sucking at the tip of my cock as I dig my fingers into her hair. With the other hand, I grab onto the wooden dowel used to hang clothes and squeeze it until I hear a definitive crack.
With her opposite hand, Bernadette cups my balls, massaging them and drawing a sound from my throat that I wasn’t sure I was capable of, one that sounds all-too human.
In an instant, I find myself moving, pulling Bernadette up by her hair and slamming her into the back wall of the wardrobe. My hands pin her wrists as I kiss her, tasting the saltiness of my own pre-cum on her tongue. When I release her, my hands drop right to those borrowed boxers and shove them down her hips until they hit the floor.
She doesn’t fight me when I hook a hand under her left thigh and lift her leg up, driving into her and catching the desperate moan that falls from her mouth by pressing my lips to hers. We kiss so deeply as I fuck her that I’m not sure what the hell I was just talking about. I hate being touched? How could I possibly, when this feels the way it does?
Of course, trauma doesn’t resolve itself in a single instant. I know that as soon as we’re done here, I’ll feel that coldness come over me again, those tremors that take over in the dead of night.
As we’re fucking, as I’m driving her into the wall and wishing I could just tell her goddamn everything there is to know about me … the door to the room opens and I hear heavy boot steps.
My hand clamps over Bernadette’s mouth, but I don’t move, not even to pull out of her.
From my position, it isn’t difficult to glance over and see through the crack in the doors.
