by Dakota Lee
I watch her face drain of color when I yank her bra down, dragging my thumb across her nipple. "Because if you don't, things are gonna get so much worse."
Someone whistles from the hall, letting me know the professor is heading back this way. “This is your only warning, charity.”
The boys release her hands, and she hurries to the door. There's a nice sized crowd gathered outside and Tabitha captures the moment we exit the room behind her. She can either keep quiet about who destroyed her painting or have her reputation as a good little girl, so ruined that no one with any authority around here will believe anything she says, ever again.
Chapter Sixteen
I had to sit through class, feeling as if fire ants were crawling all over my skin. Doesn't anyone around here know how to have a sensible conversation without pinning me against a wall? But Logan's actions didn't stop there.
No, he touched me, as if he had every right to. And what was with my reaction? I had an inkling where his hand was heading and I was prepared to knee him in the balls, so why didn't I? There was nothing gentle about his touch, or being restrained against my will, so why didn't I fight back?
His erection. The idea of it touching me, worried me more than anything else that was happening at the time. I made myself and Robbie a promise. Even if it sounds childish, his is the first penis I'm ever going to touch.
They're congregated on the beautiful people's version of the grassy knoll again. The way Logan's eyes are following me, I certainly feel like I'm an enemy combatant who has flown too close to my opponents air space. I avert my gaze, hurrying to my next class. Flashes of him touching me fueling the illogical impression that I can't get enough air in my lungs.
"Jordanna…" Kassidy waves her hand in my face.
"God. Sorry. What did you say?"
"Girl, whatever you and Robbie were talking about last night must've been goo-ood." She sing-songs.
"Why do you say that?"
"Because you've been in a trance all day. Damn, I don't know the last time somebody on the other end of the phone had me spacing out."
I listen as she tells me about Pualo, a tour guide she met in Brazil, when she was fifteen, and how he used to whisper the sweetest things to her in heavily accented English.
I interrupt her retelling when she gets to the part about him rolling his 'R's'.
"Kass, wasn't this guy too old for you?"
"Love has no number or ageist boundaries. Besides, he was just turning seventeen, so no, not really."
He could've been just turning twenty and I probably would've gotten the same answer. Kassidy is what Marina would call completely in-tune with herself. She refuses to impose restrictions on her sensuality and embraces platonic and romantic relationships with her whole heart.
Her parents are relationship gurus, who are on the verge of becoming bigger than Masters and Johnson and Dr. Ruth combined. They have a secluded retreat in the Caribbean where they work with clients. Her mother is a psychologist and sex therapist. She married Gus Coen the former owner of Flesh.
He and his blushing pride started out hosting parties and couples retreats for friends. They received such great reviews and referrals they turned it into a thriving business. Gus sold Flesh five years ago, and they moved to the island full time. According to Kassidy, Hedonism I and II in Jamaica deals with the surface of lust and desire, her parents dig deeper to give the guests the tools to be their authentic self, and then those desires manifest in a way they can deeply share with someone else.
The casual way she walks about talking about masturbation and sex, not to mention the frequency with which she engages in it, I can tell she was a star pupil at her parents workshops.
"Uh, oh. Did I say something too naughty for you again?" She teases.
"No. Why?"
"Because you have that look on your face you get whenever I talk about the shape of someone's penis." She shrugs. "You think you'd be okay with detailed descriptions since you're an artist."
"I'm fine with descriptions. It's all the adjectives you sprinkle in. "
"Girl, you need to know that some dicks are fat, some are skinny, and the color the mushroom head gets depending on nationality of its owner. Or is Robbie's pickle the only one you're ever adding to your ice cream?"
"Yes. As a matter of fact, it is."
"You sure you don't wanna try out a few before you make that decision?"
"Of course, I'm sure. I dated before Robbie, but he's the only one I've ever thought of having sex with. And the only one who understood my decision to wait. He's the perfect guy for me."
She sits on the floor in front of me, crossing her legs. "How do you know?"
"What do you mean?"
"You said he's the perfect guy for you. How do you know?"
"We share the same interests. Have the same type of upbringing. He's sweet and patient."
"Right, but how do you know he's perfect for you, if you've never shagged him? Sexual compatibility is just as important as all that other stuff you named. That's how mom and Daddy Gus stay raking in the bucks, counseling people who thought their spouse or boyfriend or girlfriend were perfect for them, until their freak came out and they realized they were never gonna be satisfied in the bedroom."
"Wait, I thought your parents were known for getting the most sexually incompatible couples a happy ending."
"They do. Sometimes, that means the couples break up. Their whole goal is making the individual whole and happy with themselves."
I chew my lip. That's not quite what I imagined a sex retreat to be about. Impressive. "Well, I'm happy with myself and I know Robbie is happy with himself, and I don't have any sexual experiences to compare it to, so I can't be disappointed about what I don't know. Can I?"
"I guess you have a point there. Well, are you at least planning to move up your time frame, or is your first time going to be your wedding night?"
"What's wrong with that?"
"Nothing, if that's your authentic self. If you're just holding on to the idea because they published it in paper. Well, screw that shit. You're not seventeen anymore. You can change your mind and the hell with what people think."
I have trouble settling down for bed after our movie goes off. Kassidy gave me a lot to think about. Am I still waiting because I'm not ready, or is it because I feel pressured into it because of that article that was published about me? Those were my ideas and opinions at the time, but have they changed?
I do the right thing. I always have. It's the one thing everyone knows about me. Even amidst scrutiny and peer pressure, I'm known for being true to the values my parents instilled in me, pre doofus. Summer and I have always been told to do what's right for us, no matter what others may think.
Chapter Seventeen
I plop down in the seat beside Jordanna. It's been two days since I had my hand on her tits, and she still can't look me in the eye. She comes straight out the gate, dismissing my presence. "That seat's reserved for us commoners. The royal asshole section is in the back."
She quickly gathers her things when she sees I'm not moving. My long legs remain unmoved, blocking her exit. "Excuse me." She says while trying to ease by me.
I pull her back down into the seat, a firm grip on her arm. "Rushing off so soon? Don't get me wrong. I'm impressed with your decision to cut class, but I have it on good authority that there may be a quiz on the homework so you might want to stick around for that."
"I'm not leaving class. I'm just not in the mood to get into a verbal sparring match with you and your friends." She peels my finger off her arm. "Or have your hands on me. So, I'll move and they can sit here."
"Are you saying you didn't like when I squeezed your tits? Because I have to say I did."
"Of course you did."
"Now don't go getting a big head. They were just tits. Not necessarily the best pair I've ever felt. But also not the worst. It's hard to judge without putting them in my mouth."
She stands to leave and I yank h
er back again. "Sit your ass down, or everyone will get an eyeball full and get to vote on the size and shape of your breast."
"Are you threatening to rip my shirt off?"
"No Jordy. I'm promising to do it. And you should know, half the people in this class are voyeurs. They'd love the show."
"The professor…"
"Has been divorced for a year and beats his shit to Flesh Magazine’s swimsuit edition in between classes. He'd be the fist one to cream his pants at the sight of real tits."
Her brows furrow and her adorable little nose crinkles in disbelief. "I don't-"
"What? Believe me?" My hand is already on her shirt. It's a pink blouse with fragile looking buttons. It won't take any effort at all to shred it. I tug on it, watching the top two buttons strain against their loops. "Try me."
Carson from the basketball team is in the seat on the other side of her, listening to every word. "I would definitely be up for seeing your tits."
He walks his fingertips over her shoulder, and down to stop at the top of her breast. He cuts his eyes at me, waiting to see if I rebuke him, when she shifts away from his touch. I move my hand to her thigh, holding her in place.
He’s focused on her chest as if he has X-ray vision. He nods, in agreement. "Go on, Jordanna. Please try him."
I squeeze her thigh, hard enough to bruise before turning to face the front of the class. "See what I mean."
"Why can't you just leave me alone, Logan?"
"Because my meeting with the dean is this afternoon, and you still haven't promised not to tell what happened to your painting."
My hand slips between her thighs. Her throat spasms, as she tries to pretend she's unaffected by what I'm doing. It's a tough spot to be in. Conflicted about ratting me out and drawing attention to us, or sitting through it. This could be fun, seeing how quiet and still she can be. But there is a quiz today, and Carson is leaning closer and closer like a starving shark scenting blood in the water.
"Just two little words, Jordy. Say, 'I promise.'" I tip my head towards the ball player. "If you don't there won't be anything I can do to stop Carson from doing what he wants."
"That's a lie, and we both know it.”
So she has been learning. Good. "You're right, then let me rephrase that. If you don't promise, I won't stop him from doing what he wants. He's not always known for his restraint."
"And you are? I seem to remember you assaulting me a few days ago."
I shift in my seat, remembering it too. The smooth taut skin of her stomach, full tits. Truth be told, my hands are itching to touch her again. But not here, with Carson leeching all over her. I want to get her alone and take my time with her, turning her innocent flesh pink wherever I touch it. Her chin is still in the air, spine straight, as if refusing to submit to my demand. I wonder how high she'd hold her head if I pushed her on her knees and made her gag.
I shake myself from my musings, tuning back into the conversation in time enough to hear Carson ask, "What do you say charity case? Logan gets the front hole and I'll get the back."
"I'd say it sounds like you're into crossing swords so just eliminate me as the middleman, and you two asses go at."
"Bitch!" He grips her arm, yanking hard, causing her book to tumble off the desk. The thump causes heads to turn, including the professor’s.
"Carson." My voice is a low threat, directed towards him, because he's the one drawing attention.
It happens fast, a flurry of movements and a muffled yelp of pain. I look over to see him holding up his hand, blood seeping from four slashes across the back of his arm.
I drape my arm over the back of Jordanna's chair, pinning her right arm between us and grasping her left wrist, taking away her ability to strike out at me too. "Sheath those claws, Jordy. Unlike Carson, I love when a woman scratches me."
She flails her arms, trying to elbow me. "You're sick."
"And I think you like teasing me, since I've already mentioned fighting makes my dick hard."
I angle my body towards her, slipping my hand back between her thighs. She clenches her legs together, but that doesn't stop me from working my hand higher. "Is this your way of trying to seduce me? I must say, it's unusual, but not wholly ineffective."
"I take it back. You're not sick."
"Thanks you."
"You're delusional, if you think this is me trying to tell you I'm interested in you."
"You're saying you're not?"
She turns her head to face me. "That's right, I'm not. In fact, I got on my knees the other day, and prayed your dick would fall off."
"So you admit you have thought about my dick."
She flushes and stammers, unable to think of a reply. I chuckle darkly, shifting away, when the stack of quiz papers finally make it to our row. I pass the papers over her head. When the spare forms are carried back to the front, the professor announces we have thirty minutes to complete the quiz. She’s fuming because she can't leave her seat without forfeiting her grade on the quiz, and yet she has no quiz to take.
"I'm waiting, Jordy." I wave a test sheet in front of her. "Give me your promise, you won't name names about the art vandalism, and you get this."
"Fine. I promise."
I hand her the paper, satisfied with her agreement that she won't rat out my friends.
Patrick's pissed. Three students have asked for refunds because the test they took was nothing like the answers they bought off of him. After hearing his rant, we've all come to the same conclusion. We underestimated Jordanna Felding and her need to get even for what happened to her painting. She didn't tell anyone who destroyed the studio, but ratting out Patrick about selling test answers was obviously still on the table. It wasn't a direct strike against Bella but the bomb lands close enough the we have to manage the fallout.
We've threatened her, Bella's got her mean girl brigade teasing her, and as of five minutes ago, the video of her coming out of the lecture hall with me and the guys in tow is going around school.
Her hair was a mess after I ran my fingers through it, and Hal made a big show of pulling up his zipper when we stepped into the hall. Nobody will believe we didn't all have a run at her, unless I come out and say nothing happened. It's been a week, and she's still walking around here with her head held high like we're the ones beneath her.
She's in line for coffee after having avoided this place since the night Bella had someone dump their drink all over her. We're all pissed, she narced, but it's the scholarships student's prideful arrogance that aggravates Bella the most.
Jordanna sees us all staring, I lift a brow, daring her to say or do something. She lifts her cup to her lip, tapping it with her middle finger. I hear Bella hiss, "bitch" and excuse myself to take a call from my little brother.
He should be in his French class at the fancy private school he attends. If he's calling me now, I know it's important. I step outside the building and spot her alone at a bench behind the coffee shop with her sketch books spread in front of her. I make a beeline for her when I end my call. The height of the bench puts her level to my hips. The perfect height for holding her head down as I pound the mouth she doesn't know how to keep shut.
"I thought we had a deal."
"You're mistaken, I don't negotiate with terrorists."
I slip onto the bench next to her. "You promised not to rat us out, and in return I let you take a quiz that was worth 15% of your grade."
My hand is digging into her leg, a silent warning to sit still and be quiet. "I didn't give names about the vandalism."
"Patrick's customers aren't happy that the tests they received weren't the tests they paid for."
"And that's my fault?"
"The only way the teachers change their tests, is if they think they've been compromised. The only way they could get that idea is if someone was running their mouth."
"Or, they realized, someone hacked their accounts. Maybe Patrick left a digital footprint, or did something idiotic, like forgetting to log out
so that any and everyone could see what he was up to."
That's a good point. He's not always the most detail-oriented person when his mind is on fucking and drinking. He was doing both at the last party. Someone else could be at fault, but my gut is telling me the goody-two-shoes in front of me is the culprit. She licks her lips and twists her napkin, while avoiding my gaze.
I hate being ignored. I grip her chin, forcing her to look at me. Those prismatic eyes widen, a small gasp tumbles from her lips. I swipe my thumb across the bottom one, tightening my grip when she tries to pull away. I lean closer, catching the scent of strawberries and vanilla in her hair. "You almost had me there, Jordy. I know it was you. Why couldn't you do what you were told?"
"For the same reason you can't seem to realize I'm not here to bow down to your every whim."
She talks back to Bella, rats on Patrick, and now she sits here, defiantly challenging me. It's infuriating. "You're wrong, Jordy. You're here because of a scholarship. One that gets voted on by some very important people. People that all of our families have ties to. You are here to bow down. Maybe we should start your training right now."
My body reacts to our proximity and my threat, I shift away when I see Noel heading towards us, climbing to my feet. "You can fall in line, or get trampled over. The choice is yours, Jordanna."
"I'm never going to do what you want, so-" she shrugs as if daring me to do my worse.
"Okay, Jordy, don't say I didn't warn you."
Chapter Eighteen
A sound startles me awake. I climb off the mattress and walk to my bedroom door, listening for the source of the noise. Kassidy was supposed to be spending the night out. Did she change her mind? A light cascade across the living room floor, about hip height. Her door is still open. If she was here, it would be closed. I step further into the room, confused about why the door to the mini-fridge is open.
When I get closer, I see my yogurt is missing. I look to the right and see the drawer where I keep my snacks is on top of the storage bin. My granola bars and oatmeal are gone too, as are my dry and microwaveable meals. I buy survival food to help save money on my meal plan and someone took it all.