Kiervan?Fuck.
Blaze had to open her mouth and ruin it. Everything about her up to that point was intoxicating; the sounds she made, the curve of her waist, the feel of her ass in my hands, and the wayher nipples looked through her poor excuse of pajamas—thin black fabric taunting me.
Then she touched me—well, she slapped me.
But she chose to put her hand on me.Me.And god it makes me giddy to think she willingly put her hand on me.
Shechoseto slapme.
I expected her lips to taste smoky or as sour as she is, but I’ve been tasting cherries since I kissed her. Blaze doesn’t appreciate the gravity of what I told her last night. A thread is sturdier than the shit I was hanging on to last night.
My cock was hard the second I stepped foot in her room, and then she moved and all but shoved her pussy in my face while she was half asleep. Then her little panties shifted, and I wanted to fuck her until she felt like she was choking on my cock, then spank the cherry tattooed on her ass.
But I was good.Patient.
I wasn’t sure what I expected by entering her room—I definitely wasn’t planning to kiss her. Not by a long shot.
I found her room, then stole an access key from one of the security guards last week, and I didn’t think I’d do anything with it. But then Blaze went and touched dipshit Elijah in the middle of class, and I was ready to do worse than just sneak into her room to make her come.
Seriously.Kiervan?
Fuck.
I was half tempted to break out of here to get home where I’ve got everything I need to bring him down, then push the big red button.
The klepto had the nerve to walk into class this morning looking smug. It did make me feel marginally better to watch her deflate when the teacher returned her paper, and there was a bigFin redmarker at the top of the page.
Squinting, I managed to make out what she wrote for the creative writing assignment and spotted the wordsdark, gloomy night,as fast as a cheetah, andbranches like fingers, as well as two typos in the first paragraph alone, then decided I didn’t need to read any more.
AnFseems accurate.
Writing isn’t in her future.
The only thing that’s stopping me from pulling her aside and making her scream the correct name this time is the fact that there are red marks along her neck where I choked her. Blaze can feel as smug as she wants, but she’s walking all around school carrying the marks that came from my hands. Not Kiervan’s.
The thief opted to pick the seat furthest away from me when she arrived late to our next class. I snap the band around my wrist again as I watch her causing mayhem at the other side of the classroom.
The school made two fuckups this morning. The first was thinking it was a good idea to pair Blaze up with Sarah. The second was trusting us around Bunsen burners. Or specifically, trustingheraround one.
As soon as Sarah steps out of the classroom, Blaze snatches a piece of paper covered in Sarah’s handwritten notes and holds it over the fire until it all burns into ash.
Blaze isn’t stupid; she just lights her notes on fire. She’s got to use something as a starter, and nothing spreads like knowledge. My fiery little thief is a pyromaniac in the making.
I glance at her, then the flame, then back at her. It’s Bunsen burner day, and here I am, consumed by her instead of the flame. What a waste.
There’s a glint in her eyes that isn’t usually there. It makes herall the more mesmerizing and all the more dangerous. She’s not concocting a plan, but her unmade hair and wide eyes scream with a wildness that goes beyond what I’m used to.
She’s antsy, looking for a fight rather than a hit.
I rub my thumb over the band around my wrist and drop my gaze to the strands of copper hair tangled around the tie. I snap it against my wrist again and look back at her. I’d be a liar if I said watching her play with fire doesn’t make my dick hard.
Blaze keeps glancing back at the teacher to make sure he’s not watching, and because she has no concept of first aid, when she burns her finger, instead of running it under cold water, she sticks it in her mouth.
She’s beautiful, violent, vulgar, and batshit fucking crazy.
The bench is cleared of evidence by the time Sarah comes back, and Blaze plasters an innocent look on her face as Sarah rummages around the bench in search of what I assume is the piece of paper that is now ash. Blaze shrugs and ignores her, heading to the front of the class to clean up, leaving behind black skid marks on the floor from her shoes.
I shake my head. They’re the same pair she’s had for the last two years. Jonathan Whitlock Sr. is unbelievable. He’s more of a scum than my own father. My dad would never let his own granddaughter wear shoes with holes in them.
