Drool pools, drips down my chin, my neck, soaking into the collar of my shirt. Humiliatingly good.
Fuck, I wish he wouldn’t have been so stubborn and taken so long to justgive in.He’s much nastier than I thought he’d be.
Peris rips his teeth away with a grunt. I let out a pained hiss as I slink the sore muscle back into my mouth. It has its own throbbing heartbeat.
Thud. Thud. Thud.It reverberates into me, steady and hot and painful.
I drop my head against the doorframe as Peris slinks back into his seat silently and pulls away from the curb. I keep my eyes locked on the dash, on the tiny cracks and sun-worn spots as Peris drives us back to his house in mutual silence—apart from our heavy pants.
“Comedown” by Bush crackles through the speakers in a low hum. With a shaky hand, I reach over to turn it up until every thought I have is drowned out, replaced by the lyrics. Peris lets me keep it on a loop until we’re home and he’s shutting the car off. He doesn’t spare me a single glance as he climbs out, grabs his duffle, and disappears through the front door.
I stare through the glass, eyes so dry I think if I blinked, they’d shatter.
I’m alone with Peris’s smell suffocating me—fruity and spicy mixed with faint traces of sweat trapped in the fabric of the seats. It’s surreal to be here now.
I always knew a few tears could work wonders, especially on a pathetic foster kid, but I didn’t think they’d have that strong of an effect over Peris. Shit, if I did, I would’ve been pulling ‘em out months ago.
I mean, sure, I wasn’t faking the tears. They come when I beckon easily enough. I’m a tortured kid, years of built up trauma cresting at the peak, ready to spill over and wipe me out.
But I’m getting off track.
Ilethim see the tears, the raw flash of vulnerability. I wanted him to think it wasallhim—and in a way, it was, but not for the reason he thinks.
It’s all part of the game we play. I dig, push, burrow. He snaps, resists, hates.
Now, we’re both clutching the tether, vying to see who has the upper hand.
Peris is shockingly more deviant and cruel than I figured him to be, and it makes me question more than ever whatexactlyis buried beneath. Something dark, something impossibly heavy to have a direct link to his behavior and overall mindset.
I need to know what it is.
And I just really love forcing people’s hands.
With a smirk, I pull my phone out of my pocket and open my photos app. The three selfies I took in the mirror reflect back at me. The lighting is awful—fucking fluorescents—but you can clearly see the glare of cum streaked across my lower face and torso. My jeans are tight around my narrow waist, my crotch obviously wet from where I came, the tiniest peek of my pink boxers beneath. A glimpse of my scuffed, pink Converse untied, laces dragging on the floor. All in all, not too shabby.
Holding my breath, feeling the rush of my heart racing in my throat, I forward all three pictures to Peris—triple checking it is in fact his name and number I’m sending them to—because nothing would be worse than accidentally sexting my foster mom.
Nope, no thanks. I’d rather chuck myself right under a moving car.
The second the whoosh of them being sent sounds through the car, I shove the door open, bag in hand, and make my way inside.
The house is quiet as I step over the threshold. There’s only one light on, illuminating the hallway, the rest shrouded in darkness.
Elise has already left for work, so it’s just me and Peris.
I can feel the electricity snapping in the air already. Now that we’ve seemed to cross this imaginary boundary that has been established between us since the very beginning, I’m curious to see how our frequent nightly isolation will play out.
Doing my best to pretend my heart isn’t lodged in my throat, I hastily make my way to my room, releasing a breath when I lock the door behind me. Dropping my school bag to the floor, I rifle through the second drawer in my dresser until I find my lighter.
Fitting it in my palm, I take a change of clothes with me as I sneak out to the bathroom. Once in the hallway, Peris’s door a foot away, I strain my ears. The telltale thump of music coming from the other side tells me he can’t hear my footsteps.
I know he must’ve received the pictures by now. So, why isn’t he reacting?
In a quick flash of panic, I pull up my messages, double checking—again—they were sent to him. I let out a breath when I seeReadbelow the pictures under his name: Peri Boy. The little nickname makes me snicker ‘cause I know it’d piss him off.
With a quirked brow, I glance at his door and then back down at my phone, eyes squinting.
What if he’s jerking off to them right now?The thought makes my heart lurch, the tell-tale surge of adrenaline rushing through my veins. I press my ear against the wood, holding my breath, but all I can hear is the bass of whatever song he’s listening to.
