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Thanks, dellaterra!

Punk POV


When my phone chimes, I almost ignore it. There's only one person I want to talk to, and he never texts me, ever. I build a tower out of the history textbooks I'm meant to be using for this stupid fucking report that needs to be handed in tomorrow, then extend it to the sides until I'm completely hidden from the librarian's view.

Safe in my private zone, I eat candy, even though that's against the rules. When I'm done, I toss my wrapper onto the desk where Jasper sits pretending to be totally fucking engrossed in his biology book when really he's really just staring at the hot librarian. He's not paying attention to me at ALL, not even when I use a rubber band to launch the Skittles I found at the bottom of my backpack over the fort wall. I frown, then go tell the librarian that Jasper's eating really loudly and distracting me from my very important studies. Watching Jasper blink and blush distracts me from my rising panic for a while.

I can't stop the worry that swirls around my stomach. If I fail this paper my dad will fucking flip, but every time I try to get the words down, they slide across the page. When I read, it's like the lines of text are doing the conga; my eyes try to keep up but by the time I get to the end of a sentence, all I can remember is the deadline that's drawing closer.

It doesn't help that every time I try to study in my room, Seth plays music that he knows will tempt me. James didn't even crack a smile when we showed him our new Adam Lambert routine over the weekend, but I saw him tapping his toe. The only things he seemed interested in were my ass, when I'd last eaten, and whether I was keeping up with my work. I've learned that as long as I'm touching his dick, either with my bare hands or in the form of extravagant dry humping when I tell lies, he doesn't really notice.

When my phone chimes for the second time, I flip it open, expecting there to be a message from Edward, or a dick-shot from Jake, but instead my stomach adds a twirl to its slow-roll routine.


He never texts.


I wonder for a moment if something's happened to his mother, then clutch at my heart and feel a little faint. She's my number one cheerleader, and I couldn't ever be without her. Bracing myself – being really, really brave – I open his message, then blink.



That's it.

Just 149.

I do some more blinking.

Not even the sexy-hot librarian talking sternly to Jasper can distract me. I know I must be wearing my thinking about numbers face when Jasper leans over and asks if I'm okay. I've always found math tricky, but 149 seems like such a random thing to text me.

I call James, but he doesn't pick up, and then I worry that I've called at exactly the wrong time. Maybe he reached for his cell, then slipped from his ladder.


He always tells me not to bother him at work.

Now I'm really feeling sick.

My phone chimes again: Meet me outside.

Blowing a kiss at hot librarian dude, then shouting over my shoulder that all the books I've left behind are Jasper's, not mine, I run.

I keep running until I see him.


Leaning against the corner of the building, one foot pressed against the brick, knee bent, looking hot as sin, he stares at me, unsmiling. I don't care, I'm used to his moody ways. I launch myself at him anyway, leaping so that he has to lurch forward quickly to catch me, then hold me tight.

I wrap my legs around him and kiss his neck as he murmurs stupid fucking Punk in my ear. Pulling my head back some, I peer at him closely, then ask if his mom is okay. Rolling his eyes, he says I'm fucking nuts, then squeezes me a little harder and tells me that she's fine; they just had lunch together, and I'm pleased.

I like sliding down his body, even though I'd rather magic all our clothes away and slide down onto his gorgeous dick. Once I'm back on the ground, I ask him what the fuck 149 means and why is he here anyway, distracting me from my very important busywork? He looks slightly guilty, then asks again if I'm all caught up with my work, so I grind against his dick a little saying of course I am, silly!

I'm so far away from being caught up, it's not even funny.

We walk toward his parked truck – although it's more like he's abandoned it, half-in, half-out of a parking space – and I ask him again if something is wrong. I'm not sure whether to believe him when he says no and for me to shut the fuck up and get in the fucking truck, but I do it anyway.

I'll always get in his fucking truck.

Slamming into gear, he roars out of the lot and I hang onto my seat belt. Where's the fucking fire?

We're nearly back to his place when he starts talking, and it takes a moment to work out that he's kinda embarrassed.

He had been up at Newtons, counting out the tiles he needed for a job when he realized he was counting out loud, just like he does when he spanks me. When he says spanks, I wriggle in my seat, and he grins, and I love him.

Every time he got up to a number, like, say, six, he would think about the last time he gave me six hard slaps. My breath quickens and I know that we're both thinking about the same thing. Just three days ago he fucked me behind the dumpster around the side of the diner while Edward and Jasper sat awkwardly waiting for us to return. He spanked me just because. He even told me he had no real good reason, and when he got to six, we both burst out laughing, then fucked each other fast.

So, by the time he counted out the roof tiles he needed, he'd managed to remember every single time his hand had been on my ass. James is so good with numbers. When he said that he had spanked me 149 times since we met, I had no reason to disbelieve him.

I tell him that's a very nice little story, and thanks for sharing, only maybe I should get back to my very important studies now, but he just shakes his head and pulls up outside his apartment.

149 is a very unsatisfactory number.

He can't get back to work himself until we make it up to a total he likes better.

By the time he bends me over his couch with my pants around my ankles, he talks me into helping him with some simple addition. Admittedly, he doesn't have to try too hard.

Rubbing firmly, pulling at my asscheeks, making small sounds of appreciation, he tells me that I have a very beautiful bottom and I start to giggle. Like I didn't know that shit already. Then he drops to his knees and covers my ass in kisses, until I ask if he bumped his head at work. Ass kisses and strokes are what he usually saves for after.

Nope, he just wants to make sure that I'm ready because in his opinion 149 is a number that needs a lot of work..

Fucking YUM.

Starting quickly, he slaps me lightly until he gets to number six. His speed almost has me worried – I don't want him to stop before he's even really started. But that's just his warm-up and his next smack makes me yell. FUCK. That seventh slap is lower than the rest, and almost catches my balls.

Bending, kissing where his hand's caught me, he tells me sorry until I say to quit that 'sorry' shit and hit me like he means it.

Ignoring me, he bites the top of my thigh and licks his way right up my crack. I grumble while he does it but I hear my own voice wobble. Then he licks me again – right fucking there – and I stop holding myself up and let the couch-back take my weight.

His tongue's flat and warm and almost palm-rough against my asshole, and I shake really, really hard. When he dips his tongue in, I stop grumbling and groan like a dirty whore instead. His palm, when it cracks down on my right cheek, almost makes me jizz. He loves the element of surprise.

The spanks up to ten are much harder and I love them. He places them carefully, making my whole nervous system wake up and pay attention. There's no more of that softly-softly shit, and I arch my back involuntarily, begging for much more.

James strokes my back under my shirt, and it's beaded with sweat already. I move to pull it over my head but he stops me, yanking it off himself and using it to tie around my wrists.

Fucking yes.

When I'm tied up tight, he pushes me further until my face is in the cushions and my ass is in the air. I can't even reach the ground with my toe-tips on the other side of the couch, and as my pants fall to the floor he nudges my legs further apart quite roughly.


The spanks up to fifteen make me hover between pleasure and pain. Each slap has a bite, a lick of fire that takes longer and longer to go out. He rubs one finger around my hole until I puff my breath out as an almost silent please continue.

I'm oblivious to him ripping his clothes off, I'm unaware of anything apart from the rising heat, the almost electric prickle that spreads across my skin. When his spanks up to twenty are spread across the backs of my legs – some near the top, some right behind my knees – making me jerk like a fish out of water. I know that I'm starting to get noisy.

Shoving his way between my legs, rubbing his cock hard against where I want it, he teases and asks me questions.

Do I like it?

Fuck yes.

Do I want him to stop?

Fuck no.

Would I like his dick in my ass, right now?

Oh God, Oh God, Oh God.

Am I behind on my schoolwork?

Fuck yes, so far behind, there's no way I'll make the nearest deadline.


James stops rubbing and instead spanks me so hard that I start screaming. Properly screaming that is — no half-assed shrieking now. Nope. I scream my fucking head off and James laughs and laughs and laughs, calling me his lying little shit.

I sob when his fingers slip inside me — so good, so bad, so somewhere-in-between.

I sob but I tell him thank you, and he kisses his way up my back. Groaning a little himself, he stops, then clambers over the couch and pulls me onto his lap. I grumble about him tossing me around but he shuts me up with his tongue, kissing me so deep and wet that I think I'm going to drown.

He unties me as if our fun is over, so I grab at his hand and lick his hot, red palm until it's good and shiny, then place it on my ass.

Oh, Riley.

I love his voice — so rough, so smooth, so sexy that my dick leaks.

His wet spanks are the very fucking best.

He whispers that he's going to continue until he's ready to stop. I've had my chance to opt out, so I better hang on tight. I'm already light-headed. I don't feel the couch-arm under my forehead; I don't feel the way my feet brace against the opposite end. All I feel is a world of glorious, white-hot pleasure exploding somewhere far below me.

He gets close to the number that he's decided is perfect and whispers in my ear, saying just three more. When he tells me that, I know I look completely spaced out. It kind of sounds like he's laughing, but I really don't care. Three more. My ass burns, saying it's too much, but my cock aches, saying it's no where near enough.

I wait for the first slap, then I wait some more. I turn to ask him if he needs a fucking nap first, but the spank knocks the air out of my lungs.

Three: Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Far too hard. Far too much. I try to crawl clear off his lap.

Two: I really start to soar.

One: He tilts me and cups his hand to catch my jizz.

It takes a while, but I come back to earth, back to his apartment, back to his couch, back to his chest. He holds me firmly as he slumps back against the cushions. Both of us shake. Both of us can barely breathe. But when James rubs my come across my hot asscheeks, he's the one who groans.