Boys Club by Selena

nineteen

Royal Dolce

I can’t let her go. I don’t know why. I only know I’m prolonging the inevitable, but it’s too good to give up just yet. Over the next month, we go to the bridge twice a week, but it’s not enough. She comes to my games, but I need more. I don’t know how I’m going to make it through two weeks without her at spring break, and I fucking hate that. But it’s just her body I need. And it’s not going to be hard to find someone to fuck in the lodge. Eleanor will bend over if I so much as look at her right.

But I don’t want Eleanor. That’s the fucked up part.

That, and the fact that when Harper looks at me right, I’ll do just about anything, too. I’ll walk out of practice for a quickie in the storage room off the gym. I’ll meet her at her locker like she’s my girlfriend because I know she’ll reward me with anal. She’ll send me a sexy text, and I’ll be at her house on rainy mornings, so she doesn’t have to ride her bike to school.

And when she tells me it’s her eighteenth birthday, I’ll be in line to buy movie tickets like we’re some assholes from a nineties teen movie. We’re not twenty minutes into the show when Harper reaches over and takes my hand, linking her fingers with mine.

“What are you doing?” I demand, as if I didn’t bring this on myself.

“I’m holding your hand,” she says, batting her eyes at me, a picture of innocence. “Is that a problem?”

Fuck, even her fingers feel good, so small between mine, like I could keep her safe. If I could keep her safe from me, I’d let her do it. But this whole thing has gone way too far already. I was supposed to be done with her by now, not drag this out over an entire school year. I know I’m being a dick, that I should get it over with quickly and be done. That’s the kind thing to do, the thing I’d do if I really did care about her the way my fucked up head thinks I do. But I must not care as much as I think, because I can’t seem to end it and put her out of her misery.

Every week we go deeper and deeper, spending time together, leaving parties together, hanging out with my friends like they’re hers, too. Even I don’t believe we’re just fucking anymore. I’m not sure we ever were. But it’s definitely something else now. Something dangerous to both of us.

“I didn’t take you for one of those girls,” I mutter.

“We’re all those girls. Some chicks just pretend they’re not because they want to impress you.”

“Baby, if you want to impress me, get on those knees and suck my dick the way you do.”

“And then I can hold your hand?”

I give her a long look. “Sure,” I say with a smirk. “Suck me down that tight little throat, and swallow what I give you, and I’ll hold your hand. Since it’s your birthday.”

“Challenge accepted,” she says with a grin. She leans up in her seat to give me a little kiss. “And who says compromise is dead?”

I should have asked for anal. I’m pretty sure she likes sucking dick as much as I like receiving.

I slide my fingers into her hair and bring her face in, kissing her hard for a minute before pulling back. “Now wrap those pretty lips around my cock, birthday girl,” I murmur against her mouth. “I like to see my little plaything with dirty knees.”

She glances around to make sure we’re still alone in the back row before slipping off the seat, an excited, naughty little smile on her face. I fucking love her adventurous side, her willingness to do anything with me, the way she gets wet when I call her my little slut. She’s up for anything and it’s addictive as hell.

I didn’t know what it was like to be with someone this way, for months on end, and never get tired of them. I’ve never been part of a couple, let alone one that wants to fuck constantly. When we’re not together, my mind is always on the next time I’ll feel her slick cunt squeezed tight around me or hear her helpless, breathy little cries as she cums or her gagging noises as she chokes on my cock.

I can barely make it a whole day without being inside her. Every moment we’re together is spent in the agony of anticipation until one of us cracks and gives the signal. We slip out of science class to fuck in an empty classroom, or out of lunch to fuck under the bleachers, or out of our separate classes to meet in the basement, where I can take my time with her, like she’s something worth savoring.

I never forget who she is, but that only makes it better. I don’t have to worry about her being girlfriend material or having to treat her like she’s respectable. She’s not.

I can drag her in the bathroom and fuck her up against the wall, pull her hair, and spit in her face, and she’ll cum a waterfall. I can tell her she’s a dirty whore who means nothing to me, that I fucking hate her, and she’ll say it right back. Nothing turns her off.

And that turns me on.

But at the same time, I fucking hate her for it. I hate that I can’t forget who she is. I hate that she’s a snake in the grass, that I have to watch her every move. I hate the very blood that runs in her veins like a disease. I hate that she fucks with my head, my heart, even my body. I hate that more and more often, I find myself picturing something we’ll do together in a year, a month, even a week, before I remember it’s impossible. And most dangerous of all, I hate that it’s impossible.

I know I should act, that I’m on borrowed time now. The longer I wait to neutralize the threat, the more danger it brings to not just myself but my whole family. She’s the scorpion in the fable. I can’t change what she is, and if I don’t destroy her first, her venom will poison us all.

But what kind of asshole dumps a girl on her birthday?

So, I’ll wait one more day. I’ll cum down her throat, and I’ll hold her hand, and she’ll fall deeper, and a little more of her will die when I pull the plug. I tell myself that’s why I’m waiting. I tell myself she’s the one who will break when I leave. That she’s the one who will hurt.

And I almost believe it.