33. Bohdi

Chapter thirty-three

Bohdi

T he music blares as I step into the house, surrounded by bodies swaying, drinks in hand, and who knows what else. But I'm not interested in the crowd. My focus is solely on one person: Brayden. The stifling heat inside my Halloween costume threatens to overwhelm me, but I had to choose something that would completely conceal my identity. Ghostface was my last-minute choice—a mask that clings tightly to my head, its black cape and gloves hiding my arms and tattoos.

Navigating through the crowd of people, I cringe internally as some of my female students fawn over Ghostface, their hands grazing my chest and shoulders. I tune out the inappropriate questions thrown my way as I continue pushing my way through the party.

When did Ghostface become a character for both girls and boys to romanticize? What's wrong with these people?

Ah, my age is definitely showing. I scan the sea of faces in the crowded mansion. The sheer number of people here is staggering, finding Brayden will be a marathon. I weave through the crowd; the heat intensifying with each passing minute. Thankfully, I know what he's wearing from his Instagram story: Jason from Halloween. So far, I haven't seen a Jason, which is good I suppose because what if there were more than one?

I don't really know why I'm here, but all I know is I need to see him. I know his walls that he builds so God damn high were slowly crumbling for me earlier and then Ms. Banksy went and walked in. I get how it looked; it didn't look great, but she needed to ask me something about a presentation. I could see it in his face, in his eyes, his walls built back up quicker than I could blink. The anger, the false hatred, simmered in his eyes for me again. I need to see to see those walls crumble. I need him back.

He's never had to worry about Ms. Banksy, but he certainly doesn't anymore. She hightailed it out of my room as soon as Brayden left. I don't think she will be bothering anymore. I gave Brayden a silent cheer for that text and also; I loved the jealousy that was clearly displayed on his face. He wouldn't have sent that text if he didn't care.

These last five days have been hell. I've come to realize that not only seeing Brayden is something I need, but seeing him happy is something I crave. Something I struggle to go a day without seeing. I have the picture—which I may as well framed and set next to my bed, with the number of times I stare at it. But knowing he's angry with me, it doesn't help. Scanning the crowd, I can feel myself getting impatient. He's definitely here . . . unless he's left already. I do another lap and as I walk into the kitchen, which heaves with people drinking from some type of punch. My eyes snag on someone dressed as a zombie-looking priest.

Trayton.

I hover, because I know if Trayton is here, then Brayden will be here. I haven't quite worked out how I'm going to get him on his own yet, but I'll think about that once I see him. I don't even know what the fuck I'm going to say to him. I grab a beer from the ice cooler, not planning on drinking it, even if I am gagging for it right now. But that would mean having to lift my mask and there isn't a chance I'm risking that. Trayton laughing draws my attention to him as Kal throws his head back laughing at something. When Trayton moves to the side, I see who he's laughing at.

Brayden sitting on the couch with his arm around a flushed Lance, who of course is dressed as some kind of blooded up zombie-looking nerd. Anger fuels me instantly and before I know it, I'm barging through Trayton and Kal. I don't think about the consequences, I don't think about anything. The anger and jealousy consume me, and I grab hold of Brayden's arm, hauling him to his feet, dragging him along with me.

"Bro, get the fuck off me," Brayden hisses, his voice low and intense, as I pull him away.

"I'm not your fucking bro," I seethe close to his ear.

Trayton's sudden grip on my arm spins me around. "You better back the fuck off and let my boy go now before I fuck you up." My fingers dig into Brayden's arm, and he removes his mask, revealing dark brown hair matted with sweat. His eyes lock onto mine through the mask.

"Relax." He smirks at Tray. "I know him."

Tray's eyebrows furrow as he studies Bray, then he performs an exaggerated triple blink. Brayden erupts in laughter and returns the peculiar triple blink. Tray's shoulders slump, and he scrutinizes me from head to toe before grimacing and walking away. Kal stands nearby, brooding, his demeanor suggesting he's prepared to tear me apart as he eyes my hand, squeezing Brayden's arm.

"It's cool," he says again, and without hesitation, I pull him toward the stairs. As I glance back, I catch Lance observing our every step. His gaze lowered. Normally, I'd pity someone like him, but not when he's laying claim to something that belongs to me.

Fuck that.

Ignoring the first bedroom at the top of the stairs. I pull Brayden toward the far end, pushing past some people who catcall and joke about Jason fucking with Ghostface. The last door leads to a dull cream-colored room with matching carpets, a king-size bed, and bland cream walls. Releasing Brayden, I pivot on my heels and slam the door shut.

"Scary," Brayden quips sarcastically. I turn to face him, yanking the mask off my face, my eyes drilling into his.

"What the fuck was that downstairs?" I grind out, my patience fraying. "Did you touch him? Kiss him?" My body trembles at the thought of his lips on someone else.

He scrutinizes me, his eyes revealing more than he lets on. He enjoys my jealousy, relishes the fact that I barged in and pulled him away.

"What's it to you?" he retorts, assessing me as if I'm insignificant. But I catch the glimmer in his eyes. He enjoys the possessiveness.

"What did I warn you?" My voice is edged with determination.

"And what did I say? Stay the fuck away from me. I hate you!" he spits. Closing the gap, I confront him face-to-face, our height difference barely noticeable as his rapid breaths brush my skin.

"There's something you should already understand, Brayden." I lower my voice, lips grazing his ear, and he inhales sharply. "I don't stay away from what's mine." His audible gulp echoes in the charged silence; he neither protests nor retreats. I pull back, locking eyes with him, the turmoil evident as his gaze flickers between mine, and he clenches his jaw.I smirk. "You hate me, huh?"

"I can't fucking stand you." He tilts his head up, jutting his chin out as he crosses his arms over his chest.

Tilting my head, I squint my eyes, ensuring my stare is locked with his. "Those hooded, ocean eyes that drink up every inch of me while I teach suggest otherwise." I wink, causing his resolve to slip as his breathing becomes harsher.

"I'm pissed with you," he mutters weakly, attempting to sound harsh. A smile tugs at my lips, but I suppress it. I know that would only further infuriate him. Truth is, he's pissed, but not as much as he'd like to be. And truth is, he couldn't hate me, even if he tried.

"I know," I reply, my jaw clenching as I glance around the room. "I've apologized at least ten times now."

His jaw ticks, and he gazes down, then back up. "Why was she in the classroom earlier?" he huffs.

"To discuss a presentation," I answer matter-of-factly. His sarcastic eye roll and pursed lips follow. "Nice touch with the text, by the way. Luckily, I didn't have your name saved. Why do you even care, anyway?" I raise an eyebrow. "You'd rather fuck a pig than touch me again, wouldn't you?" I challenge. " Whether Ms. Banksy visited me—it's irrelevant, isn't it?"

Brayden inhales deeply, his gaze meeting mine, filled with regret. I understand he didn't mean what he said that night, but those words still haunt me, driving me to drink myself into a dark hole.

"I—" he huffs, shoulders sagging. "I'm sorry for what I said. I was drunk. I didn't mean it." His frown deepens as he stares back into my eyes.

"You're sorry?" he nods, our eyes locked, and I catch a fleeting glimpse of his gaze on my lips.

"Why don't you drop to your knees and show me just how sorry you are, Bray?" His eyes widen, mouth opening and closing. I trace my thumb along his bottom lip. "Put this mouth to good use instead of talking shit for once," I whisper, pressing a kiss against his lips and running my tongue along the edge.

He lazily closes his eyes and sinks to his knees, gazing up at me. As I lift the cape, his hands instantly find my belt, unclipping it and skillfully undoing the buttons. The slight tremor in his hands doesn't escape my notice, though. My dick is painfully hard as his fingers graze the fabric of my boxers. Pulling down the waistband, he pulls my dick out, and a groan slips from me.

"Fuck," I stare down at him, he licks his lips, his eyes fixed on my dick and leans forward, licking some of the pre-cum on the tip.

My eyes roll into the back of my head, and I swear I see stars. Brayden on his knees is better than I ever imagined. Warm, wet lips circle over the head of my dick and suck. His tongue grazing the underneath, and I have to grab his hair and pull on it sharply to control myself from tipping over the edge too quickly. Brayden sucks down my dick like a fucking pro and I can't take my eyes off him. His eyes closed, swallowing my dick. He flicks his tongue on the underneath again and I moan loudly. His eyes flick up, locking with mine as he smiles around my dick, flicking his tongue over my slit.

"Brayden," I say through gritted teeth, tightening my grip on his scalp, eliciting a wince. He withdraws from my dick with a soft pop, his gaze unwavering.

"Put the mask back on," he grins, flashing me my favorite smile.

"You're a freak," I retort, securing the mask once more. This time, I grasp Brayden's hair from behind.

"Open," I command, and he complies instantly, a smile playing on his lips. "You're so fucking sexy, you know that." Brayden's intense stare makes me feel alive, intoxicated by desire. I never want to come back to reality. I want to stay drunk on this feeling forever. His lips circle around me, and I lose myself as he takes me in completely. His tongue tracing every inch as he gags, causing the muscles in his throat to tighten, which makes my toes curl. He slurps on my dick like it's his favorite lollipop and continues taking me to the back of his throat as he swallows around my dick, making me see every fucking star in the galaxy. As Brayden's eyes connect with mine through the mask, his eyes say a thousand words and right there and then he shows me just how sorry he is until I'm coming down his throat.