Binding 13

"Joh

"What?" I urged. "What's bad?"

"My dad," she whispered.

I frowned. "Your dad?"

"Can you save me?"

I frowned. "Do you need me to save you?"

"Mmm-hmm," she mumbled sleepily. "Rub my hair."

I balked at her request. "You want me to rub your hair?"

She nodded and sagged forward. "It hurts."

Shifting closer, I adjusted her body so that her head lolled against my shoulder, and while cupping her face with one hand, I used the other to stroke her hair. It was an awkward position, but I managed.

Jesus, what the fuck was I doing?

I shook my head to myself, feeling like an eejit, but continued to do what she asked anyway.

It was going well – right up until she face-planted on my dick.

Jerking at the insanely intimate contact, not to mention the sudden jolt of awareness in my dick and the scorching pain in my groin, I attempted to move her face from my crotch, but she groaned loudly in resistance.

And then she pulled her legs up on the bench and settled herself down for a nice, old kip on my cock.

Fuck my life.

Holding my hands up in the air and far away from her body, because I needed a sexual harassment accusation like I needed a hole in the head, I looked around for someone to help me, but no one came.

The hallways were conveniently void of adults.

Fuck this school.

I thought about making a run for it, but I could hardly throw her off me.

Yeah, because breaking her head wasn’t fucking bad enough.

So, I just sat there with her head in my lap and her cheek nuzzling my dick and prayed to god to give me the strength to ignore the feelings growing inside of me and not get an erection.

Other than the obvious reason of horrendous timing, my cock was broken.

Well, it wasn’t so much my cock being broken as it was the surrounding area, but getting hard could result in me passing out right alongside her.

But then she whimpered and the sound brought back the worry and concern, disaster averted.

Like it had a mind of its own, my hand moved to her face.

"You're okay," I coaxed, battling down my anxiety, the urge to nurture this girl both a new and equally terrifying feeling for me. "Shh, you're okay."

Brushing her hair back off her cheek, I tucked the dark brown tendrils behind her ear and then I resumed stroking her sore head.

There was an impressive lump forming on her scalp where the ball made contact, so I stroked the area with my fingertips, using a featherlight touch. "Is this okay?"

"Mmm," she breathed. "It's…good."

"Good," I mumbled, relieved, and continued with the stroking.

A faint scar caught my eye where her temple met her hairline.

Without thinking about what I was doing, I trailed a finger over the inch-long indent of skin and asked, "What happened here?"

"Hmm?"

"Here." I trailed my finger over the old mark. "What's this from?"

"My dad," she replied, breathing out a heavy sigh.

My hand stilled as my brain registered her fucked up answer. "Come again?"

When she didn’t respond, I used my other hand to gently shake her shoulder. "Sha

"Hmm?"

I tapped the old scar with my fingertip and said, "Are you telling me that your dad did this to you?" I tried to keep my tone calm, but it was a challenge with the sudden urge to maim and kill bubbling up inside.

"No, no, no," she whispered.

"So, your dad didn’t do this?" I asked for confirmation. "He definitely didn’t?"

"Of course not," she mumbled.

Thank fuck for that.

I released the breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding.

"Jimmy?"

"It's Joh

"Oh. Joh

"Yeah?"

"Are you mad at me?"

"What?" The question, spoken so quietly, threw me and I stared down at her, feeling a pang of protectiveness in my gut. "No. I'm not mad at you," I told her, pausing for a long moment, fingers stalling, before asking, "Are you mad at me?"

"I think so," she whispered, nuzzling resuming.

My eyes rolled back and I bit back a moan.

Ah fuck!

"You can't do that," I bit out, holding her head still.

"Do what?" she sighed contently, then rubbed her cheek against my thigh. "Be mad?"

"No," I choked out, holding her head still once again. "Be mad all you want, just stop grinding your head on my lap."

"I like your lap," she breathed, eyes closed. "It's like a pillow."

"Yeah, uh, well, that's nice and all –" I paused to still her face with my hands once more, "But I'm sore, so I need you to not do that."

"Do what?"

"Rub me," I croaked out. "There."

"Why are you sore?" She sighed heavily and asked, "Are you broken, too?"

"Probably," I admitted, shifting her face onto my good thigh – well, good being the one that hurt less. "Stay there, okay?" It was more of a plea than an order. "Don’t move."

Complying, she didn’t move her head again.

Using my free hand to press against the tension forming at my temple, I thought about how much shite I was going to be in.

I was missing class.

I was hungry.

I had club training tonight.

I had a gym session arranged straight after school with Gibsie.

Physiotherapy with Janice after school tomorrow.

I had a school match on Friday.

I had another training session with the youths at the weekend.

I had a busy fucking schedule and I didn’t need this drama.

Several minutes passed in pained silence before she moved again, and in that time, I debated all the ways Mr. Twomey was an incompetent principal.

I had a list as long as my arm when she tried to sit up again.

"Be careful," I warned, hovering over her like a mother hen.

I helped her into an upright position and managed to slide off the bench in the process.

Every muscle south of my navel screamed out in protest, but I didn’t move away.

Instead I continued to crouch in front of her, keeping my hands on either side of her waist, waiting to catch her. "Are you okay, Sha

Her long brown hair fell forwards, cloaking her face like a blanket.

She nodded slowly, brows furrowed deeply. "I…I think so."

I sagged, my relief palpable. "Good."

She leaned forward then, resting her elbows on her thighs, eyes open and staring into mine, and all at once she was far too close for comfort – and that was saying something considering no less than two minutes ago she'd had her face in my lap.

We were too close.

Suddenly, I felt very exposed.

My hands moved from her waist to her thighs, an automatic reaction to having a female lean her face towards mine.

I quickly checked myself, pulling my hands away to rest on the bench instead.

Clearing my throat, I forced a small smile. "You're alive."

"Barely," she whispered with a wince, blue eyes burning holes in mine, studying me with more clarity now. "You have a terrible aim."

I laughed at her words.

They were so far from the truth that I couldn’t help it.

"Well, that's a first," I mused. "I'm not used to being criticized about my ability to kick a ball."

I wasn’t a natural ten, but I had a decent aim and the ability to kick from long range when necessary.

"Yeah," she croaked out. "Well, your ability to kick a ball almost killed me."

"Fair point," I acknowledged, cringing.