Devils' Day Party: A High School Bully Romance - C.M. Stunich Page 0,50

my voice. “You had no right to lie to me, no right to lie to yourself and your friends. You have no right to treat me the way you do.”

He grits his teeth, jaw clenching tight, and then he turns me around, pushing me up against the cold iron sides of the old train car, my palms pressed against the metal. My eyes close again as he grips my hip in one hand, using the other to shove my panties down to my thighs, trapping me in a lacy prison.

“Interesting,” he says instead, projecting an outward sort of calm that doesn’t translate to his tight fingers or his quivering body. “And yet, you’re still here. You asked for my attention this morning with your little stunt. Well, your wish is my command.”

Calix lines himself up with my opening and shoves himself in with one violent thrust.

The first time we slept together—the only time—he was so careful with me. He was gentle, patient, observant. This is not the same, but I don't care. Not today. His cock fills me up completely, making me feel deliciously whole in a way I haven’t experienced for an entire year. One whole year apart, the sexual tension between us almost painful, both sweet and sour at the same time.

I needed this.

Even if he won’t remember it tomorrow.

No, no, it’s probably better if he doesn’t.

“Happy Devils' Day,” Calix whispers, fingers digging into my pelvis, my purple and white plaid Crescent Prep skirt bunched up around my hips. It’s a wanton scene, crude and filthy. Just fucking filthy. “It's obscene, really, the two of us fucking like this in our school uniforms, after we've barely said a handful of words to one another,” he continues, echoing my thoughts aloud, his voice strained with the tension of holding back.

This is taboo for him, too, isn't it? If he's so damn scared about that sex tape being leaked, then why are we here together, doing this again? There must be something to it. There just has to be.

Hate is an emotion that requires a lot of strength and energy to perpetuate, and Calix and I, we've been working at this for a long time. My eyes squeeze shut on fresh tears as I think about how much I fucking loathe him, how many times I've wished for him to break his leg, or fall on his face, or fail in some way, shape or form, just so he could understand a modicum of the suffering he's bestowed on me.

And yet … the hot feel of his cock between my thighs makes my entire body tremble, arcs of pleasure clashing with my hatred, mixing into a storm. He makes lightning inside of me when he starts to move, slamming us together without preamble, just a tangling of two beasts, just simple biology.

“You're the fucking worst,” I murmur on the end of a sob, my eyes still squeezed shut. Calix stops thrusting for the briefest of moments, his hands tightening on my hips. “You're so goddamn awful.”

“Am I?” he echoes, starting to move again, pushing himself balls-deep into my heat as I struggle to hold back the sounds of my moaning. I can feel him everywhere, not just in my pussy. He’s taking over me, drowning out my logicality, playing my emotions like a trick. “Then why are you here? Why did you even come here?”

I open my eyes, staring at the flat surface of the train car. When I try to turn around, Calix stops me with a hand on my shoulder, his own breathing labored, heavy, almost desperate.

“I can't bear it if you look at me,” he says, his voice a harsh whisper. He starts to step back, like he's going to stop, like he's going to walk away and leave me here. My own hand comes down on top of one of his.

“Don't stop.” The words are quiet but firm. “It doesn't matter if you're ashamed of me, or if you hate me, or if you're …” Or if you're lying. I wish you'd just tell me that you were. I wish we could drop all of this bullshit. “Keep going.”

After a brief pause, the silence of the forest creeping in around us, Calix starts to move again. His cock slides deep into me, churning up that shame and that hate along with all that pleasure. It feels so good, and the fact that we shouldn't be doing it only makes it hotter, harder to stop. A guilty