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His breath fans against my neck, and I shiver, both hate and need warming my belly.
"I'd rather fuck my own hand, Malik. Get away from me," I moan, but my movements are pointless, because I'm turning into a boneless body in his arms.
"And I'd rather stick my hand in a snake pit than your pussy, so tell me, why can't I step away?"
My knees begin to shake, and I grip the metal door of my locker, doing my best to hold on.
"Or maybe, I just want to see you go crazy. Lose your shit enough that they tear you away and lock you in a loony bin. What do you say, baby sis? Would that be enough to get you out of my life?" His fingers withdraw from my folds, and with his free hand, he spins me around, slamming my back against the lockers. It booms loudly in the empty hall.
Malik presses against me again, and this time I can feel his erection, thick and straining against his pants.
He brings his hand up, and I can smell my arousal immediately. His free hand comes up and his fingers press into my cheeks until a hint of pain hits, and my jaw pops open. His wet fingers dive between my lips, gliding against every inch inside my mouth.
He lathers my tongue with my sweetness, rubbing against my cheeks and scraping the pads of his fingers along my upper teeth.
"I see the psycho in your eyes, Vera. Maybe, you were made for a place like this. Except, I don't want you here, baby. I want you out of this town. So, unless you want to play my game and lose, I suggest you pack your shit, and get out while you still can."
My hand reaches up, and I grip his wrist, squeezing until his fingers leave my mouth. "You act like I want to be here.I fucking don't. I don't want to play your game, and I honestly don't want to talk to you. So do me a favor, step away from me, and go take care of your problem." I nod to the bulge in his pants. "But don't think of me."
Sliding out from beneath him, I leave my locker open, rushing to my next class. The bell had to have already rang. How I didn't hear it, I don't know. Maybe it was from his fingers inside me. It was like he knew exactly where to touch, where to push, where to caress.
He knew exactly what he was doing, and that has to be the only reason my legs are weak, my sex is begging for relief, and my chest feels tight.
That has to be it.
I slip into class. Sister Mabel is one of the nicer teachers. Well, I shouldn't saynice. She's still a bitch, but she doesn't bother me as much as the other teachers do. She gives me the same disgusted look that everyone else does, but at least she doesn't say anything about it. She's younger than the other nuns, too. Sister Marjorie and Sister Mary look to be about five hundred years old. Sister Mabel looks to be in her forties, maybe. The youngest one I've seen here.
She gives me a look of disappointment as I walk into class late, and I give her a wince, slipping into the back of the room and ignoring everyone's heavy stares.
I frown as my ass aches once I sit down. These are not like the ones at home. With either the slot in the bottom to slide your books and pencils in, or the ones where the top opens and you can put all your things inside. No, this is just a square table set in front of you, a tiny black seat, and two bars underneath your chair where you put your belongings.
Nothing else.
I adjust myself in my tiny seat, trying to ignore the throbbing between my legs. My upper thighs feel sticky, like Malik wiped my need across my skin. He made a mess down there, and embarrassingly enough, if I were to inhale deep enough, I think I can still smell my arousal.
I shift from side to side, wishing the need would lessen, but it only grows stronger.
I can't get him out of my head.
My fingers curl around my seat, and I dig my nails into the hard surface, aggravated that he's at the center of my thoughts when I'm this needy.
His fingers, though.
They were so strong, so aggressive. His overpowering scent as he leaned over me. Towered over me, actually. He takes control in every move that he does. He doesn't care how I feel about it. It's what and when something suits him.
No one else.
His voice became raspy as he spoke to me. The utter hate still dripped from his tone, but it's like he enjoyed it. It sounded like there was a burning lust that he so badly tried to hide.
I heard it.
But how could he lust over me? He hates me. He's playing a game with me, and like Hazel says, people end up dying when they become part of his pranks.
Sister Mabel speaks in the front of the class, her black outfit covering her from head to toe. Her mouth moves, but I can't hear a word she says. The entire lesson for today might as well be burned to the ground because my mind is completely elsewhere.
The thumping in my ears matches the thumping between my legs.
It becomes unbearable, and soon enough, sweat starts to dot along my hairline. My hands squeeze my thighs, and my shifting becomes constant.
