Jake

Chapter Two— Jake

Elle's POV

I woke up early Sunday morning, the sun just peeking through the curtains in Roseanne's room. My body was still buzzing from last night, from lying so close to her, feeling her heat under the covers. She was still asleep, curled on her side, her tee shirt ridden up to show the curve of her hip and the edge of her panties. Fuck, she looked so innocent, so fuckable. Her tits rose and fell with each soft breath, nipples pressing against the thin fabric like they were begging for my mouth. I wanted to slide my hand between her thighs, wake her up with my fingers deep inside her, making her moan my name before she even opened her eyes. Dark thoughts swirled—pinning her down, owning her pussy, making her forget every guy she'd ever let touch her.

But I held back. It was too soon. I slipped out of bed quiet, my feet cold on the hardwood floor. The house was silent, her parents still away. I pulled on my clothes from yesterday, the scent of her on my skin like a drug. Down in the kitchen, I decided to make breakfast. Something simple—eggs, toast, coffee. The pan sizzled as I cracked the eggs, my mind on her upstairs. I pictured her waking up to the smell, coming down in just her panties, tits bouncing, and me pushing her against the counter, spreading her legs right there. Licking her clean while the eggs burned. My pussy ached at the thought, wet and needy. I pressed my thighs together, focusing on the food.

I set it all on a tray—scrambled eggs fluffy, toast buttered, coffee black like she liked. Added a note: "Made this for you. Had to run. Text me later. x Elle." I left it on the counter where she'd see it. Glanced up the stairs one last time, imagining her naked body under those sheets. Then I grabbed my keys and slipped out the front door, the cool morning air hitting my face. I didn't want to go home yet. Hell, I didn't want to go home at all.

My mom had been a mess since the divorce last year. Dad left her for some younger bitch, and now she drowned her days in cheap vodka, passed out on the couch by noon. The house reeked of booze and regret, bottles everywhere, her yelling at the TV like it was his fault. I couldn't stand seeing her like that—sloppy, broken. It made me angry, made me want to break something. Or someone. So instead of heading there, I drove aimless for a bit, windows down, music blasting. Ended up at this dive bar on the edge of town. It was early, but places like this opened for the weekend crowd shaking off hangovers. I was eighteen, final year of high school, but the bartender knew me from sneaking in with fake IDs before. He didn't card me hard.

I slid onto a stool at the bar, the wood sticky under my elbows. "Whiskey, neat," I said. He poured it without a word. The burn down my throat was sharp, warming my chest. I sipped slow, staring at the mirror behind the bottles. My reflection looked tired, hungry. Not for food—for her. Roseanne. I pulled out my phone, scrolled through pics we'd taken last week at school. One of her laughing, head thrown back, tits straining her shirt. Fuck, I wanted to bury my face there, suck hard until she bruised. Make her mine in ways Jake could never dream. He was a loser, but he had her. For now.

Another drink. The bar was quiet, a few old guys nursing beers, a couple in the corner whispering. My mind wandered to dark places. What if I told her how I felt? Pushed her against the locker after class, hand up her skirt, fingers in her wet pussy while I whispered dirty shit in her ear. "You like that, Rose? Better than Jake's tiny dick?" She'd gasp, cum on my hand, beg for more. Or maybe tie her up in my room, tease her clit with a vibrator until she screamed, promising to be my slut forever. The thoughts made me shift on the stool, my panties damp. I ordered a third drink, the alcohol fuzzing the edges.

That's when I saw it. Through the hazy window by the booths, a familiar car pulled up outside—a shiny black SUV, the kind rich kids drove. Jake's. He stepped out, all cocky in his designer jacket, hair slicked back. But he wasn't alone. Some blonde slut climbed out the passenger side, giggling as he pulled her close. They kissed right there in the parking lot, his hands grabbing her ass, tongues sloppy and urgent. She wasn't from our school—older maybe, tits fake and spilling out her top. He pressed her against the car, grinding like he owned her.

Rage hit me like a punch. That fucker. Cheating on Roseanne, after making her send those nudes? I grabbed my phone, zoomed in through the window, snapped a pic. Clear as day—his face, her tongue down his throat, his hand up her shirt. More pics, just in case. My blood boiled, dark fury mixing with the lust from earlier. How dare he treat her like trash? She deserved better. She deserved me—someone who'd worship her body, fuck her raw, but never betray her.

I slammed cash on the bar and stormed out, the door banging behind me. They were still at it, oblivious. "Hey, asshole!" I yelled, marching over.

Jake pulled back, eyes wide. "Elle? What the fuck?"

The blonde stepped away, fixing her lipstick. "Who is she?"

"None of your business," I snapped at her, then turned to him. "What the hell are you doing? Roseanne's at home thinking you're her boyfriend, and you're out here with this skank?"

He laughed, but it was nervous. "Mind your own shit, dyke. This ain't your problem."

Dyke? Oh, that pissed me off more. I swung hard, my palm cracking across his face. The slap echoed, his head snapping back. Blood trickled from his nose, dripping onto his shirt. He touched it, staring at the red on his fingers. "You bitch! You just assaulted me."

The blonde gasped, backing up. "I'm calling the cops!"

"Go ahead," I snarled, holding up my phone. "But first, check this out." I showed him the pics, zooming in on his guilty face.

His eyes narrowed. "Delete that. Now."

"No way." I pocketed the phone. "Why are you treating Roseanne like this? She's too good for you, you cheating prick."

He wiped his nose, smirking through the blood. "You think you can touch me? My dad's got connections. I'll have Roseanne arrested—say she stole from me or some shit. Make her life hell."

Arrest Roseanne? The threat made no sense, but it fueled my anger. Maybe he had dirt on her, some stupid high school drama. Didn't matter. "Try it. I'll sell these pics to the paparazzi. You're a rich nepo baby, right? Daddy's little heir to the family fortune. One scandal like this, cheating on your sweet girlfriend with some whore? Bye-bye inheritance. The tabloids would eat it up. 'Trust fund kid caught with side chick.' Your perfect life? Ruined."

The blonde huffed. "I'm not a whore!"

"Shut up," Jake and I said at the same time.

He stared at me, face pale under the blood. The parking lot was empty, no witnesses but us. He knew I had him. His family was old money—real estate empires, political ties. A public mess would cut him off faster than he could blink.

"What do you want, Elle?" he asked, voice low and defeated.

I stepped closer, smelling his cologne mixed with blood. "Break up with Roseanne. Today. Before the day's over. Tell her it's over, nice and clean. No more pics, no more games. Let her go."

He laughed bitter. "Why? So you can swoop in and fuck her? I see how you look at her."

My heart raced, but I kept my face straight. "That's not your concern. Do it, or these pics go viral."

He glared, but nodded slow. "Fine. But if you ever come near me again—"

"Save it." I turned and walked away, adrenaline pumping. Back in my car, I gripped the wheel, breathing hard. Jake would do it. He had to. And when Roseanne was free, heartbroken? I'd be there. To comfort her, hold her, slide between her legs and show her real pleasure. Dark, possessive, all mine.

I drove home then, the booze wearing off. Mom was probably passed out. But my mind was on Roseanne. Soon, she'd be calling, crying. And I'd make it all better.

My phone buzzed—a text from her. "Breakfast was amazing! Where'd you go?"

I smiled, typing back. But before I could send, another thought hit. What if Jake didn't follow through?

No. He would. And if not? Those pics were my weapon.

"Miss you already," I sent instead.

"Miss you too," she replied.

Soon, it'd be more than missing. It'd be everything.