Page 8 of He Hate Me

I give myself a shake. I need to stop obsessing over this girl and pay attention to what’s important. This is a rare opportunity to access Deja’s room. The chances of finding what I need here are low, but I’ve been advised to search thoroughly and I’m not having much luck elsewhere in the house. In her bathroom, I search under the sink and tap the walls and floor, listening for signs of something behind the wall. Every inch of the bathroom is pristine. There are no uneven spots, no variations in paint color or wall depth. The mirror is definitely just a piece of glass glued to the wall.

I try her closet next with similar results, though it takes longer because of all the shelving and cubbies, the clothes and shoes blocking access to the walls and floor. There’s even a rug in there. Who has a rug in their closet?

Back in her bedroom, my eyes keep straying to her nearly naked body laying across the bed. At some point she flipped over onto her back and her dress slipped down. I can see her two perfect tits pointing skyward. They’re round and firm, and yet soft looking, and her nipples look super inviting. I’m not a tit man. I’m not an ass man either, or even really a chick man. I’m straight, but usually I can take or leave most girls. But Deja has gotten under my skin without even trying. I can only imagine how horrified she’d be if she knew how hard she made me every time she pouted in annoyance.

I check the walls and confirm there’s nothing behind them. I look under the bed, but as I expected, there’s nothing there. I run through a list of places I haven’t checked yet—the parents’ room, Devin’s study, the part of the basement sealed behind a locked door—basically all the places I’m most likely to find what I’m looking for. Also, the places I’d have no plausible reason to be. I may have to measure interior spaces and compare them to exterior dimensions to see if there is a hidden room or crawlspace. Fuck me.

I need to turn off the bedside lamp before I leave, and that’s all I’m planning to do, except for taking one last look at her, maybe snapping one quick image to use for…persuasion? I may need someone to help me access those hard places after all. I’m not a pervert. Not just a pervert at least.

But when I look at her my breath catches in my throat. She’s not asleep like I thought. She’s rubbing her tits and watching me. She bites her bottom lip in a deliberately provocative move. What’s happening right now? Deja hates me. Is this a trick? Is she going to yell rape if I go near her? She pinches her nipples and I feel an answering pulse in my cock, the blood rushing from my head and leaving me unable to think straight.

My mind fills with images I've only half let myself imagine, doing things I shouldn’t be thinking about a girl I hate. Or does hating her make it easier to do what I really want to? Now I’m sitting on the edge of the bed, trying to ignore my incessantly throbbing dick, but it is shamelessly running the show. Her calf is right there, smooth and lean, the skin warm and taut under my hand. I grip it, hard enough to feel bone under muscle. She makes a soft noise, but doesn’t pull away. I slide my hand higher. Her skin is hot. The muscle twitches under my palm. I want to hurt her a little, just to see what she’ll do. I press my thumb in hard, under her knee, and she makes a soft sound, but doesn’t flinch away.

Her skirt rises even higher, giving me a clear view of her white boy shorts, stretched tight over her pussy. The cotton clings like it’s wet. My eyes lock onto the shadow of her lips through the thin cotton fabric, and I can feel any self-control I might have had slipping away. She meets my gaze with half-closed eyes, offering no resistance.

My phone clicks softly as I prop it up on the bedside table, its red recording light blinking. Up close her tits are gorgeous, just the right size for her slender frame, round and firm with a honey brown shade that sets them apart from the rest of her body. I wonder if the skin covered by her bikini bottoms is the same color. Her nipples are dark and protruding, larger than I expected. I bet they’re sensitive. They practically taunt me, daring me to bite down and see if she gasps or cries out. I want to leave my teeth marks on those perfect curves, sink in just hard enough to make her flinch and wonder if I’ll do it again.

I grab the top of her dress, dragging the fabric over her skin slowly enough to make her shiver. I ease the dress down, and she raises her hips to help me get it off. I toss it towards her clothing hamper, but it slides off and lands on the floor. My heart hammers in my chest as I look down at her nearly naked body. I’m only inches away from all the parts I want to touch.

I kick my shoes off and climb onto the bed, making sure to lie so that she is in clear view of the camera. I lay my hand on the silky skin of her abdomen and place my head next to her ear. Her smell invades my brain, a hint of coconut oil with a top note of vanilla.

“How are you feeling, baby?”

“Good,” she says softly.

“You like when I touch you?”

“Yeah.”

My right hand covers her breast, gently pushing hers out of the way. I feel the heat of her body against my palm as I squeeze and mold her flesh. Her tits are firm, and her skin is like silk. I lightly trace her areola, and she arches her back, trying to get more contact.

“How about when I touch your tits? Does that feel good?”

“No,” she says, sulkily.

“Why don’t you like it?”

“You don’t touch my nipples.”

“You want me to touch your nipples?”

She nods.

“Can I pinch them? Tell me out loud.”

“Yes, you can pinch them.”

“How about if I suck them, is that ok?”

“Um hmm.”

I have enough recorded now that I could stop if blackmail was my only purpose, but I don’t want to stop. Let’s not pretend I’m better than I am. A good guy wouldn’t be working for the guy I’m working for. A good guy wouldn’t take advantage of her like this. She’s giving me come hither looks, and stroking my chest, but I’d have to be an idiot not to realize her change in behavior is probably because she’s high out of her mind. I’ve already crossed the line by touching her tits, so why pretend stopping here will make a difference? I mean I’m not going to fuck her, but in for a penny, in for a pound.

I take her nipple between my lips, sucking firmly, then lashing it with my tongue. She moans when I graze them with my teeth, but I want to hear her yelp. I pinch the side of her breast and her breath hitches, but she doesn’t cry out like I expected.

I bite down hard on her nipple, and she moans, digging her nails into my biceps. I’m being rough, and in response she’s threaded her hand through my hair to encourage me.

“Does it hurt?” I ask, lifting my head.