Bold Type

7

Elyse Song always walked the straight line and always looked fucking great doing it.

And Pax is panicking.

Please don't fucking freak out, he pleads in his head when his girlfriend stirs in his arms. Please don't, fuck.

She opens her eyes and he wants to fucking die.

"Good morning," Elyse whispers, squinting.

Pax doesn't want to fucking deal with whatever her reaction will be when she's more awake and remembers they fucked. He buries his head in her neck, dragging his mouth from the hollow of her throat to her collarbone to her fucking shoulder, tightening his hold on her.

Vanilla and fucking caramel. Pax loves that shit.

"I have to go back to my room to get ready for class," she whispers, threading her fingers in his hair.

"Fuck class." Fuck me instead. Raising his head, Pax looks at her with a frown and asks, "How are you feeling?"

"Sore." She scrunches her nose and smiles at him. Fucking phew. "But okay."

Well, she's not fucking freaking out. That's a fucking good thing.

Pax kisses her. "I'll pick you up again for breakfast."

The smile he gets makes his fucking stomach churn around their knots.

But, well, you see, Pax has a thing for messing her up, unraveling her impeccable fucking appearances, so he can't help it when he pulls her to his lap in her dress for today—soft fucking purple—and bunches it up her hips while she straddles him.

Teases him.

"Wanna fuck you now," Pax growls.

And, see, his girlfriend is a fucking control freak. Confident, fucking bold. "I didn't hear a please, Sandejas."

Jesus Christ. Pax lolls his head back when she just hovers above him, not moving.

"Well?" she goads.

Fucking, fuck, fuck—

He doesn't beg. He's pretty sure Sandejases don't fucking beg, and a please is hardly begging, but it's cute she thinks she's in charge just because she's on top.

Big mistake. Elyse rolls her hips and Pax hisses, bucks his hips up, but she moves off and raises her eyebrow, singing, "I'm still waiting."

He snaps, "Fine, fuck, fuck me, please."

Jesus fucking Christ.

There's a satisfied smile on her face when she hears it and sinks down, and when Pax tries to get her to hurry along, to move on with the fucking teasing, she grabs his hands, pins them above his head and interlaces their fingers, and whispers, "Don't move, love. I'm the one fucking you."

He almost has a fucking spasm hearing that dirty word from her pretty mouth, and he tilts his head up to kiss her, completely at her mercy.

At breakfast, she puts the table napkin over her legs and slices her pancakes, smiling at him innocently like she didn't just—quite literally—fucked him over.

Pax is in a fucking great mood all day. That is, until his phone doesn't do shit again and Elyse doesn't text him.

He scowls and texts her before lacrosse. fucking miss u already damn it. i have practice but pax fucking time after

It's a question, but he doesn't put a question mark because it's also a demand.

He expects her to respond after his shower. It's been two fucking hours out in the field.