Page 78 of Fuckboy Psychos (Scarlett Force 1)
He doesn’t want to want me.
Even without Bohnes’ edict in place, I don’t think he’d have sex with me anyway.
I finish with the books and then stand up, tossing a look over my shoulder that he meets with a cool, almost stoic expression, as if he’s done his very best to hide the lead of his lust in the dark shadows of his soul.
Without a word, I turn and leave the aisle.
I don’t see Widow again for the rest of the day. The next day, however, is a different story.
He’s in his usual chair, and I’m rocking a skirt that’s so short that Principal Vaughn—this corrupt loser who honestly deserves a long walk off a short bridge—stops in the hallway and opens his mouth like he’s going to chastise me.
I just wait for it, staring at him in defiance until he finally turns away with a sigh.
We’ve had it out before, more than once. At this point, I’ve proven that his words mean less than nothing to me and any attempts to derail me from this school will be met with violence.
I left him a card on his desk to tell him that I know what nursing home his mother lives in. Not that I’d ever hurt an old lady, but there’s threat apparent in the act. I would be willing to go to his house and set it on fire while he slept inside.
Anyway, the skirt is so short that I feel breezes in places that don’t often see the sun. When I move to put a book on the bottom shelf nearest Widow, I make sure to aim my ass right in his direction.
The hot swipe of a finger along the silk of my panties makes me draw in a deep breath. I shoot to my feet, turning to look at him over my shoulder, but he’s flipping the pages in whatever new book it is he’s reading and ignoring me entirely.
I distinctly see the words cock and cunt on the very page he’s reading.
I wet my lips, juggling the stack of books, and then continue on with my duties until another book comes up that needs to be placed near Widow. The entire time, my body is throbbing, my pussy so thoroughly soaked that I’m sure he’ll be able to see the wet spot the next time that I bend over.
I casually walk his way, searching through the titles, and then I bend over a second time.
This time, I can barely hold back a moan when a strong finger strokes down the silky, wet crotch of my panties. I don’t stand up quite as quickly this time, pretending to struggle with the book while Widow strokes two, three more times.
When I stand up, my legs feel like jelly, and I can’t help throwing a look his way. He ignores me, but he does lift a single finger up to his mouth and suck on it.
Oh God, please stop. The tension between us is thick enough to cut with a knife, hot enough to spill blood. I want more of what he’s offering. More, more, more.
We play this game for the rest of the period, me bending over, him stroking me with a single finger outside the underwear.
By the time the bell rings, I’m dripping, and I can’t stop squeezing my thighs together looking for release. Widow casts me a dark look before leaving the library. He doesn’t smile, doesn’t mention our game, just walks right out and disappears in the rush of students filling the hall.
With a curse, I swipe a hand over my face and wonder if I’m not walking this thing too close to the edge. Bohnes’ win gave him the right to determine whether Widow and I have sex or not. But is stroking a few times outside the panties sex? Am I playing with semantics to justify my own bullshit?
After putting away the final book in my arms, I head into the hall with a single purpose: getting to the bathroom and rubbing one out. I consider using Widow’s car again, but I’m not sure that I’ll be able to make it all the way out there in the state I’m in.
I’m in a blind haze, shoving my way into the girls’ bathroom and hooking a thumb in the direction of the door. Girls pause what they’re doing, reapplying makeup, fixing earrings, adjusting their hair, as they line the counter.
“Out.” I only have to say it once and they scramble to obey, scooping makeup back into their purses, snatching up hairbrushes and jewelry. In less than a minute, I’m alone.
But only for a second.
The bathroom door opens, and I know without turning around exactly who it is that’s followed me inside.
Bohnes
Every predator knows you wait for the right moment to strike, to ambush your prey. Move too soon, and they’ll be startled off. Move too late, and the distance between you has grown too much to make a proper move.
