Page 79 of Fuckboy Psychos (Scarlett Force 1)
All week, I’ve been watching Widow and Scarlett in the library. Testing her. Testing him. I don’t like what I see. The only guy she’s ever shown interest in besides me, and I cut that shit off at the neck.
Yet, what is this?
“Bohnes,” Scarlett says without turning around. Her eyes, however, flick to the mirror, watching my reflection as I move up to stand behind her. I like the way we look together, my ghostly pale skin next to her bronze-tinted flesh, my bone-white hair against her coal-black braid.
She calls me her fuckboy which is fine. It doesn’t bother me. I don’t care what she calls me, so long as that silken pussy is riding my cock at every available opportunity. So long as she walks around this school with my teeth marks on her neck, her breasts, her inner thighs.
There isn’t a boy in Prescott who doesn’t know who Scarlett Force is, who isn’t equally fearful and lustful toward her. And she chose me. She chose me to take her virginity, to fuck her the way she likes to be fucked, to warm her up before she hits the track or after she’s snagged another victory.
I don’t know why she did.
We’ve had business transactions in the past. She’s paid me to do things. Horrible things, wicked things, awful things. That’s what everybody in this school uses me for, and they don’t feel bad about it either.
But sex?
I’ve never been used for sex before.
I hover my hands over her bare shoulders, wanting to touch her, knowing how aroused she is right now, how wet. It was obvious, when she bent over like that. I could see the shape of her plump folds through her panties, the darkness of her lust tainting the fabric.
That day by the track, I was out there to smoke, knowing she, too, would come out to smoke. She showed up the way she always does, stood in silence with me the way she always does, but then she looked at me, and I felt this pull, this tug.
I dropped my cigarette, put it out with my boot. She did the same, using her obnoxious red high heels—a pair she’d won in a previous race—to crush the burning ember. She didn’t say anything when I walked up to her, didn’t stop me. And then I bent my head down and took her mouth.
Oh fuck, the moans she let out, the way she melted into me and then, subsequently, attacked me, shoving her tongue against mine, scratching at my back through my shirt until pain arced through me.
My pants went down and her dress came up, and she had just enough of a mind left to whisper condom, and she’s lucky she had one in her purse because I would’ve fucked her anyway.
I didn’t expect the blood when I pulled out after the first few strokes, intending on slamming deep again. I didn’t expect that she’d be digging her fingernails into the trunk of the tree and breathing hard through that initial violation of my thick cock in her absurdly tight little pussy. Pink and glistening and glittering with blood and arousal … I can’t say how many times I’ve masturbated to thoughts of that moment, how much it features in my fantasies, in all of the quiet spaces during the day and night when I’m alone.
“Fuck me, Bohnes. Fuck me hard.” She gave me the command, and I never looked back. I don’t particularly enjoy taking orders, but when that pretty mouth opens, and that husky voice comes out …
“You’ve been a bad girl, Scarlett Force,” I tell her as she shivers, still watching me in the mirror. I’m wearing black combat boots today, my black tie-dye joggers with the orange and black bats on them tucked inside. A muscle tank with two coital skeletons draped over the top.
“Have I?” she queries back, her voice equal parts playful and authoritative. “How so?”
“Playing games with the new boy in the library. Do you think I didn’t see that? Hmm? Do you think I’m stupid? I know everything that happens in this hellhole, maybe even more so than you do.”
“Really?” she queries, and then she turns around and my hands finally drop to her shoulders, digging into her smooth skin as I grit my teeth against the overwhelming urge to tear her clothes off and fuck her right here.
We’ve never done it anywhere but at the track. Certainly never at school. But why not? The bell rings and we both ignore it.
“I’d say you were the bad one, Bohnes. I don’t allow dicks in the girls’ restroom.”
I smile at that, but it’s layered on top of my gritted teeth, and I’m sure it looks hideous.
“You think I wasn’t aware that you were watching?” She reaches out and curls her hands in my shirt, drawing me closer. Whether she’s telling the truth or not, I’m not sure. I want to believe that she wouldn’t lie to me, especially not after the gift I gave her last weekend. But who knows? “Widow and I aren’t fucking, Bohnes. You can see that. You know it. What do you care if I tease the uptight bastard a little bit?”
