Breaking the Bully

I search for a way to change the subject. To take the focus off the gravity dragging us back together. “Well.” I dampen my lips. “There’s a good reason you couldn’t figure out which colleges I got into. My father hid all of my acceptance letters. Lost my tuition money. Lost all the money. He was never really going to let me go.” I weave my fingers together and tighten them until they leach of color. “Tonight was the first time I ever spoke back to him. I was just so angry.”

Several beats pass. “Of course you were.” He drops down onto the back porch, a couple of feet to my right, staring out into the trees. “Jesus, Allie. I’m sorry he did that.”

I nod. “I did a lot of thinking on the back of your bike. It’s good for that. Thinking. Isn’t it?”

“Yeah. When you don’t want to think…it’s good for that, too.”

“Hmm.”

He looks over at me, hands clasped loosely between his bent knees. “What did you think about?”

“College. How to salvage the original plan.” I feel kind of jumpy, sharing my ideas with Moore, with anyone, I’ve kept things to myself for so long, not confiding in my peers, not getting close to others, lest my father find a way to blacken the connection. To make people sorry for interacting with me. “I was thinking…maybe I could go and see the school guidance counselor. She should be able to find out which colleges accepted me. Once I know that, I could commit to one. Maybe the counselor could help me work on a loan application. There has to be a way to make it work.”

Moore nods, brow puckered, like he’s giving my plan some serious thought. “It’s not safe for you to go back to the school, Allie. I’ll go. I’ll go do whatever you need. Pick up your transcripts, get duplicates of the acceptance letters. We can find a library around here to fill out the loan applications online…”

My heart thumps heavily. All that time spent with him, getting deeper and deeper. It wouldn’t be wise. “You don’t have to do all of that.”

“I want to.” He spears a handful of fingers into his hair and leans back against the top step, hesitating as if deciding whether or not to tell me something. “My aunt, Allie…she is the guidance counselor.”

Understanding dawns slowly. The answer to a question that has been plaguing me for years. “Your aunt. That’s how you got into all of my classes?”

He winces slightly. “To be fair, she didn’t know I was…stalking you. She thought it was a crush. And I was bribing her with some serious ammunition. The woman has never been able to turn down a Snickers—and I supplied them by the case.”

When I laugh, I cut myself off in surprise. Am I really laughing over the lengths Moore went to shadow me every hour of the school day? His head jerks around at the sound, searching my face, hope beginning to bleed into his expression. I shouldn’t allow that hope. Nor should I rely on him for things I need to do myself. Things that will be required to take control of my life. “It’s not safe for you at the school, either. What if my father presses assault charges?” As soon as I ask the question, I shake my head. “Never mind. He’d never do that. People would know you bested him. They’d know what he did to me, too—and he’d never allow that.”

“So I’ll go to the school for you?” he asks, quietly, casually, but I can see the tension in his shoulders, the set of his jaw. It’s not a simple question. If I say yes to this favor, it means our…relationship will extend beyond one night. To include tomorrow—Sunday—plus Monday morning, before the school opens. It adds time to the us I know he still wants. Do I have a choice, though? What he’s willing to do could help me tremendously. Could start me on the path to a new beginning.

“Yes,” I whisper. “You’ll go.”

Moore swallows loudly, his eyelids briefly dropping.

When he opens them again, his gaze traces my bare thighs hungrily. We have until Monday now. What are we going to do with all that time to kill? That question hangs in the air, unspoken, but louder than a shout. I can almost feel the binds tightening us together, strengthening until they become impossible to snap. And it scares me, but I’ve always loved storms. Always loved being scared, electrified, by beautiful things, and bare-chested in the moonlight, Moore is by far the most beautiful of all. “Allie…” he breathes, swallowing loudly. “Can I lick your pussy again?”

Heat envelops me, wraps me tight in its grip.

I’ve always worried I need to touch myself too often. That I have a more pronounced sexual appetite than I’m supposed to have at my age. But as Moore kneels on the lower stair in front of me and separates my thighs, kissing a path toward my apex, I know he’s the reason. Moore is the reason I’ve been riding the heel of my hand, crying frustration into my pillow, night after night after night. He’s the one that inspires the excruciating arousal—and I don’t have a shot in hell of saying no to him. Not when it comes to being physical.