Teen Rebellion // S.R. ✓

CHAPTER NINE !

(slight smut)*

The mark Spencer left on you was a sight you kept on looking at; lifting your shirt and looking at the dark purple with splotches of red all around. It was a mark that kept you longing for something to happen. Something more than just a hickey.

You kept wishing for Spencer to kiss further down your body, not just the tops of your breasts and shoulders. Having his kiss every inch of your body is a scenario you have replayed in your mind over and over and over again. It's deadly.

He does it to tease you. He will take your shirt off and kiss your shoulders and breasts and down your stomach, following the path of your stretch marks, but will end his trip as soon as he reaches the waistband of your bottoms.

You groan and moan but he pays no mind. He says: "Try to... practice first. To see what you like." Meaning he's asking you to please yourself before you allow him to please you.

And you have. You've tried to and now you know. Know enough. And the thought of Spencer's hands roaming your body instead of yours turns you on even more, but the thought of sex remains frightening. You don't want to give him the worst experience ever and have him running off in an instant.

But you also don't want to be uncomfortable. You know that it can be uncomfortable losing your virginity, with all of the friction that can cause slight discomfort, but it doesn't happen to everyone. And you hope that when you do lose it, that won't be you.

"It's raining," Spencer informs, poking your arm with his pencil.

"Huh?" You blink your way out of your daydream, focusing on the window. It's pouring outside. Droplets of water smash against the windows and pound on the roof, so loudly you mistake it for hail. "Oh, yeah. The weather said there was a 90% chance."

He props his head on the palm of his hand, peering down at you as you pick up your pencil. You feel his eyes on you, drilling into the side of your face. Your face grows warm as he continues looking at you, the one second turning into hundreds of seconds.

"What?" you ask him.

"You usually like the rain. You play old movies or read books under your covers. You look like you hate it right now." He takes your pencil from your hand and places it on your desk, grabbing your fingers instead. He has a thing for playing with hands. Your hands.

You shrug. "I am liking it. Just wasn't paying attention to it."

He traces the lines on your palm, bending your fingers as he moves to each one. "You're thinking."

"People always think."

"Now you're just stalling."

"Mhm, just stating a fact." You flick your eyes up at the clock and back down to your hand, eager for the class to end so you can go to Theatre.

Spencer clicks his tongue, taking in a deep breath and exhaling as if he's annoyed. No reason to be annoyed, unless he is because you won't tell him what you've been thinking about. You just can't tell him. Telling someone you keep daydreaming about them ripping your clothes off and fucking you literally any and everywhere is not a good English class topic of conversation.

"You can learn a lot about someone through their eyes you know," he whispers.

"Oh yeah? Then please fill me in on what you've learned," you respond. You avert your eyes to his, watching as his lips turn up into a smile.

"Okay, maybe I haven't learned a lot from your eyes but I can tell from your composure." His eyes roam down your face and visible body, then back to your eyes. "You keep staring out of the window. All there is-is a track and a bunch of trees. You keep pressing your lips together and you will not stop crossing your legs."