Punk 57

Masen pushes off the lockers, still holding his straw as he chews on it, smirking. His friends follow, all of them chuckling.

He must’ve thrown his soda from over there, into the garbage can.

Prick.

“Sorry, Rocks.” Masen pulls the straw out of his mouth, a cocky look in his eyes as he stares at me. “Didn’t mean to make you dirty.”

His words are filled with innuendo, and his friends laugh louder around him. I flex my jaw, dying to slap that smile off his face as he and his new friends walk away, down the hall, and toward the lunchroom.

He never fails to make an impression, does he?

“Jerk,” Lyla grits out. “I’m going to the bathroom to clean up.”

She brushes past me and Ten follows her, shaking his head with an amused smile. “We’ll meet you in the lunchroom,” he says as he passes.

I turn and reopen my locker, taking out the cashmere scarf Masen ruined. It’s already dirty, so what does it matter? I dry off my legs and ankles and throw it back in the locker, making a mental note to take it home tonight and get it cleaned.

The bell rings, and I head to the cafeteria, actually feeling hungry enough to leave my books in my locker today and eat something.

But when I pass the Physics lab, I see something dark come at me on my left, and I barely have time to realize it’s Masen before he shoves me through the door. I stumble into the empty classroom, sucking in a breath as he shuts the door and advances on me, backing me up into the wall.

My heart pounds in my chest, and butterflies flutter in my stomach. But I stamp it down. I look at him with my hands on my hips and my chin up, forcing myself to look calm.

He stares down at me, not saying anything as his chest touches mine. The room is dark, except for the dim light coming through the windows, and muffled sounds of laughter and talking drift through the wall from the lunchroom.

He’s close.

Everything heats up under my skin, and his breath falls across my lips.

“This cheerleading outfit is fucking lame,” he says.

I cock my head. “Funny, ‘cause you couldn’t seem to take your eyes off me in it a minute ago.”

His eyes drop to my lips, and he leans in, both of our breaths turning shallow, and I can almost taste him.

I lick my lips.

And he loses it.

He reaches down, grabs the backs of my thighs and hauls me up, and I wrap my arms

and legs around him, letting out a small whimper. Yes.

I part my lips, running them over the lip ring and savoring the feel as he groans and digs his fingers into my thighs. I tighten my legs around him, needing to feel him.

“Bitch,” he whispers.

“Loser.”

And when I dart out the tip of my tongue to lick the little piece of metal again, he’s done being patient.

Masen Laurent slams his lips down on mine, moving hard over my mouth and brushing his tongue with mine, the heat and taste sending my mind reeling. I stop breathing. I don’t care. I just go in for more and more.

He bites my bottom lip, moving his hands to my ass and squeezing, and I let out a little cry, the feel of him driving me mad. I don’t want people to hear us, but right now I don’t care about anything.

My eyes close as his lips and teeth move over my neck, sending shivers down my spine. Heat gathers low in my belly as I tighten my thighs around him.

I want to be closer.