My Darling Arrow (St. Mary's Rebels 1)

Then he writes, pressing the tip of the pen really hard on the paper, You mean do you really taste like a ripe fruit? All sweet and soft and made of sugar that when I take a bite, juices spill out of you and run down my chin? Fuck yeah, you do.

I’m a mess down there.

A complete fucking mess. More than I was before. The wetness is seeping into my thong and going beyond it. Also I think I’m breathing too hard.

I’m breathing so loudly that the girls who are watching us still – I can feel their eyes – can hear me. They can tell that I’m on the verge of combusting and leaving my wetness in this chair.

My fruity, peachy, sugary wetness.

You have to stop talking like that, I write to him.

Then you should stop squirming like your peach is bursting to be eaten. You wet? he writes back.

My pen almost slips away from my grip when I answer, Yes. So much.

Yeah, I bet. I bet your pussy is all swollen and messy. Whining for me, isn’t she?

Yes, she is. She wants you. I want you. Are you hard?

Like fuck. I ache. And you come here, looking so daisy fresh, so innocent and so soft in your schoolgirl uniform. So unlike the bad girl you are. Who wants to flip her skirt and flash me her pussy. You want to, don’t you?

Yes, I want to.

That’s why I’m squirming in my chair while those girls are watching us and the rest of the world is absorbed in their homework. That’s why I want to tell him to meet me somewhere so I can show him how horny he makes me.

In fact, I’m even leaning against the table, searching for friction for my hard nipples as I reply, Yes. I wanna. I so, so wanna. When can we do it again?

I hear his pained chuckle and I notice that he’s even more golden now, shinier and more glistening.

His note says, I’m not going to have sex with you again right after I broke you in and made you bleed. I’m an asshole but I’m not a total bastard, Salem.

Again, I read his note multiple times before I can gather enough sense to look up at him. I can’t decide which I like more: him saying my name or writing it.

I guess I love it all. Just like I love him.

My darling, darling Arrow.

I pout at him, at his no-sex rule and his nostrils flare.

Then I pen him a request. Okay, fine. But will you take me for a ride tonight?

He reads my note and thinks about it for a second before answering, Midnight tonight.

It’s a date. Yay!

I hear his sigh and when he passes me his reply, I hear him growl it in my ears, making me want to laugh.

Can we get back to trigonometry now?

***

I find him by his Ducati at midnight.

This is the first time I’ve snuck out all alone, without any help from my girls. I was a little nervous about it, but it turned out okay. What I should be more nervous about, or at least more anticipatory about, is the fact that I’m breaking one of his rules for the first time ever.

I’m wearing a skirt.

I borrowed it from Poe again, this one plaid too but with good-girl pleats and bad-girl length that barely covers my ass.

He’s gonna freak, I know. But whatever. He can punish me if he likes. I have his jacket on though, which drowns me so it’s not as if anyone can see anything.

Anyway, I’m here now.

I pause a moment to take him in. He’s leaning against his motorcycle in his usual, familiar clothes that are already making me feel warm, smoking a cigarette.

His little bad habit.

A tiny rule that he breaks because it helps him relax and de-stress.

God, he’s so hard on himself, isn’t he?

So hard and critical. So tied up in severe knots.

That’s why I came up with this idea. This ride at midnight. If I can’t make him believe that he’s not a failure, then at least I can help him let loose.

This broken boy.

This new Arrow.

The one who looks like a quintessential bad boy right now – seemingly dark hair, dark intentions, waiting for his teenage sweetheart that he’s going to take away on his motorcycle. He’s going to find a dark alley or a lonely corner under a rusty bridge somewhere and corrupt every little innocent part of her with those big hands and darling lips.

I begin walking toward him and the sound of my feet makes him look at me.

As soon as he does, he straightens up and lets out a puff of smoke and I start to run toward him like I did in our backyard.

Although I stumble just when I reach him, but he catches me, as usual. Panting, I hug him and close my eyes, pressing my cheek against his ribs, exactly where his heart is.