Born To Be Your's

Chapter 9

The walk from Northwood High to the elementary school was a study in strained silence. The high school was now behind them, a place where Blake had impulsively risked his hand for Liv’s face.

Blake, Travis, and Liv moved down the cold sidewalk. Blake lit a cigarette, taking a long drag and exhaling a plume of smoke into the frigid air. The silence was heavy, but Blake didn't try to break it with sarcasm; he was too busy trying to decipher the residual tension from the gym and the strange, electric thrill he felt every time he looked at Liv. Travis, sensing the volatile energy between them, wisely kept quiet, shoulders hunched, focused on the snowy pavement.

After a few blocks, Blake took the last drag of his cigarette and flicked the butt onto the ground, grinding it out with his boot heel. They reached the brightly colored elementary school just as the younger students were pouring out the doors.

Maddie came bouncing out, a small flash of color against the white snow. Her eyes immediately locked onto Liv. She didn't pause for Travis or Blake; she made a beeline straight for the girl who radiated beautiful danger.

“Liv!” Maddie shouted, wrapping her arms tightly around Liv’s waist in a fierce hug.

Liv, caught completely off guard, froze instantly, her hands hovering awkwardly above Maddie’s head. She was like a statue carved from hostility, rigid and unused to the innocent, overwhelming affection. She tried subtly to pull away, but Maddie had the determined, unyielding grip of a pitbull puppy.

Blake looked past the strange tableau and scanned the crowd of children. “Where’s Ryan?”

Maddie giggled, still holding Liv tightly. “He tried to blow up the teacher’s microwave, so he has after-school detention!”

Blake threw his head back, letting out a deep, genuine groan of defeat.

They started making their way back home. Maddie, undeterred by the attempted arson, spent the entire walk trying to hold Liv’s hand, detailing the intricate life stories of her dolls. Liv, desperately trying to maintain her untouchable perimeter, shoved her hands deep into the pockets of her black jeans. She offered Maddie only short, vague answers, but she didn’t actively push the child away—a small miracle Blake noted.

Finally, they reached their street. As soon as Liv saw the familiar sight of Paul and Francis’s house—the pale pink curtains visible in the spare bedroom window—she sped up. She walked fast, almost running, and disappeared instantly through the neighbors’ back door without a backward glance or a goodbye.

Maddie giggled, skipping toward her own porch. “She likes me! She just needs time to warm up!”

Blake knew better. Liv wasn't warming up; she was retreating into her fortified shell.

Blake watched the neighbor’s door click shut, then turned to Travis and Maddie. He dropped Maddie off at the house, gave Travis a curt nod, and then headed back out toward the Headstart center. He needed Mark, and then he needed to retrieve his little psychopath from detention before Laura got home and initiated a full-scale lockdown.

As he walked down the street, Blake ran his hand over the spot on his lip where Liv had pinched the cigarette. She was a beautiful challenge, a broken genius, and utterly incapable of staying put.

Keep the lighter handy, she had said.

Blake smirked, a dangerous, calculating light in his eyes. He had the distinct feeling he wouldn't be leaving his lighter alone for very long.

---

The Copper family finished their dinner—a large, steaming pot of Hamburger Helper, which tasted faintly of cheese powder and survival. The meal was quick and mostly silent, broken only by Mark’s insistence on using his spoon as a drumstick and Laura’s exhausted efforts to keep Ryan from launching his fork across the room.

When the last of the food was scraped from the pot, Blake rose, gathering his energy. He headed toward the small, cramped room he shared with Travis.

He walked over to the dresser, pulling out a pair of worn pajama pants. As he turned toward the window to close the curtains—a habit born of necessity and the proximity of the neighbor’s bridge—he noticed movement out of the corner of his eye.

The light was on in the spare bedroom of Paul and Francis’s house, and the pale pink curtains were wide open. Liv was standing there, facing the room, oblivious or uncaring that the window across the tiny yard offered a direct, unobstructed view.

She slowly pulled the tight, black sweatshirt over her head. Blake froze, pajama pants halfway down his legs. He knew he should look away, knew this was a boundary violation on his part, but he was frozen by the raw sight of her.

She was wearing a short-sleeved black shirt underneath, which she pulled off next. This revealed the striking black ink covering her torso. The delicate, intricate black vines and roses started just under her armpit and curved down her side, hugging her ribcage perfectly. Blake finally saw the full, dangerous beauty of her hidden tattoos.

Her body was breathtaking: a perfect, muscular silhouette. She wore a black lace bra that accentuated the perfectly round, perky shape of her breasts. Her stomach was tight and lightly toned, the skin smooth and flawless.

It was then that Liv looked up.

Her gaze, sharp and cold, locked directly onto his. She noticed him staring—Blake, standing half-dressed in his dark room, caught like a common pervert.

But instead of covering herself, instead of retreating in shame, a slow, predatory smirk curled the corner of her matte-lipsticked mouth. She was inviting the spectacle.

She slowly, deliberately, turned her back to the window. The black lace bra and the top edge of her jeans defined the perfect curve of her waist. She lowered her hips, sensually, and slowly unzipped her jeans, letting them pool around her ankles. She stepped out of them, revealing a tiny pair of black lace cheeky underwear that framed her perfectly round, tight ass.

Blake didn’t realize he was walking right up to his window, his nose almost touching the cold glass, trying to get a better look. He couldn't deny it; she was f*****g hot—a challenge wrapped in sin.

She reached behind her back, her posture arching slightly, and slowly began to unhook the clasp of her bra. The small movement tightened the muscles along her spine, emphasizing the elegant curve of her back and the intense line of the tattoos on her ribs.

Blake bit his lip, his breath hitching.

Then, Liv peeked over her shoulder, her gray-green eyes gleaming with mischief and victory. She lifted her head and seductively bit her lower lip.

Blake waited, his entire body tense, anticipating the moment she would turn around and expose her perfect breasts.

Instead, she slowly turned back around, her arms held carefully across her chest, perfectly covering herself. She stood there for one agonizing second, making it look exactly like she was about to remove her arms and give him what he desperately wanted.

Then, without changing her expression, she lifted both arms toward the glass, keeping her chest covered, and gave him a perfect, double middle finger.

She closing the pale pink curtains.

Blake stood there, utterly defeated and completely charged. He let out a sharp laugh, shaking his head.

“War it is, Liv,” he muttered, the sudden, fierce arousal mixed with a grudging respect for her utter control. She was playing a dangerous, s****l game of dominance, and he had just lost the first round spectacularly.

The next two days—Tuesday and Wednesday—passed in a blur of escalating hostility and silent challenges between Blake and Liv at school. Their rivalry was the new social entertainment at Northwood, replacing Xander’s now-broken ego. They didn't speak often, but every glance, every sarcastic retort, was a precise tactical strike. Blake still had to walk her home, enduring her deliberate silence and the aggressive, electric tension that hummed between them.

By Wednesday night, Blake needed a distraction.

He walked toward the upper-middle-class section of town where Claire, the junior cheerleader, lived. The snow from the weekend had frozen, making the walk long and crunching under his boots.

Claire lived in a house so big it looked like it belonged on a brochure for suburban conformity. She opened the door instantly, pulling him inside. She was conventionally beautiful, with long blonde hair and bright, eager eyes—the perfect type for casual, no-consequences s*x.

They went straight up to her meticulously clean bedroom. Blake pulled out the stapled packet of notes he’d spent hours meticulously compiling—the guaranteed 'B' for her Chemistry test.

Claire took the papers, her eyes barely scanning the answer sheet. “This is a guaranteed B?” she asked, her voice breathy.

Blake smirked, nodding. “Yes, ma’am. One hundred percent.”

Claire returned the smirk, a confident, practiced move. She licked her top lip slowly, her gaze dropping to his chest, then back up. She reached out and gently rested her hand on his sternum, feeling the thick muscle beneath the thermal shirt. “I’m guessing you want your payment then.”

Blake just returned the smirk.

Claire smiled, a wide, easy expression, and pushed him onto her plush, expensive bed. She climbed on top of him, straddling his hips, and reached for the zipper of his pants. She slowly slid it down, her eyes locked on his. She didn’t need instructions; she knew the drill.

She moved with an easy, practiced grace, guiding him free of his jeans. She leaned down, her hair falling around his thighs, and her mouth closed around him.

The feeling was exactly what it always was: soft, hot, and instantly gratifying. Blake closed his eyes, settling into the familiar, physical release he sought to calm the constant ringing anxiety of his life. He focused on the immediate pleasure, on the sensation of her mouth, on the heat of her devotion.

But then, halfway through, the image flashed behind his eyelids.

It wasn't Claire's face, or the feeling of her soft skin against his. It was the icy-hot image of Liv, standing in the pink-walled room, the curtains open, her spine curving with wicked grace, the black vines and roses of her side tattoos perfectly visible. He saw the tight, black lace of her underwear, the arrogant curl of her lip, and the final, beautiful, double middle finger. The raw, challenging hostility of that s****l confrontation was so immediate, so vivid, it eclipsed the warmth of Claire’s mouth entirely.

It was the memory of Liv’s exposed body, her dangerous attitude, her defiant sexuality, that hit him completely, pushing him violently over the edge.

Blake gasped, his entire body convulsing. It was too fast, too intense, and completely disorienting. He came hard in Claire’s mouth, his climax fueled entirely by the ghost of the girl next door.

Just as the tremors subsided, the bedroom door burst open.

“Claire, what did you want for dinner?”

It was Claire’s father, standing stock-still in the doorway, holding a takeout menu. He looked up, casual inquiry dissolving into utter horror as he saw his teenage daughter’s mouth wrapped around Blake’s c**k.

His face turned instantly beet red. “What the—!”

Blake moved on sheer reflex. He surged up from the bed, his training from years of avoiding drunken fathers and pissed-off junkies taking over. He pulled up his jeans with a single, furious yank, shoving his manhood back inside.

He ran to Claire’s window, yanked the sash up, and jumped.

He landed hard in a deep, frozen snowbank below, the impact muffled by the powder and the dark earth. He could hear the hysterical, high-pitched scream of Claire and the booming, homicidal rage of her father yelling, “I’ll kill you, you Copper bastard!” from the upstairs window.

Blake chuckled, climbing out of the snowbank, cold slush soaking his jeans. He didn't look back. He just started walking fast toward the safety of his own side of town, the adrenaline pumping.

As he walked, the chaotic amusement of the escape quickly faded, leaving a heavy, cold confusion. He slowed his pace, lighting a cigarette with shaking hands. He thought about Claire—beautiful, willing, and right there—and how the memory of a girl who hated him, a girl he barely knew, had been the only thing capable of turning him on completely.

He never did that. He never thought of anyone else. His mind, his body, his emotions—they were supposed to be detached. But tonight, his control had slipped, and the sight of Liv’s defiant skin had completely hijacked his perfect, transactional s****l routine.

She’s in my head, he realized with a sharp, unwelcome wave of dread. And I have no idea how to get her out.