Papillon

Chapter 14: Surface Area

Bella

Now, I wasn't even sure if it was intentional, but Francis kept talking to Alana Martin, all while slamming me against walls, kissing me senseless, and hooking up with me.

Did she even know that Francis Duval regularly hooked up with me in the back seat of his goddamn car? If they were dating and I interjected by throwing myself at him, that would make me fucking sick. I wasn't a saint, but I wasn't a cheater either. There were some lines even a bitch like me didn't cross.

Alana reveled in her newfound attention from the hottest guy in school, flaunting it for everyone to see. Well, he didn't talk to her unless she came up to him, but she had enough stories to tell literally everyone.

In the locker room, there were stories about how funny he was and how he made her laugh so hard she couldn't breathe. During practice, there were stories about how ripped he was which truly pissed me off because even I hadn't seen him with his stupid shirt off. After practice, there were stories about how he was so sweet.

Literally, what the fuck?

Francis Duval didn't have a kind bone in his body. Granted, there was only one bone I was mildly familiar with and all I knew about it was that it was... big.

Frustrated and annoyed, I stalked to my car right after practice when a chest pushed me up against the driver's side door. His scent invaded every single part of me, then his warmth, and then I felt his hands on my hips.

"What do you want?" I clipped.

"Rough day." His voice found its way between my legs and pulsed. "Make it better?"

"Why?"

"We had a deal, Isaella." He pulled my ponytail to one side of my face, pressing his lips onto my shoulder.

"The deal wasn't for me to get down on my knees every time you decide you want me," I rolled my eyes, trying to ignore the feel of his mouth on me.

"You want me too."

"Bold statement."

"Ah, I see," he said, trailing gentle kisses along my shoulder. "So if I were to push my hands into your skirt at this very moment, you wouldn't be wet?"

Fuck.

"Not at all," I gasped.

"Menteuse," he snarled. I had no fucking idea what it meant. "You know better than to lie to me, Isabella Marie."

My head rolled back into his shoulder as his hands caressed my thighs, toying with the hem of my dark green and white cheer uniform.

"Touching me on school grounds. Not afraid your girlfriend is going to see?"

"Not afraid of anything," he growled, pressing his face into my neck. He felt so good, so strong, and so warm that any and all resistance I had in me curled in the bottom of my stomach and dipped lower. It didn't escape my notice that he neither confirmed nor denied that he had a girlfriend. Devastatingly, I didn't care.

"Not here," I panted. As soon as he realized I'd given in, he made a small noise of satisfaction and pushed me toward his car, opening the passenger side door for me. "What a gentleman," I rolled my eyes and slipped into the seat.

We didn't talk or touch the entire way to some secluded park that he drove us to and parked in an empty parking lot, shaded by trees.

"Romantic," I popped my lips, throwing my hair over my shoulder.

Shooting me a dry look, he reclined his seat all the way back and gripped my waist with both hands. In one smooth motion, I was straddling his lap, both hands on his chest for balance. When he tried to move me up, I got nervous. He wanted to go down on me? No one had ever done that before. Instead of obliging his command, I stayed in place, which made him raise an eyebrow in question.