“Devlin,” I whisper, intent on finishing that disgustingly breathy sentence by telling him to get the fuck off me.
He gives me an answering rumble, the deep primal sound making me squirm. Unfair and un-fucking-cool. How the hell is he capable of making a sexy sound like that?
Devlin chuckles into my overheated neck. It’s quick, but I jolt at the hint of his teeth scraping over my sensitive skin.
“What—”
The bell rings, interrupting whatever is going on right now.
Devlin tenses. I feel the clench of his abs against me. Right before students spill into the hallway, Devlin leaves me cold, wet, and alone, plastered against the wall with my face flaming. His face is an unreadable shield, like he’s unaffected by the cruel new way he devised to toy with me.
Taking my limp hand, Devlin slaps a wad of cash in it and pushes me through the nearby bathroom door, muttering, “Clean yourself up, you fucking pest.”
The door slams behind me before I have the chance to whirl around and tell him off. I poke my head into the hall, but he’s gone.
Pursing my lips, I retreat into the bathroom, claiming the stall farthest from the door, and barricade myself inside. I lean against the wall, scrubbing my face.
“What the actual fuck,” I mumble against my palms.
I pound the bottom of my fist against the stall, savoring the satisfying thump it makes.
My whole body is shivering and uncomfortable from my clothes, but underneath it all a buzzing has awakened from deep within me.
This battle of wills is far more dangerous than I thought. I need to be careful so I can figure out how to skirt Devlin’s arbitrary rules that give him full control.
He’s got another thing coming if he believes I’ll hand him power over my body, too.
Fourteen
Devlin
As impossible to ignore as ever, Blair remains stuck in my head for days like the stubborn thorns of a rose.
She invades my school, my house, and my thoughts.
In the boy’s locker room, surrounded by the other guys on the team, I slouch on the wooden bench. My soccer uniform is half on, my jersey slung over one shoulder and my cleats beside me.
It’s a game night, but my head couldn’t be further from focused. My aunt and uncle are out by the field to watch before we go out for dinner.
Across from me, Bishop seems to be in the same boat for once. He shoves his backpack in his locker and sits on the bench with his blazer off, shirt unbuttoned, and tie half undone and forgotten.
My brow furrows for a second before I smooth it. Bishop is usually the first one ready before a match so he can prowl the aisles of the locker room as we change, bombarding us with reminders about our opponents. He rarely misses an opportunity to give a pep talk, but tonight his head isn’t in the game.
Bishop never shuts up about soccer, the one thing he lives and breathes, so something is definitely up with him.
Instead of preparing for our match, he’s absorbed in his phone again.
Glancing around to make sure Trent and Sean have left to grab the ball bag, I brace my elbows on my knees.
“What’s up, man? Is it more stuff with your parents?”
Bishop’s eyes dart up to meet mine. “What?” He blinks. “No, no. It’s—Don’t worry about it. It’s nothing.”
Before he hides his phone, I catch a glimpse of the girl on the screen, a little hottie from the looks of it, with her chunky sweater pulled up to expose her stomach and hint at full tits peeking from beneath. I snort, shaking my head. Bishop’s this twisted up over some chick?
I was worried for nothing.
“I see.” Chuckling, I hit Bishop’s knee with a playful tap. He smirks, tucking his phone away. When he meets my gaze again, he’s my soccer-obsessed best friend. “There he is.”
“Let’s crush these guys. They won’t see us coming.”
I bump my fist against his when he holds it up.
The varsity soccer team might be less flashy than our football team, but between Bishop and I, we’re a force to be reckoned with. We’re both calculative players. Our unyielding two-man attack razes our opponents every time when Bishop picks up the ball from the defensive line and moves into attack plays alongside my offense position.
I pull the jersey over my head, running a hand down the #6 on my chest. The soccer field is where I cultivated my nickname as the devil. Bishop always jokes that as a striker, my assigned number should be #9, but I insisted on playing as #6 once my reputation as the dark devil spawned and grew.
Bishop puts on his #10 jersey and stands before me. “You coming?”
“Right behind you.”
“Two minutes.” Bishop taps his wrist.
I wave him off as he jogs around the locker room to round up our teammates.
The echo of slamming lockers and the chatter of the other guys travels through the room.
Closing my eyes, I picture the girl on Bishop’s phone, but her luscious curves automatically change to pale skin, petite tits, and a cascade of shiny black hair. My dick twitches with interest.
It bothers me that I felt nothing looking at that photo Bishop had. Sure, it was quick, but long enough to make out the gist of the sexy photo. No rush of heat to my groin.
I sit back against the locker.
The only girl on my mind is Blair, my thoughts filled once more with the replay of what went down between us in the hall during lunch.
The heat I expected before coils low in my stomach. I breathe through it, balling my hands in my shorts.
Blair didn’t shove me off, like I suspected she might when I touched her. For a survivor, she has terrible self preservation skills. Knowing I can press her buttons with my best asset, I plan to use it to my advantage.
The chessboard shifts, reforming and adapting to something that I’ll take supreme pleasure with.
* * *
In the morning, I wait by Blair’s locker. I want to be here when she opens it to find the special package I stashed inside with the help of the janitor before school started. A few people stop to say hi and ask about my weekend plans. I can see the curious suspicion in their eyes, wondering why I’m over here instead of out in the parking lot with Bishop.
Blair pauses several feet away when she arrives. I didn’t warn her with a text this time. I won’t give her room to breathe between commands, applying pressure harder.
She closes the distance between us and ignores me as she twists the dial on her locker. I prop against the one beside hers, watching. Her hair is partially damp from a morning shower and I catch a whiff of that cheap imitation vanilla wafting off her.
Blair cuts a look at me before she opens her locker. “Why are you here?”
I shrug carelessly. “In school? The state mandates a minimum number of days for students to grad—”
“Oh my god, shut up,” Blair groans. “Why are you at my locker?”
“Why did you have to come to my school?” I counter, leaning over her.
She stands her ground, squinting up at me. Stubborn little thing. Once she opens that locker, she’ll know better.
I make a show of checking the time on an invisible watch. “Better hurry. You’ll be late for homeroom.”
“Doesn’t that mean you should move your ass along, too?”
“I have office aid for homeroom this morning. Taking attendance.”
When she rolls her eyes, I grin.
The locker swings open and I relish the exact moment Blair pauses.
“What the hell,” she mutters, reaching for the gift bag. She freezes when she peeks inside. “What. The. Hell.”
She swings a confused gaze to me. I give her a challenging smirk in response.
“What is this?” Blair gestures sharply at the locker.
I peer into the bag and withhold a sadistic grin at the brand new Silver Lake High School uniform, complete with a blazer and new shoes.
On top sits an extra special item: a leather collar.
>
It has a silver nameplate that reads Sticky Fingers. My note peeks out from under the collar, where I wrote directions to wear everything in the bag to school or else there will be dire consequences—like no payment.
Below that I wrote $750.
“I think you’ll find all the answers you need inside this bag.” I wave a hand lazily and prop my shoulder against the edge of the locker. “Looks like you won’t stand out for having an incomplete uniform anymore. How generous.”
Blair sneers and jabs a finger at the collar. “And that? Are you fucking kidding me?”
My mouth stretches wider as amusement blooms in my chest. “Not in the slightest. Are you saying you’d rather take the other option from our agreement?”
I pull my phone halfway out of my pocket.
Blair clamps her hand on my wrist, squeezing hard. “No!” When I hum, she blows out a breath. “Jesus.”
She releases me and rubs her forehead. Her gaze bounces around the hall. One of her locker neighbors a few spots down makes her gulp.
I pretend to check my non-existent watch again. “Tick tock, Davis. Don’t want to be late for homeroom, remember? Should I mark you absent when I go to the office?” I tsk disapprovingly. “Too many absent days will increase your demerits, you know. Could put your scholarship status at risk.”
“Shut up,” Blair snaps.
I shift to block her between me and the locker, bracing my hands on either side of her head. A cold expression settles on my face. “Watch it, little bug. With that attitude, you’re making me want to squash you under my heel.”
Blair’s jaw clenches as she makes herself as small as possible, keeping a few inches of space between us. She doesn’t want a repeat of what happened the other day.
“Do as the note says, or it’s game over.”
I trace her neck with a delicate touch, then press into the soft spot under her chin, driving her face to angle up to mine. Blair’s throat works as she swallows. Her glare is mutinous, shooting acidic poison at me with her rich whiskey-colored eyes.
Blair is an uncontrollable flame that I want to touch whether it burns me or not as I tame it under my control.
I stare into her eyes, pinching her chin between my thumb and forefinger. My attention drops to those full, pouty lips. They’re chapped today, like she licks them too often. Shifting my thumb, I brush the edge of her lower lip with my thumb.
Blair pushes out a harsh breath, breaking my concentration on her mouth. She wraps her fingers around my wrist and digs her short nails in, almost hard enough to break the skin. The sting spurs on the urge to pin her against the locker and take her mouth as mine.
I shove the desire down and lock it away with the rest of my real emotions. Everything is compartmentalized, buried deep under layers of fake smiles and flirting. By pushing it all down, I don’t have to care. I can remain numb, my heart protected in my ironclad fortress.
“Get the hell off.” Blair bares her teeth and shakes damp, partly dry tendrils of hair from her face. “I’ll wear it. You better pay up.”
Plastering my signature cocky mask on my face, I grin at my feisty little toy. “You don’t get to tell me what to do.”
Blair makes an angry, muffled sound and shoves away from me. She snatches the bag from her locker, slamming the door shut with a loud bang that draws the attention of the students lingering in the hall before school begins. They all look between Blair and I with interest.
The devious school king and the school pariah? It’s a juicy show.
The chatter dies down as Blair stomps away in the direction of the bathroom, flipping me off the entire way.
A slow, genuine smile unfurls on my mouth.
I hide the secret expression behind my hand until I get myself under control. With my social armor in place, I amble down the hall in the opposite direction with a lazy swagger in my step.
Anticipation sings in my veins for our English class.
Fifteen
Devlin
The uniform is a perfect fit compared to the oversized shirt and ill-fitting skirt Blair had before.
I follow behind her on the way to English, keeping far enough back that people don’t mistake us for arriving together. The skirt fits like a glove over her small waist, flaring over her hips. Without meaning to, my eyes fall to her ass as she glides down the hall toward the classroom.
Blair’s hand keeps flying to her neck. The self-consciousness has me fighting back amused enjoyment.
People give her double-takes as she passes by. No one is used to seeing her in the full uniform. She looks hot.
A guy on the basketball team eyes Blair up and down with his tongue poking out of the side of his mouth. He catcalls her. “Damn, girl! You can come right on over here, baby.”
Blair ignores him, and the other wolf whistles that assault her as she enters the class ahead.
Something dark slithers through me. Gritting my teeth, it’s a struggle not to stop and punch the guy. Blair belongs to me.
“Yo, Dev! Sick match last night. That goal in the last half was amazing.” He nods to me as I walk by, but I ice him out.
I don’t show my annoyance or make any effort at all. Everything I do is a performance to maintain. The guy isn’t worth my time.
In the corner of my eye, I see his expression fall. I make a mental note to ply Bishop for whatever he has on the dude later, so I can get revenge when it suits me.
Giving into a baser urge to punch this dick for looking at what’s mine doesn’t serve me at the moment. I don’t work in the light, I only operate in nightmares.
Mr. Coleman isn’t in the classroom when I stalk through the door. Neither is Bishop. Blair sits at her desk across from mine with her chin tucked to her chest and a hand splayed over the collar of her shirt. It’s buttoned tight, but she’s not chancing anyone finding out what she’s wearing for me. Twin spots of color tinge her cheeks as her eyes dart to people that come too close.
I move down the aisle between the desks like an ominous shadow, tapping on each desk as I pass. Stopping by Blair, I drop my bag and perch on top of her desk. She sits back, a tetchy sound escaping her as she leans away from me. Her lips form a line as she avoids my gaze. Those dark lashes sweep over her freckled cheeks.
For a moment I’m lost in exploring the constellations I see in the freckles across her nose.
Blair folds her arms beneath her breasts, hugging herself. She turns her head away.
The buttons on her shirt pucker. I smirk when I see that peek of the collar beneath her top, locked around her porcelain throat.
Leaning over her, I murmur low enough for only her to hear, “Meet me later.”
“What?” Blair turns her head sharply, her sleek black hair swishing like silk around her shoulders. “Why?”
I lift my brows, silently saying because I said so.
Her chin juts and she purses her lips. With that rebellious tilt, they’re an undeniable enticement. I sink my teeth into the inside of my lip to keep myself focused before I swoop down and steal a taste of those lips for myself.
Mr. Coleman strides into the room, clipped words calling the class to attention. “We have a lot to cover today. Take your seats.”
Sliding from Blair’s desk, I open my mouth to set a meeting place, but I’m interrupted.
“Devlin, sit down.” Mr. Coleman snaps his fingers at me. He starts writing on the chalkboard. “Today we’ll be talking about the reading from this week.”
I shoot his turned back a narrow-eyed look of annoyance. Taking my seat, I prop my chin in my hand, bored with the beginning of Mr. Coleman’s lesson.
Mr. Coleman is one of those young teachers that puts on airs like he’s great with his students because he’s hip or whatever. He calls on the girls in class more than anything and they hang on his words.
Except Blair. She doesn’t go out of her way to participate the way the other girls in class do.
With neatly coiffed brown hair, a straight nose, identical d
imples, and a strong chin, he’s the all-American dream of wholesomeness. He appears like someone you can trust, which is exactly why I don’t. No one is trustworthy.
He pisses me off.
Glancing at Blair, she’s equally disillusioned with the lesson. Her notebook is open, but her focus is elsewhere. There’s a worried tilt to her brows. Does she ever stop worrying for a second? I suppose I’m to blame for some of her trouble, but she brought it on herself.
I stare at her neck and picture how the collar looks. I want to see it. Touch it.
Mr. Coleman pauses going over the reading when the door opens ten minutes into class. Bishop comes in.
“You’re late, Mr. Bishop.” Mr. Coleman props his hands on his hips like a mockery of an authority figure. No student here takes a teacher under thirty seriously. “Care to explain yourself?”
“No,” Bishop says with attitude, raising an eyebrow.
“Excuse me?”
I choke back a snort. A small identical sound to my right tells me Blair finds this as funny as I do. A warmth bleeds through my veins at the bright mirth dancing in her eyes when they meet mine for a beat.
Bishop passes Mr. Coleman like he’s not late. As he comes down the aisle, his surly expression morphs into a betrayed glare that he directs at Thea. She tucks her shoulders and slouches. He finds his seat, sighing agitatedly.
Dead air fills the room. Bishop glances up at the teacher and waves his hand.
“Well?” Bishop snaps his fingers in a perfect mimic of the way Mr. Coleman tends to. “I’m here to get an education.”
Titters move through the room. I nudge Bishop’s back in a show of camaraderie.
Mr. Coleman works his jaw, but lets Bishop slide. “Let’s get back to the lesson. Can anyone tell me your thoughts on the protagonist’s passage on page forty-three?”
Thea’s hand shoots in the air, along with several other students. The girls he has eating out of his palm flail their arms with their eagerness to answer.
Tempting Devil: Sinners and Saints Book 2 Page 9