Roofers.

9. Sun-kisses and torture: Part 1.

Scarlett POV.

And there he goes again. Sprinting across the field, basking in the warm afternoon sunlight. Usually pale skin now bronze in the setting sun. Sun-kissed and shirtless and sweaty as the coach drilled him beyond comprehension. 

He was toying with me, him and his glowing sun-soaked skin. Yes, he was toying with me. This must've been a game to him, a game he knew how to win.

He was fully aware of the eyes that watched him, fully aware that my weak-willed eyes would always remain locked onto him and his muscular physique. 

I watched him practise from the sidelines. Candy had gone off to cheerleading try outs and most days, she was my ride home. So I waited for her at the bleachers, doing my homework for the day to keep me busy and making origami animals with sticky notes when I got bored. Normally I would walk home, but the unruly, mind-numbingly persistent side of me forced me to stay. 

And contrary to popular belief, I missed him. Even if it wasn't him I missed, I missed the feeling of being close to him, the feeling of having him at my mercy, obeying me and only me even if it were for only a second. I drove myself mad with my lack of contact with him, and I was sure he was too. 

Throughout this week, I'd caught him mid stare as I walked through the halls. Each time he looked ready to kneel even in front of everyone, but he always caught himself before he did. 

He stayed away from me like I had instructed, but I almost wished he wasn't so good at being submissive; I wished he was rebellious and disobedient, that way he'd be more fun to tame, more deserving of the punishments that had whirled around in my mind.

All week unsightly sights plagued my mind. Dreams consuming me both during the day and night. Dreams of rope and desperation and submission. I didn't want it to stay a dream. I wanted it to be real. But I knew painfully that the object of my desire was the centre of the universe and that to remove him from his perceived nature would make the rest of us collapse after. He was the boy meant to put this place on the map; he was the boy we would watch on TV one day, irked with the feeling of nostalgia. Football was a game for the strong, and in our world submission was associated with weakness. 

The books Addy gave me only confirmed my suspicions. Side effects of strong compatibility included reckless behaviour, bouts of hyper-active maladaptive daydreaming, insomnia, increased libido and a whole list of other less promising features. It was basically your body's way of forcing you to be with someone who had the capability of making you fall into deeper spaces. Considering the frequency of all these symptoms, my guess is that we were insanely compatible. Which, even now, made no sense to me.

As their practice came to an end, Ronan stopped mid-field, looking around in a confused near-space daze until his eyes met mine. He was beautiful, his hair sticking to his forehead amongst his sweat, clouded eyes sparkling with fervent mischief. He panted heavily, his chest rising and falling with each heaving breath, he licked his lips before nipping on his lower one, leaving his lips red and bruised and moist, I bet they were soft too — I tried to look away; I swear I did. See, this is how his little game would work. He would aggravate me to the point of near space and stop before things got too far. I ached to punish him for it, show him what frustration could really be.

My space threatened to take over reason this time. Tears of frustration filled my eyes, my hands drew to clenching fists. I wanted to punish him. I swear I'd only do it once. I'd ignore him afterwards. Let me bring him to knees once, only this once — he made me desperate, and I hated the feeling. I couldn't explain why my heart was racing or why I'd let him make me his adversary. Why I'd let him make me feel powerless.