The Wild Mustang & The Dancing Fairy (St. Mary’s Rebels 1.5)

Not if I don’t want to.

I’m not the good girl Callie for him.

I’m his Fae and so I put my other hand on his chest too, as if to show how bad I can be, how eager.

“I’ll do it,” I whisper. “Whatever you want me to. I’ve been p-practicing.”

That throws him off, my excitement, eagerness. The little tidbit of information that I let slip. I can’t say that I did it accidentally. Or that I had no intention of doing it.

I had every intention.

I’ve had this intention for days now but I didn’t know how to bring it up.

I didn’t know if I should bring it up or not.

Given the fact that I shouldn’t have been practicing at all what I’ve been practicing for days now.

“What?” he bites out.

If I tell him then there’s no going back. Then there’s no two ways about what I feel for him.

He’ll know.

Reed Roman Jackson, the Wild Mustang, the soccer god, the heartbreaker of Bardstown High will know that my good girl, not-so-freshman, just turned sixteen-year-old heart beats for him; my birthday was last week and he bought me cupcakes and new knitting needles and so much yarn.

Before I can make up my mind either way, my lips seal my fate as I blurt out, “You told me the other day, in the storage closet that… that you’re not so easy to take care of…”

Despite my determination in telling him, my courage falters when I actually say the words.

And I have to lower my eyes.

I have to fist his t-shirt and bite my lip as a flurry of butterflies swoops around in my stomach.

“What about it?”

His gravelly voice makes me clench my stomach. “You said that if I took care of you, I’d have bruised knees, so I…”

God, why can’t I just say it?

I should be able to say it.

I started this, didn’t I?

“You what?” he asks in a strangled whisper.

Finally I look up and all my fear and shyness just melt away.

He appears as he does when he watches me dance. All on edge and intense and excited. “So I get down on my knees. At night.”

“On your knees.”

“Yes.” My knees tingle from all the abuse of the past days. “We’ve got hardwood floors at home. So I get down and I… I stay there.”

His lips part then.

Only slightly, but I know it’s because he’s started to breathe heavily. His entire body is moving with it.

“For how long?” he asks gruffly.

“Long time. Until I...” I press my knees into his legs. “Until they start to feel all numb. And sore.”

They do start to feel sore, after being like that for what feels like minutes and hours and days.

They do start to feel bruised up after what feels like worshipping.

Like I am praying to God.

Only my god is a devil.

A villain with wolf eyes and vampire skin.

And I feel his villainous heart skipping a beat under my fist. “You made your knees sore. For me.”

“Yes,” I whisper, pressing myself into him. “But that’s not all. I practice something else too.”

“What?”

“You said that you could… you could take care of me twice. But then I wouldn’t let you. So I practice so that I will.”

“How?”

My thighs clench together. “I touch myself.”

“Where?”

“I… in my… you know where.”

At last, he leans his face toward me, all bruised up and swollen in places, making him look like a criminal.

A thug I should run away from. But I press myself closer to.

“Pussy,” he chokes out. “You touch your pussy.”

I’m doused by a flood of heat at the dirty word and I nod. “Yes.”

But he won’t let me go so easily.

By telling him this, I’ve unleashed something in him. A beast, a predator, and so all I can do is revel in the fact that he finally chooses to touch me.

He not only touches me, he crushes me to him.

With his hands on my waist, his fingers digging into my soft flesh, he bends down even more, darkening the world around us.

“Say it,” he growls.

“I…”

His fingers on my body grow insistent. “Say ‘I touch my pussy.’”

My own fingers dig in his chest when I obey him. “I touch my p-pussy.”

“‘And I make myself come.’”

“And I make myself come.”

“For Roman.”

“For my Roman.”

“How many times?”

I have to gather my breaths first before I can tell him. “T-two, sometimes three.”

His eyes shoot fire. “Three.”

“Yes.”

“Because you were practicing.”

My ballerina feet can’t stay still so I go up on my tiptoes. “Yes. I wanted to be… ready.”

“Ready, yeah,” he whispers as well. “Because you know that if I get anywhere near that thing, it’s game over, don’t you? You know that I’d lick her and suck on her and fingerfuck her like I’ve never fucked a pussy before.”

“Y-yes.”

“And I’d eat her out, bang her with my tongue until she gets all sore and hurt like your knees. You know that, don’t you?”