Handcuffed Rivals

43

It was a couple of hours later when my father called demanding to get home to have lunch with the family. He was the type of parent that didn't like his children to miss gatherings because we kids do not know or value tradition. His words, not mine.

To sum it all up, King and I went to the house and was met with my mothers madness from the kitchen "Finally! Where are you two these days?"

"Hi Miriam!" King saluted her while she was adjusting her ipron tidly around her waist.

"Carter dear!" she went in for a hug faster to her non-child then the one she carried in her womb, smoothing my hair that went in all of directions once she was done with bone-crushing King.

I hated humidity, King looked happy to be here.

"We were at his parents house." I shortened and kept my mouth shut about the party and my drinking, pain-crushing headache. "It's okay, it's okay, I get it! Lunch will be soon. Go wash your hands and I'll call you all when it's done."

We nodded hastily and were up on the staircase in a spare of seconds. I knew this hyper behavior of my mothers and I warned everyone of it as soon as the signs emarged.

"We're having guests." I complained all the way to my room, passing Jareds locked doors and hard-core music blasting over half the floor. He really got used to me not being around.

"How do you know?" we entered and closed the doors behind us clumsly, getting used to having handcuffs again. Ever since the party we have been without it at his home and I had a blast, complete freedom. Now I miss it again.

"She gets crazy when she has to impress." I rolled my eyes and King got the message clear.

"Carter?" we both sat on my bed, he pushed his back at the wall behind, getting cozy and used to it by now. I, on the other hand, had one of my leg under the other and stared at him curious, an idea forming in my head.

"Hm?" he draw out his phone from his back pocket and put it on a nightstand.

"Do I make you nervous?" I wondered out loud, having this urge to prove myself to him. All this time, he looked at me as if I had two different heads that my neck carried and each one was different-crazy when put together.

"The fuck?" his eyebrows kind of knit.
I prolonged "Do I make you sweat? Hot perhaps? I don't know, ravishing?" with every word I was more in character, making every detail matter, voice harder and clear.

"No?" he didn't know if he asked it or said it as a statement, he was wearing puzzlement all over his face, body, eyes.

I cracked and high peached "But I wanna!" stubborn as always. He didn't comprehend a word I said, what I was trying to do, what got into me.

He just looked lost and showed me his missplace "Wha- What's this about?"

"I wanna know how to make a guy hot!" the truth at last left my mouth and it was humiliating enough. To plead a guy that held the IT position of the definition of hotness, to show you weak spots for guys is like asking for a tv hoast to embarrass you in front of every living human being who watched the show.

Mildy traumatic for the mind, but I am crazy so, oh well.

"And you think that-" he began but I didn't let him go far.

"You'll do. Now, tell me, does this turn you on?" I was up between his legs, crawling towards him, my lips a few centimeters away from his. My eyes watched lower, watched his lips, felt his closiness.

"No." he wanted to be sure, he wanted to make himself untouchable by my tactics, by my hands around him, on him, near him.

"You sure?" I went for his neckline, whispering against his soft skin, right at the nape of his neck, my nose sensing his smell, addictive, manly, so overpowering.