Page 19 of Safe (King’s Heart #1)

Landon

I watch Grant stomp off the field like the shithead he is.

I hate losing too. But you don’t throw a fit like a fucking child.

I shake my head, sitting on the bench to open my bag and pull out my phone.

Unknown Number

Hey :) It’s Stella from the football game. Now you have my number too.

I smile and look back at where the cheerleaders stand. Stella is already looking at me, a shy smile on her face as she stuffs her phone back into her uniform top.

I give her a nod and text back a quick “Hey” before saving her contact name and putting my phone away.

I’m not really sure what I want to happen with her. She’s hot, so when she asked for my number, I gave it to her. I really should be having more fun anyway. That’s what everyone keeps saying.

All of those normal teenager things that everyone goes through haven’t been a top priority.

Drinking. Partying. Socializing. And even… sex.

I’ve had a few encounters with this girl I used to work with at the corner store. Some quick stuff where we were both fumbling and barely managed to get off.

But that’s it. Nothing spectacular.

Stella seems nice, maybe that could develop into something. But do I even want that right now?

Everyone starts heading to the locker room, so I pick up my bag and follow. When I walk in and see Grant’s discarded pads thrown on the ground, another wave of irritation passes over me.

He’s so fucking entitled. He gets to throw a tantrum and then one of us will clean up after him.

Trevor breezes past me and immediately picks up the pads to put them away, while the rest of the team somberly hang their heads waiting for Coach’s scolding.

Surprisingly, he doesn’t have much to say, only that we better be ready to practice our asses off on Monday, then he sends us off to the showers.

I undress and take my time rinsing off, letting the warm water soothe my aching muscles.

Thankfully, everyone is too disappointed to give me any shit, plus their little leader isn’t here, so most of them shower quickly, and then I’m left alone to get dressed and head back to my room.

I’m hoping Grant will be asleep or gone by the time I make it over there. I know he’s been avoiding me—coming in super late at night and leaving early in the morning. He can avoid me all he fucking wants. Maybe that’ll make the time until graduation pass faster.

Despite that, I feel like I’ve been sleeping with one eye open. Constantly on edge and waiting for him to pull something over me. Some other cruel prank to get me out of his life.

It’s only been a few days. He’s probably lying in wait—studying me, watching my moves to see what will be the thing that metaphorically kills me.

The walk across campus goes too fast, and suddenly I’m standing in front of my door, key card in hand—a nervous energy in my blood.

Leaning my ear against the door, I only hear silence, so I wave the card in front of the lock and quietly push the door open.

The room is quiet and dark. I tiptoe inside, setting my bag down gently and closing the door behind me, swallowing myself in the pitch blackness.

A moment passes where I just stand there. Listening and waiting. It feels like I’m being watched.

The air leaves my lungs in a harsh wheeze as I’m tackled to the ground—unknown arms wrap around my middle and squeeze with all their might.

“How does it feel to get fucking sacked?” his rough voice sneers right next to my face as I try to shake him off.

I can’t do it, so I use my legs to push my weight into him, which results in us rolling on the floor, grappling for control.

“What the fuck are you talking about, you psycho?” I ask as we struggle.

He laughs darkly, then jabs his elbow into my ribs, sending air whooshing out of me again. “You knew what you were doing!”

“You’re fucking insane! Get off of me!” I yell.

“No,” he snarls back at me. “Get the fuck out of my life.”

“No!” I shout it as loud as I can, using all the strength I have in me to push him, flipping him onto his back. I clumsily climb up and straddle his hips, holding onto his arms above his head so he can’t scratch my eyes out.

His green eyes glare at me. The look is menacing—blazing even in the dark.

“Let go of me,” he growls. Low and deep. I feel the vibrations go all the way up to my brain.

“No. You’re going to listen to me. I haven’t done shit to you. I’m just trying to?—”

I shift my hips mid-sentence and immediately cut myself off. My eyes widen. And something weird unfurls in the pit of my stomach.

Because I definitely just felt his hard dick.

He knows it too. His eyes widen just like mine. For only a moment. And then he narrows them, repeating his command, enunciating each word. “Let. Me. Go.”

“Um,” I say dumbly, because my brain can only seem to short circuit right now.

I’m not hard. I was just fighting for my life—that doesn’t turn me on. But… he’s turned on. By-by me?

It doesn’t make any type of sense. He fucking hates me. He’s let me know countless times. And you know what? I fucking hate him too. All he’s done is make my life harder.

And yet, my dick is growing. Every time I think about the fact that he’s turned on by me , it gives a twitch, pushing itself against my gym shorts.

“It’s fucking adrenaline,” he mutters angrily. “Now get off.”

But I don’t.

Instead, I do something crazy, something I don’t even understand, but it happens anyway.

My hips move. The slightest bit. But the effect is immense. That weird feeling in my gut explodes, filling the rest of my body, taking over every organ and system. It becomes the only thing I know.

I do it again, but longer and slower this time, dragging my cloth-covered cock over his—making sure I feel the entirety of his length on mine.

His eyelids flutter shut and a tiny whimper escapes his pouty lips. And in that moment. I feel fucking powerful. Maybe for the first time in my life. I have power over him. I make him feel like that. I’m in charge.

He rips his eyes back open, pinning me with his signature glare again. “Fuck off, Landon. Leave me alone.”

But it lacks his usual bite. I lean down, letting go of his arms, which noticeably stay planted next to his head. “You could throw me off if you wanted. But you don’t want to, do you?”

He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t move.

“That’s what I thought.”

I sit back up and give another leisurely roll of my hips against his. “Stop,” he says, but it’s a moan.

“Fucking make me stop,” my voice rumbles as our cocks grind against each other.

There’s too much fucking clothing between us. I get visions of us naked and sweaty, our pre-cum slicking our big dicks as they rub together.

“Get-get off of me, p-pet.” Every word out of his mouth is a feat he can barely accomplish.

My hand shoots forward, grabbing onto his face and turning it so his cheek pushes into the floor. “No. You’re my fucking pet,” I growl every word, sliding my hips harder.

“ Ffffuck ,” he whimpers, totally lost in this. In what I’m doing to him.

I start moving faster, thrusting against our clothes, and my brain completely lets go, making me utter every thought running through it.

“That’s right. I’m making you feel this way, pet ,” I spit out the nickname. “The person you fucking hate. I’m the one who’s going to make you fucking come in your pants. Actually, no.”

I stop briefly, pulling the waistband of his gym shorts down to reveal his hard cock, red and angry, veins shiny with his pre- cum, pulsing with the need to come. Then I rip his shirt over his head. All of it done with ease. He doesn’t fight one bit.

My hips start moving again, the mesh of my shorts rubbing against his stretched, sticky skin.

“I want to see you come all over yourself. Just like a whore ,” I spit that word too, emphasizing all his insults to me.

He eats it all up, the cords of his neck stretching and straining as I hold his face against the floor.

“Say you’re my pet. Say it.”

“I-I’m your pet.”

“Who fucking owns you right now, asshole?”

“ You dooooo ,” he mewls, moving his hips against mine as he comes, spraying his stomach and chest with streaks of hot cum.

“Fuck, yes,” I whisper, mostly to myself, watching it all happen with rapt attention, because if I didn’t know it before, I definitely do now.

I fucking like dick.

I quickly pull my cock out as he shivers below me, jacking myself a few times before adding my own cum to the glistening art on his body. “Yes yes yes yes,” I moan as I squeeze every drop out onto his skin, marveling at how amazing it looks. How much I like seeing him covered in cum. My cum.

We both wind down in silence. The room filled with only our loud breathing.

And that’s when the panic starts to set in. Not necessarily from just having dry humped a guy—I’ve definitely never done that before, and that is a factor—but just having dry humped Grant .

Fucking Grant. The guy who is a complete and total asshole. The guy who has said the most terrible shit to me. The guy who has fucked with my life at every opportunity.

What the fuck? What the fuck? What the fuck?

I scramble off of him, backing away hastily on my hands.

He sits up on his elbows. Our cum shines in the moonlight streaming in from the window as he stares at me.

We both say nothing, and I can’t place the look in his eyes—if it’s panic, like me, or something else.

I don’t ask or stick around to find out. Spinning around, I run to my bag, tripping over my own feet as I grab it and barrel out the door.

Once I’m outside, I don’t stop running, fumbling for my phone and hitting Simmons’s contact.

“Landon?” His voice is filled with alarm. “Everything okay?”

I try to make my voice as even as possible, but it still comes out breathy while I sprint to the nearest bus stop. “Yeah. I just—Can I stay with you guys? For the weekend?”

The line is silent for a second. “Of course. I’ll pick you up?”

“No. I’ll take the bus. I’ll see you soon.”

I hang up without waiting for a response and sit on the bus bench, my breath coming out of me in heaving pants.

This will buy me a few days. I’ll have to go back, but in the meantime, I can get my head on right. Or maybe figure out what the fuck just came over me.

Because I have no idea.

But I know I liked it.