Page 32 of Make Me Pretty
“Hello,” I read from his mouth, followed by a perfunctory kiss pressed into nothing but air.
Breath is punched from my lungs, leaving me bereft and helpless.
Fuck.
CHAPTER 9
ABEL
Havinghis eyes on me makes me feel high—on his hatred, his obvious fascination.
I’d wager that Peris Baxter hates that he wants me—someonelikeme. Gay and open and happy about it. Someone who is a slut and fuckin’ loves it.
I’ve been around enough people like him to know the type—in the closet, hating on everyone who is what they wish they could be, or even what they covet.
And I want to fuck with him. Push every single button he didn’t know he had. For nothing more than my own version of sick fascination. Because I can—and will always—use my body to my advantage.
After all, I’ve been used and fucked and thrown away. Why shouldn’t I take control where I can? Take a piece of my freedom, make it my own again—even if it is just with this one thing.
It’s better than the nothing I always had.
I didn’t exactly know how I was going to handle… everything after what happened last night—being watched, the way he was watching me. Like he was equal parts sick andimpossibly aroused. A stranger peeking through the darkness, a vacant witness to such depravities.
Not that what Lance and I were doing was truly that depraved. I mean, it was just a hand job. Really, I’ve done much worse—and inside a school, no less. But to none other than Peris Baxter, varsity basketball captain, it was an illusion of hidden desires.
But I saw it—the pain in his eyes. The longing for what I was feeling—what I was experiencing. It had a particular taste as it lingered in the air.
It’s still there, too. Shrouding him in the weight of it—a weight he can’t shake. He knows I see it, too. Which is why from the moment our eyes connected again, he decided to push forth every ounce of bitter disgust. But that’s just fine by me. He can set the tone for what this is. He can push and scream. Hell, he can even snap those pretty white teeth and bite me a little because, in the end, he’ll end up on his knees just like the rest of them.
They always fucking fall.
My body isslick with sweat, my heart hammering against my sternum, mimicking that of a hummingbird’s. My eyes continuously dart toward his door, bottom lip trapped between my teeth as I strain my ears for the sound of his footsteps.
I know he’s home.
I watched him pull into the drive, windows cracked, bass thumping.
Then I ran—straight into his bedroom. It fucking smells like his cologne in here, and it’s making my brain foggy and my cockten times harder than it would normally be. But just knowing he’s so close tocatching me…well, my dick certainly likes the prospect.
Manipulative, sure. But with how many people have fucked with my head, I’ve learned to play the game. And well.
It never lasts—nothing does—but it’s viable for a time.
I jolt when the front door slams closed, followed by the distinct thud of his bag atop the washing machine. Doors open and close, glasses clank. Feet shuffle. And all the while, I’ve got my fingers wrapped around my dick, holding it with a grip far too tight. My knuckles bump against the cotton of my boxers with every slow drag of my hand—slow because if I move any faster, I’m going to come before he even makes it down the hallway.
“Oh, f-fuck,” I rasp as his heavy footsteps thud closer. Each one distinct, each one I match my hand movements to.
As they draw near, I close my eyes and straighten my head against his pillow. My breaths are louder now without my sight. My heartbeat feels heavier. My balls are throbbing painfully.
Precum oozes at my slit, slick and wet and nowhere near enough to ease the burn of friction, but I don’t care. My hand moves faster down my length, fingers reaching down to graze my balls before flicking up and massaging my head.
My shoulders tense as the doorknob turns. The door swings open, letting in muted light. Peris’s heavy sigh is loud in my ears as he flicks on the light switch, dropping his backpack atop the desk with a thud so jarring, I jerk, and my breath hitches—my undoing.
A sharp inhale.
I open my eyes. Silver meets golden-green.
I expect screaming. A red face. Even flying fists and spit.
