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to feel the heat; (Niley Oneshot - 1 of 3)

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Published on Jun 18, 2012

I pressed my head amongst my locker and seal it shut as I gnaw on the peppermint in my mouth, devouring the thrilling flavors of pepper and mint. My taste buds prickle and my tongue jolts from the pleasuring sensation. I sigh deeply and gawk at the black streaks on the floor tiles, and my fingertips gradually slide down the metal door until they sway worthlessly by my hip. The crowd shuffles down the hallway, pushing and shoving pointlessly as the ceiling lights flicker above them. The clatters of high-heels and sneakers engulf me as if I'm the present being wrapped before Christmas time—drowning me. Appearance wise, I seem average.

Wrong.

Every teenager has a special talent or is born with some characteristic that makes them unique. Some have dazzling voices, and others contain the knowledge of a second Einstein. I, nonetheless, am known for my humiliatingly brilliant use of words; they slip from my orifice like a lingering bane. I'm not even sure what I'm saying half the time but I know it throws people off, forcing them to rack their brains for an ingenious response or action. In a way this cunning technique assists me daily with certain some ones. Well, someone.

Trundling upon the stained tiles, I slither past an infinite amount of shoulders until I'm propelled against the granite wall and the coolness nips at the exposed cleavage of my lower back. I groan, spit and the remains of peppermint gurgling around my throat, and undergo the bulky chest of another abruptly pressing into me roughly. I look upward; my azure irises gaze into a pair of subtle chocolate pools.

"Get your fuckin' paws off me, Jonas," I emit callously and push my small hands to his rock hard abs, but it's useless; he's too worked out and I'm a mere fragile snowflake.

He releases an amused chuckle and his large devious hands position themselves on my small frame, hauling my body nearer to him. His hot breath crawls onto my shoulder but his plump lips don't dare touch my flesh. I quiver aimlessly, hissing into his ear. "Off."

"Naww, what fun would that be?" he whispered seductively and my stomach lurched in excitement. I despise the effect he has on me, but adore it because it's so addictive; my day by day dose of heroin.

But this was the game—the battle we've fought for months now. It was obvious since the day he drew eyes on me that there was lust, and this craving has promoted him every day forth. I've never given into him though which makes his need greater and me, more desirable.

This desperate fellow is Nicholas Jonas, though he is better known for his famous nickname "the heat."

"Come on, baby. Let's get out of here and we'll fuck," he says with a brutal thrust against my abdomen and slaps the roof of his mouth for emphasis. "Feel the heat, Cyrus."

There. That line is what earned him his signature and it turns on woman instantly, causing their barriers to collapse. However, it's his classic phrase that ultimately leads to his blunder on my part.

You'd think he'd learn.

I smirk, carrying the palm of my hand across his firm chest and his stone collarbone, pausing at the crook of his veined muscular neck as I cup it. I caress it amiably and scrutinize his chops curve to the right in gratification. I lean further so my glossy lips hover over his; I'm triggered to stroke them once but I shake the thought away.

"I'll fuck you when you gain the ability to pleasure yourself," I retort and his expression directly falters into remorse. Glum, maybe.

My final word.

Letting out a soft laugh, I unlatch his grip on my waist, tossing his hands aside and swim out of the diminutive space we've left between us. As I begin strutting down the now deserted hallway in confidence, I flick one of my brunette tousles cleverly and make sure I catch a glimpse of his awestruck manifestation. "I suggest jerking off during free periods," I adjoin and rip our gaze entirely. For today, that is.


/to be continued

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