Devils' Day Party: A High School Bully Romance - C.M. Stunich Page 0,97

his sharp intake of breath as he watches me slip into the boots. I feel ridiculous, naked and wearing nothing but heeled boots, but then I see the way that Barron's looking at me.

It's quite clear in his gaze that he's into me.

Mine, he said. So Barron is interested in not just fucking, but dating?

“Okay,” I say, standing up in front of him, several inches taller than before. “Do your worst.”

With a wicked smile, Barron grabs me by the hips and backs me up until my ass is pressed against the glass.

“Thank you for defiling this sacred space with me,” he murmurs, kissing me so deeply that I forget what it's like to breathe. Barron then pulls back and turns me around, pushing me over so that my palms press against the glass, the trees trailing up the hillside in front of us. There's nobody out there, but there could be. My heart beats rapidly as Barron finds my opening, already primed, wet, and ready for him.

He sweeps some red and black hair over my shoulder, leaning down to kiss my upper back.

“You smell too good tonight,” he murmurs against my skin, tasting me with his tongue. “Like sweat and desire, like some sort of sweet, wicked perfume.”

He presses the tip of his cock inside of me, and I gasp, my head falling forward so that my hair hangs down around the sides of my face. His hands grasp my hips, giving him good purchase as he begins to move, slamming his pelvis into my ass. The sound echoes around the wooden rafters as I lift my head back up, staring into my own gray eyes as my body rocks back and forth with each thrust. My breasts sway as I watch my own reflection, my pupils swollen with desire, just two black voids in a pale face. My lips have never looked so red, my cheeks so flushed.

Lifting my gaze up, I can see his reflection, one brown eye and one blue studying me in the glass. Sweat drips over his pecs, making the butterfly tattoo on his chest shiny in the moonlight.

We stare at each other through our reflections as Barron buries his cock deep inside of me, making my toes curl inside my shoes. I end up dropping one hand between my legs to rub at my aching clit, and my body clamps down around him, milking his body of its own accord. Biting my lower lip, I struggle to control my panting breath, leaving little clouds of fogged-up glass in my wake.

My knees begin to buckle from the rush of pleasure, but Barron doesn't let up. He fucks me harder and faster, grabbing hold of my hair and pulling my head back so he can keep looking at my reflection. The way his eyes roll up to the ceiling when he comes nearly undoes me, watching him shudder and pump into me, spilling every last drop of seed he has.

He lets us both fall to the floor then, covering me with his body and kissing his way back to my clit. Barron uses his mouth to bring me to another orgasm, his hands keeping my pelvis from bucking too wildly against his face.

Even after I come, Barron continues his assault of lips and tongue and teeth, until I'm shaking, my eyes shimmering with tears.

“Sorry,” he murmurs, stretching his body out alongside mine. “You taste too damn good.”

He runs a finger down my sweaty forehead as I bat his hand away, my body worn-out, but not entirely sure that I'm ready to call it quits. “I'll take it slower next time.”

Next time.

“If there is a next time, you won't know it,” I say with a sad smile. “Once I fall asleep, everything resets. I'll see you at the gas station, holding a bag of snacks and hating me, your sketchbook tucked under your arm.”

Barron chuckles, the sound warm and deep and low.

“Hate you? I never hated you. Perhaps, I judged you too harshly sometimes, but hate was never the name of the game. Karma, stop giving a fuck about the Knight Crew. That's all I ever wanted.”

I say nothing. He really is a bit too judgy, but then, nobody's perfect. Most definitely not me.

Barron's phone starts to vibrate, still lying on a pew near the front of the room. He ignores it, stroking that single finger down my forehead and nose as I stare up at him, marveling at the beauty of our locale, and the way