A Deal With the Devil

by Angel Lawson

“Not about Vandy,” I insist. I look into the fire, the cinder and sparks, and distract myself with catching the panic. Gathering it up and packing it away, bit by bit. I tell him, “I could have kicked his ass,” and tip the bottle to my lips.

  “That’s what you’re so pissed about?” The tone of surprise in Emory’s voice is jarring. It’s getting really weird that I can feel something so enormous, and no one can just look at me and somehow know. “Of course, you could kick his ass. Georgia could probably kick his ass. Heston isn’t the physical kind of guy, you know that. He’s all about fucking mind games.”

  “I should have,” I say, finally looking my friend in the eye. “If you heard some of the shit he was saying about her, you’d wish I did.”

  Emory jabs a playful elbow into my side. “Look at you, getting all big brotherly. Now you’re getting a taste of how I feel all the time.”

  Big brotherly is not the way I’d describe it. I give him a tight smile, elbowing back. “You know V’s my girl.” I say it just like Sebastian did—totally casual—but it rings too true in my own ears.

  Emory just looks pleased.

  We both look in her direction, toward where Sebastian is assessing her. “This is your dominant leg, isn’t it?” I track him carefully as he bends down to tap her bare knee. “What’s the deal with this thing? What’s your range of motion?” It’s her bad leg, and I’m not sure what makes me tense more; the question itself or the easy way he just touched her leg.

  Devil or not, I will break this fucker’s fingers.

  She darts her eyes toward Emory and me, shifting uncomfortably. “Uh, I don’t know. It depends on the day, I guess. Maybe fifty percent, on a good one?”

  “How high can you get it?”

  She draws out a long, “Um,” and braces her grip on Aubrey’s arm to lift her knee. “It’s not—I mean, I can’t—not without something to hold onto.”

  Sebastian seems to consider this, and I feel Emory going still as stone beside me, as well. “How’s your balance on it? Can you lift the other one?”

  Her face is turning red now. “Not great. Really, it’s just…weak.”

  “But you do PT, right?”

  “Yeah, once a week now.” She looks self-conscious and uncertain, ducking her head, but Sebastian takes it in stride.

  “Then here’s what you do.” He takes her hand and puts it on his shoulder, tells her to use the attacker to brace herself before driving her knee into his groin. “You’ll be close enough, just try it out. Grab and spike it.”

  She gives Aubrey a sidelong look but does as he says, grasping his shoulder and jerking the knee of her leg upward—

  Slamming it right into his crotch.

  Sebastian lets out a winded ‘oof’, doubling over.

  Vandy stumbles back, hands clamped around her mouth. “Oh my god, I’m sorry!”

  Sebastian flaps one hand while the other cradles his balls. “It’s fine, it’s cool.”

  Emory and Carlton are howling with laughter.

  “Damn dude, she just racked you!” Ben’s pointing as he laughs, doubled over almost as far as Sebastian.

  “I’m so sorry!” Vandy puts a hand on his back, eyes wide and alarmed.

  Sebastian finally straightens. “Well, I did tell you to try it.”

  “This must be one of the good days,” she laments, pulling a face. “I never know what it’s going to—I’m sorry.”

  “V,” he says, already looking completely recovered. “It’s cool, I’m good.”

  Despite that, when he turns his back to her, facing the rest of us, his face crumples enough that I finally crack up, too.

  That effectively marks the end of the fighting lesson, and the rest of them come to the little circle by the bonfire to grab beers and hit the joint. Vandy sulks over to us, telling Emory to, “Move over,” and plops down between us. She’s warm and solid at my side, her thigh pressed up against mine, and the urge to throw my arm around her shoulders is so strong that I have to lace my fingers tight around the neck of my bottle, hanging loose between my knees.

  She’s wearing this tight, haunted expression, so I make sure to tell her, “Hey, we weren’t laughing at you,” just loud enough for the others to hear.

  Ben’s head snaps up. “No, we were laughing at him! It’s a total bro rule.”

  Emory nudges his shoulder into hers. “Yeah, if a guy gets hit in the nuts, you have to laugh. Because it’s…you know.”

  “Hilarious,” I finish.

  Ben says, “Exactly.”

  She finally cracks a smile, some of the tension in her shoulders falling away. “I didn’t mean to.”

  Afton takes a hit from the joint Caroline just waved off and asks, “Hey, Emory, are you going to go all psycho caveman if I offer this to your sister?”

  “Yes,” he says without hesitation. Vandy scowls at him but he doesn’t back down. “Absolutely fucking not.”

  “I wouldn’t have taken it,” she says, even though I can see the curiosity plain as day in her eyes.

  “If you don’t let her try it where you can supervise,” Carlton pipes in magnanimously, “she’s just going to pick it up off the mean streets.”

  “I think I’ve heard enough about you supplying my little sister with drugs for one evening, thanks.”

  Carlton winces. “Ouch.”

  “Emory,” she warns, and he backs off.

  Carlton’s playing with that annoying knife again, and Caroline keeps hinting around about maybe wanting to jump into the lake, even though it’s going to be cold as a witch’s tit. Vandy grows quiet as the others talk and drink and smoke, staring wistfully into the fire. She doesn’t look upset that Emory won’t let her partake, but she’s also not laughing like she was before.

  Fuck it, I think and sling my arm around her neck, giving her a light jostle. “You okay?” This doesn’t look like anything, could easily pass for brotherly affection.

  She looks at me, a flash of trepidation in her eyes, and then back at Emory.

  He sees, but doesn’t seem to care.

  She gives me a secret smile that makes me want to take her behind a tree and kiss the hell out of her. “Yeah, just getting tired.”

  Emory overhears. “Need me to take you home?” Despite the effortless words, he looks disappointed.

  I let my arm fall away, standing. “I’m out, too. I’ll walk her home.”

  He gives me a grateful look, taking out his phone. “I’ll text Mom, in case Jerry gives you some shit.”

  I grimace, but don’t ask him not to, instead making my goodbyes to the others, slapping palms, picking up my bottles. I’ve only had six, so I’m not even drunk, just pleasantly buzzed. I wait, fidgeting impatiently as Vandy does the same, saying goodbye to the girls and apologizing to Sebastian one last time.

  All night, I’ve just wanted to get her alone.

  She finally sidles up to me, letting me lead the way down the shore. “Are you mad at me?”

  I feel my eyebrows draw together as I look at her. “Of course not.”

  She wraps her arms around her middle. “You’ve just looked really mad. Like, all night.”

  I glance over my shoulder, wondering if we’re far enough away yet, before reaching out to put my arm around her the way I’ve been wanting to all night. “Not at you. Just Heston, living rent-free inside my head.”

  She leans into the touch. “He’s a fucking jerk.”

  My eyebrows shoot up my forehead. “Baby V. Such language.”

  She whacks me playfully in the stomach. “Well, he is!”

  We reach the footbridge that takes us across the west side of the lake, and I keep taking peeks back at the bonfire, watching it grow smaller and dimmer in the distance.

  “Hey,” I say, pulling her to a stop and touching her chin. There’s no way they could see us here, but I still dart a nervous glance toward the orange glow behind us before ducking in to lick at the seam of her lips. Vandy meets me with enough gusto that I stumble back a step, having to clutch
at her hips.

  I pull away when I realize the beer is almost as strong on her tongue as it is my own. “Violence, strong language, alcohol. What’s next?”

  She hooks her fingers into the waist of my jeans, watching me through the fan of her eyelashes. “Adult content?”

  I shake my head. “How much did you have?”

  She rolls her eyes. “Afton let me take two sips of her beer. Don’t worry, it was super gross and I’m definitely not in any hurry to have more.”

  I exhale slowly, feeling relieved when I dip back in to kiss her again. I’m not like Emory. Annoyingly, I probably fall more on Carlton’s side of the argument. If Vandy wants to try something, she should be able to do it around the people she trusts and feels comfortable with. People who want to keep her safe. People who’ll know if things get out of hand, like with the pills.

  But I need wherever this kiss is heading to be nothing but legit.

  Her cheeks are red when she asks against my lips, “Can you come over again? Like last night?”

  I let one of my hands drop, fingertips grazing the outside of her bare thigh. It’s risky, doing that two nights in a row. “I don’t know if my dad’s home.”

  “If he isn’t?” She looks up at me, her puffy bottom lip trapped between her teeth, and I just keep thinking about what we did in the treehouse earlier. Her on top of me, riding me, coming for me. My dick aches with the memory of her tits in my hands—my mouth—and I was ready to do it again hours ago.

  “Come on,” I say, capturing her hand and heading toward home.

  Getting up Vandy’s roof is fine when I’m sober, but when I’ve had six beers, it’s a comedy of errors. It takes me half a dozen tries, and by the time I get to her window, my elbow is bruised, my muscles are stinging, and my pride is even more injured.

  If the boys at Dixon Hall could see me now.

  She said it might take her a little while to get up here, so I slide the window open and carefully climb inside to wait. The room looks almost exactly how I’d left it. It’s weird being in here. Everything is bright and girly, the picture-perfect princess oasis. It smells like Vandy though, all floral and clean. Her bed is this absurdly comfortable monstrosity that calls to me like a siren.

  Her pillows smell like her hair and I lay my head on one as I wait. I reach into my pocket and take out Carlton’s knife—mine now—Afton’s mascara—mine now—Sebastian’s cigarette lighter—mine now—and yes.

  Heston’s fucking wallet.

  Mine now.

  Prick.

  I can’t hear much happening downstairs, which is good. Means they can’t hear us much, either. Briefly, I think about looking around and finding something in here to swipe. It doesn’t have to be anything big or important. Just taking anything from here and carrying it to my own room would satisfy the twitchy impulse.

  But the thought of taking something from here—something soft and bright and Vandy—and putting it into my dark dresser drawer alongside Heston’s wallet feels wrong.

  I’m lingering somewhere between sleep and wakefulness when her door finally opens. I spring to my feet, alarmed even though I’d been expecting her to come.

  She shuts the door softly behind her, fingers turning the lock. “Hey,” she breathes, cheeks a soft pink. She’s still wearing my jacket.

  “Hey.” We watch each other for a long moment, and I feel compelled to say, “We don’t have to do anything. It’s okay if you want to wait.” My dick twitches tragically, but it’s been a long fucking day.

  “I really don’t,” she says simply, stepping forward to curl a palm around my neck. She pulls me down and kisses me with her hot, quick tongue.

  I groan in approval.

  “Tell me what you want,” I say, pushing her hair aside and kissing her neck. Her body is arching into me, making contact in a variety of good places. “Tell me what you need.”

  Her hand brushes against the outside of my pants, more tentative than necessary. I pull back and look at her. The innocence flickers in her eyes. “I want to feel good. I want you to feel good.”

  She can’t lead here because she doesn’t have a map.

  “We can just…” I back up toward the bed, dropping down on the edge and guiding her into my lap. “Like last time.”

  Her lips part on a sigh when my mouth kisses down her neck, bumping into the cool leather of my jacket. She rocks against me hard and I can’t help it when my hands go lower, sliding up her spread thighs. I’ve been thinking about them all night—that pale, soft skin where she got the Devil’s mark. I’ve been thinking about how much I want to mark her myself, so that guys like the Wilcoxes don’t dare think of touching what’s mine again.

  Her hips roll to a stop, and I almost pull away when one of her hands closes over mine, worried I’m pushing it too far. Instead, she guides my hand to stroke upward, beneath her skirt.

  I meet her heavy eyes, swallowing. “Like this?” I ask, running my fingers over that tattoo and then inching up and up, until I’m touching the cotton of her panties.

  She nods, eyes fluttering closed. “Like this,” she decides.

  I press my thumb to the middle, testing, and her hips chase it, bucking forward. My breath escapes in a loud gust and I trail my fingers deeper, lower. I hiss a low, “Shit,” when I feel the wetness that’s soaking through.

  I wrap an arm around her back and flip us, scooting her up the bed. She helps, digging her heels in, pushing to the center, and the sight of her spread out beneath me almost makes me bust a load right there. I can see the tattoo here, and she lets me sweep her skirt up, revealing the same place I’d just been touching. I lick my lips and meet her gaze when I return my fingers, pressing slow, firm circles around her clit.

  Her hips press up into it, expression crumbling. “Oh, god.”

  I don’t even recognize the sound that comes from my chest, something rough and hungry, but I brace myself over her to duck in for another kiss and she meets me open-mouthed, eager.

  It’s completely an accident when my fingers slip—pure drunken lack of coordination—dipping in beneath the edge of her panties. But the sound she makes into my mouth is full of equal parts shock and approval, so I pull back to watch my hand push clumsily under the fabric. I feel, hear, see her chest hitch, hips squirming beneath me as I finally touch her, skin-to-skin.

  “Fuck, you’re so wet for me.” My fingers slip around in her folds until they find her clit, and she bucks into it, mouth falling open so invitingly that I have to lick into it. She’s fighting to stay quiet. I can hear it in the tense little bitten-off whimpers she makes into my mouth. Her hips keep working against my hand and it’s driving me fucking crazy, how badly she wants it.

  Alcohol always makes me lazy and loose-lipped, and that’s exactly how I feel when I breathe into her mouth, “God, I want to eat your pussy.” It’s just pure, trashy truth. I love eating pussy, and I’m good at it, and in that moment, I want so badly to taste what my fingers are doing, to make her fall to pieces on my tongue.

  But even though her face screws up in pain-pleasure at the words, she doesn’t ask me to.

  That’s fine.

  I hold her eyes with mine, wanting to know she’s okay but not daring to ask. Asking that pissed her off last time, and all I want is to make her feel good. Her legs spread just a bit wider, sensing what I’m about to do, opening for me. I circle around her core and slowly, carefully, sink a finger into her.

  “Oh,” she whispers in a sharp intake, but she doesn’t withdraw. No, she pushes her hips against it, making it sink in deeper, shoulders tensing, breath caught.

  Yeah, she’s better than okay. She’s tight and beautiful and perfect. Her head grinds back against the bed, pale hair glowing like a halo around the long column of her throat. I rub my thumb over her clit as she fucks herself on my finger, pushing in another, and the sounds I can hear her trapping in her chest are making my dick throb with the rhythm of them.

  “Don’t stop,” she cries in a rushing exh
ale, hand gripping my arm as it moves against and inside of her. I don’t stop. I’m so fixated on needing to see her come that my wrist is trembling under the strain of it. I want to watch her feel it—feel good. I want to know that it’s nothing but our two bodies doing it. I want to know that it’s something I’m giving her.

  And then it happens, the wave of release rolling up her body, starting somewhere deep inside, clenching around my fingers, mouth parted, lips red, eyes slamming shut.

  “Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god,” she chants, jaw going slack. I can’t stop myself; I kiss her. I kiss her hard, deep, furious. I want to taste all the good she’s feeling. I want to breathe it into my lungs like secondhand smoke and hold it there, because it’s ours.

  She shudders beneath me, hips writhing around, and then whimpers herself still.

  Somehow, I’m just as breathless as she is, like I’m the one still shaking with the aftershocks. The fine hair framing her face is damp with sweat and I push it back from her forehead, pressing a kiss into her temple.

  “Fuck, I’m sorry, I’ve got to….” I reach down to fumble with the fly on my jeans, because I am not climbing down from the roof with a wad of jizz in my boxers.

  Vandy blinks like she’s coming back into her own body, movements languid as she reaches for me. “I can—”

  I gently push her wrist away. “No, that’s not—” Not the point, I want to say. Not important. I’m pretty sure I just jumped ten spots on my ‘steady and slow’ sex-with-Vandy risk management plan. If we jump any further, I might as well just shred the damn thing.

  She pouts, watching my hand disappear into my pants. “Or I could watch you do it.” Her gaze rises slowly to mine. “It wouldn’t be the first time.”

  My hand pauses. “Wouldn’t be the first time you what?”

  She squints one eye in a grimace. “Watched you…jerk off?”

  “Wait,” I say, incurably confused. I’m an eighteen-year-old degenerate, sure, but it’s not like I’m whacking off all over the place. “When did you see me jerking off?” Her eyes jump to the side and mine follow, a slow sort of understanding falling over me when I see the window that looks into my own. I look back at her. “You’re fucking with me.”