The Punk and the Plaything (When Rivals Play #3) - B.B. Reid Page 0,111
her. When she came, I immediately pulled out of her, grunting as I spilled myself on her thigh. Last night, I hadn’t realized how much was at stake when I selfishly went against her wishes. I couldn’t do that to her again.
The last to come, the rocking desk came to a halt as Ever spilled himself inside of Four. I just hoped she was on birth control.
The only sound in the room moments later was our heavy breathing. Catching my breath, I walked over to the small sink in the corner and wet a few paper towels, handing some to Ever when I returned to the desk.
“Thanks,” he said before he began cleaning between Four’s legs. I quickly averted my gaze when I got a glimpse of her pussy. That was a memory that wouldn’t be leaving me any time soon.
Sighing, I began cleaning my cum from Bee’s thighs while she laid on her back next to Four with her eyes closed. Once finished, I righted her dress before fixing my own clothes and then helped Bee from the desk while Ever did the same for Four.
“Well, this was fun,” I drawled, sarcasm dripping from each word. “Why don’t we make it a weekly thing? I’m good for Tuesdays and Thursdays.”
While Four had trouble meeting anyone’s gaze, Ever sighed. He already seemed resigned to living with the huge fuck up we’d just made. I would never be able to look at Four again without seeing the way her tits bounced while my cousin was driving into her. I didn’t even want to know how much he’d seen of Bee. I’d probably carve his eyes from his skull.
Needless to say, we wouldn’t be getting together for Naked Twister anytime soon.
“We should get back,” Ever mumbled. “What time does the ceremony start?”
Glancing at my watch, I winced. “An hour ago.”
We quickly rushed for the door. As soon as we stepped into the quiet hall, however, we each froze, seeing who awaited us. None of us had time to react, least of all me, before Elliot stepped forward, his expression filled with rage, and backhanded his daughter.
Summer… Five Years Ago
I STEPPED OFF THE TRAIN and took a deep breath. It had been terrifying riding alone from Boston, but I’d had no choice. Clutched in my fist was the last letter Bee had sent me. Like always, I’d responded immediately, but almost a month had gone by and… nothing.
What was going on?
I’d kept the promise I made her a year ago and came back to Blackwood Keep. Our second summer together was even more amazing than the first because this time, there’d been no pretending to hate each other. Leaving her for a second time, however, was even harder. I’d even gone so far as to try to convince my parents to leave Boston. Whenever I brought it up, my dad would simply chuckle around his eighth or eighteenth smoke for the day while my mom would offer me a gentle smile. They both knew my reason for wanting to move.
I was in love at fourteen, and I didn’t care who knew it.
Or maybe I did?
I still hadn’t asked Bee to be my girlfriend, not officially or anything. Maybe that’s why she stopped writing me? Was she tired of waiting for me to ask?
My hands shook at the thought of finally asking her. What if she said no? What if she still secretly liked Ever?
The wind blew, so I zipped my hoodie up. It was the first day of fall—the official end of summer. Sadness whipped through me, chilling my bones like that gust of wind. Recalling the words in the poem Bee had given me before I left, I realized why. Bee had changed the meaning of summer for me, too, and whenever it ended, she somehow felt farther away.
Since I’d hopped a train to find Bee without my parents’ knowledge or permission, there was no one waiting for me when I arrived in Blackwood Keep. School would be over in a couple of hours, so I didn’t think twice before starting the trek to Bee.
Underestimating how long it would take to walk five miles, I reached her school with less than five minutes to spare. I walked through the doors as if I belonged and beelined to the nearest water fountain and drank my fill. I was sweating everywhere, and my feet ached, but I still wandered the halls in search of Mrs. Newman’s class. In Bee’s last letter, she’d written to