Chapter Twenty 

 

 

My cheeks flush as I add a bit of gloss to my lips.  Memories from last night flash through my head as I remember the way Kingsley stroked over them with the tip of his cock.  That erotic image has been playing on a constant loop inside my head the entire night.  I won’t pretend that I didn’t want it.  His assessment of the situation was correct when he called me out for being eager. 

Who was that girl on her knees? 

She wasn’t anyone I recognized. 

The simple act of drawing both his finger and cock into my mouth has unleashed something inside me that feels both wicked and primal.  It’s a reaction I’m ashamed of. 

After I crawled into bed last night, I spent the next couple hours tossing and turning, trying not to think about the agreement struck under the moonlight.  I kept pressing my thighs together, attempting to ease the growing ache between them.  Finally, knowing that it would only continue for the rest of the night, I stroked myself to orgasm.  Trust me, it didn’t take much.  A touch or two over my slippery flesh and my body was tightening.  Only then was I able to fall into a deep, dreamless sleep. 

I woke this morning with the same dull ache between my legs and had to do it all over again.  Frustrated with the arousal, I didn’t bother to fight it.  I simply spread my thighs wide and rubbed my clit until my teeth sank into my lower lip so no one would hear me getting off. 

Ugh. 

Even after that, my core continued to throb.   

I finish applying bronze eyeshadow across my lids and pull my hair up into a messy bun.  Then I press my hands against my cheeks to cool them.  It doesn’t work.  My face feels like it’s on fire.  I grab my backpack and step into the hall, glancing at Austin’s closed door.  With no reason to be up at the butt crack of dawn, I’m sure he’s still sacked out. 

Nerves dance in the pit of my belly at the thought of not only braving Hawthorne Prep by myself, but seeing Kingsley.  He’s an enigma and I don’t know what to expect from him. 

Friendliness? 

Cruelty? 

Icy dismissal? 

“Hey, sweetie.”  Mom’s lips lift into a forced smile as she sits perched at the island in her robe with a steaming cup of coffee in her hands.  “Want me to make pancakes?” 

“Nah.”  My stomach revolts at the idea.  I’m way too nervous to eat.  “I’m going to grab a cup of coffee.” 

“Are you feeling all right?”  With a frown, her gaze roves carefully over my features.  “Your cheeks are flushed.” 

I turn my attention to the window and the perfectly manicured golf course that lies beyond our property line.  “Um, yeah.  I’m fine.” 

The truth of the matter is that I’m far from fine, but there’s nothing she can do to help me. 

Mom rises from the chair and walks around the island before laying her palm against my forehead.  “Hmmm.  You don’t feel warm.”  She clucks her tongue.  “I really hope you’re not coming down with something.” 

“I’m not sick,” I mutter, dancing away to grab a cup before changing it at the last moment to a travel mug and pouring myself some much-needed java to drink on the go.  Not that I’m champing at the bit to get to school, but I don’t need her bombarding me with questions.  I’m already out of sorts without her adding to it. 

Once I screw the lid on tight, I head for the front door. 

“Have a good day,” Mom calls after my retreating figure. 

I don’t see how that will happen given the new set of circumstances I have to contend with. 

“All right,” I say with a wave before walking out of the house with my backpack and sliding behind the wheel of the G-wagon. 

The engine purrs to life as I glance at the empty passenger seat, wishing that Austin was here with me.  We’re a team.  Ever since we were little, we’ve had each other’s backs.  Without him by my side, I’m lost. 

Alone. 

Vulnerable. 

It’s a scary prospect. 

I try not to focus on those thoughts as I pull out of the driveway and head to school.  Every mile of pavement that gets eaten up by the tires has my anxiety intensifying.  By the time I drive through the gated entrance onto the property, I have a death grip on the leather steering wheel. 

Since I’m early, it doesn’t take long to find a parking spot.  Students have already begun to congregate in small groups.  Instead of exiting the vehicle, I hang back until there are precisely eight minutes before the warning bell rings, signaling the start of first hour.  The plan is to get in, go straight to my locker, and then to class without incident. 

I give myself a brief pep talk before gathering my courage and stepping out of the SUV.  Even though my hands are shaking, I straighten my shoulders and wipe the fear from my expression.  Inside, I might be a tightly wound ball of anxiety, but I’ll be damned if any of them see that.  As I cut through the parking lot, I avoid all eye contact.  My gaze stays focused on the stone building that looms in the distance.  It takes a moment to realize that no one is paying any attention to me. 

Which is strange.  I expected them to fall on me like a pack of jackals. 

My heart pounds a painful staccato as I slip inside the impressive three-story structure and slink through the corridor before arriving at my locker.  I hold my breath, as memories of yesterday morning flash through my head. 

Discretely, I sniff the air, wondering if the same fate awaits me.  But there’s nothing out of the ordinary.  People aren’t gathered in the corridor and I don’t detect anything other than the smell of old books coupled with the scent of lemony polish that permeates the air of Hawthorne. 

With trembling fingers, I spin the dial and lift the handle.  My muscles tense in anticipation as the door swings open.  Maybe it would be best if they suspended me along with Austin.  My parents would probably go off the deep end if they had to make another trip less than twenty-four hours later to pick me up.  Relief rushes from my lungs when nothing happens.  Cautiously, I stare into the locker, inspecting it for anything that looks out of place, but there’s nothing.  It’s exactly as I left it yesterday afternoon.  Some of the tension drains from my muscles. 

As I grab my lit book from the shelf, a guy sidles up next to me before settling against the neighboring locker.  Steeling myself, I glance at him from the corner of my eye.  I don’t know his name, but I recognize him as one of the football players who had congregated around Austin’s locker yesterday morning.  

“Hey.”  A slow grin spreads across his face as his gaze rakes over me. 

I don’t bother to turn and give him my full attention before snapping, “Can I help you?”  It’s best to shut this shit down right away before it can get out of control. 

“Well, I certainly hope so.” 

I almost laugh. 

Please, as if... 

I’m a moment away from telling this guy to fuck off when he’s shoved aside. 

“Beat it, Wendt,” Kingsley growls.  There’s a sharp edge to his voice.  “Until further notice, Hawthorne is off-limits.” 

The guy’s eyes bulge as he waggles a finger between us.  “Wait a minute, are you two together?” 

Kingsley shakes his head.  “No, but she’s mine just the same.  Got it?” 

“Whatever you say, man.”  The beefy football player shrugs before sauntering away.   

I watch him retreat down the hallway.  “Who was that tool?” 

“No one you need to concern yourself with,” is his clipped response. 

My gaze snaps to him and I’m slammed with erotic images from last night.  They flash through my head like a slow-motion picture show. 

On my knees, staring up at him as I sucked his finger. 

Him tracing my parted lips with his cock. 

The head of his erection pressing into my mouth. 

Kiss the crown. 

Oh God. 

Heat floods into my cheeks as I jerk my gaze away from him.  It’s not swift enough to avoid glimpsing the knowing grin that flashes across his face. 

He leans closer, invading my personal space.  The scent of his woodsy cologne assaults my senses.  “I’m curious to know how many times you touched yourself last night.” 

I slam the locker shut with more force than necessary and lie through my teeth.  “None.” 

The deep scrape of his chuckle slices straight to my core before exploding.  Even though I clamp my thighs together to stymie the growing need, it doesn’t do a damn bit of good. 

His knuckles drag against the strip of exposed skin below the hem of my skirt.  “If I slipped my fingers inside your panties, would I find them drenched?” 

The huskiness of his voice threatens to send another tidal wave of arousal crashing over me.  Kingsley needs to stop toying with me before I burst into flame. 

“I have to get to class,” I snap, slapping his hand away.  

His fingers snake out to shackle my wrist, halting me in place when I try to slip past him.  He drags me closer until his face is buried against the side of my head.  Electricity crackles through my veins at his slightest touch. 

“Don’t run off just yet,” he whispers near the outer shell of my ear.  “I’ve got something for you.” 

My heart stutters.  I’m almost afraid to ask.  But that doesn’t stop the word from slipping free.  “What?” 

He drops something soft on the books I’m clutching in my arms. 

What the hell is this? 

I glance suspiciously from the pile of fabric to him, but his expression remains inscrutable.  Gingerly I hold up the material and realize it’s a white shirt.  I blink, staring at the letters boldly stamped across the front in red.  It’s the same shade that matches the plaid of my skirt. 

Property of K. Rothchild 

This has to be a joke. 

“Forget it.”  I shake my head and throw it at his chest.  He can take that shirt and shove it right up his— 

“Excuse me?”  He arches a sculpted brow as if he must have heard wrong. 

“I’m not wearing that,” I growl, my voice escalating with each word. 

“Hmmm.”  His fingers stroke his chiseled jawline with unhurried movements.  “Already reneging on our agreement?  You couldn’t even make it a full twelve hours?  That’s disappointing, although I should have expected nothing less from a Hawthorne.” 

“I can’t wear that,” I whisper. 

“You will wear it, or you can forget about my help.”  He shrugs and leans against the locker as if he couldn’t care less about what I do. 

And maybe he doesn’t.  For Kingsley, this is nothing more than a game.  For me, it’s so much more.  I gnaw my bottom lip with indecision. 

“Has anyone messed with you this morning?” he asks casually. 

My gaze slices to him as my face scrunches with uncertainty.  “What?” 

He steps closer until the heat of his body radiates against mine.  His voice drops.  “I asked if anyone has given you trouble since you stepped foot on campus?” 

“No.”  They’ve ignored me, which I thought was odd.  With a fresh wave of insight, I realize it was all Kingsley’s doing. 

His fingers slip beneath my chin before tipping it upward until I’m left with no other choice but to meet his gaze.  “Has anyone so much as looked in your direction?” 

I swallow thickly.  It takes effort to force out the word.  “No.” 

“Even though saving your ass wasn’t part of the deal, that’s exactly what I’ve done.”  His hand falls away from my face.  “Sure seems like I’m holding up my end of the bargain and then some, doesn’t it?” 

Panic rises inside me. 

When I remain silent, he balls up the shirt in his hand.  “See you around, Hawthorne.” 

My teeth sink into my lip, pinning it in place as I watch him saunter away. 

One step. 

Two steps. 

Three—

“Wait!” I blurt, unable to hold it in any longer. 

A smug smile tips the corners of his lips as he swings back around.  “Had a change of heart, did we?” 

Not bothering to answer, I hold out my hand.  “Give me the shirt.” 

In the blink of an eye, he eats up the distance between us before pressing the fabric into my outstretched hand.  My nails dig into the soft cottony material.  With a glare, I drop my book.  Humor ignites in his eyes as it hits the marble at my feet with a loud thud.  My fingers tremble as I shrug out of the blazer and drop it to the floor before yanking his shirt over my head.  People stare as I shove one arm through the short sleeve. 

“What are you doing?” he asks. 

I pause and scowl.  “I’m putting on your stupid shirt.” 

He presses his lips together before shaking his head.  “You need to remove the other one first.” 

“What?”  My mouth dries as I stare with wide eyes.  Please tell me he isn’t being serious. 

“You heard me.”  He nods toward the bathroom down the hall.  “Go change.  Or do it right here in front of everyone.  I don’t give a shit.” 

“B-but this isn’t part of the school uniform.”  My mind spins, trying to come up with an excuse.  “The teachers won’t allow me to wear this in class.” 

“It might be your family’s name on the front of the school, but mine is the one who runs it.”  His eyes darken.  “In case you haven’t figured it out yet, I’m the one in charge.”  He glances at the digital clock hanging in the hallway.  “You’ve got two minutes before the start of first hour.  Get moving.  I’m not in the mood to be late.” 

Tears prick my eyelids.  I blink them back, refusing to let them fall before swinging around and taking a step toward the bathroom. 

“Oh,” he calls after me, “and lose the bra.” 

My shoulders slump as I stomp away and slam through the lavatory door. 

I hate him. 

I hate Kingsley Rothchild. 

Quickly I glance around, thankful the bathroom is empty and I’m alone.  Everyone has scurried off to class.  I stare at the shirt in my hand before unbuttoning the one I’m wearing and jerking the material away from my chest until I’m standing in front of the mirror in my white lacy bra. 

As much as I want to defy him, there’s no point.  Hastily I reach around and unhook the clasp until the material springs apart before sliding down my shoulders.  I keep my gaze lowered as I pull the shirt over my head and stuff my arms through the sleeves.  Only then do I chance a peek at my reflection.  A dismayed puff of air leaves my lips as I take in the way it hugs my slender curves.  This is probably the first time in my life that I’ve been thankful for B cups.  Property of K. Rothchild stretches across my breasts.  In order for someone to read the words, they need to stare at my chest. 

Doubtful that’s a coincidence. 

My nipples tighten, poking through the thin fabric.  It’s the dreaded headlight effect.  Without a padded bra, there’s nothing I can do to diminish my reaction. 

A bell rings throughout the building signaling that first hour is now underway. 

Is it too much to ask that Kingsley has already taken off for class? 

I’d prefer to make this walk of shame on my own. 

Gathering my courage, I push out of the bathroom only to find him waiting in the empty hallway with my blazer thrown over one arm and my book in his hand. 

His gaze immediately drops to my breasts.  “I like the way my name looks stamped across your titties.”  He smirks.  “Now there won’t be any question as to who you belong to.” 

My hands tighten, the nails digging into my palms as anger bubbles up inside me.  “Give me my blazer.” 

He closes the distance between us before holding it out.  I grab the heavy wool and quickly shove my arms through the sleeves before tugging it protectively around my body, trying to cover as much of the shirt as possible.  From the corner of my eye, I watch anxiously to see if he’ll force me to go without it.  I wouldn’t put anything past him.  When he remains silent, relief rushes through me, weakening my muscles.  Then I grab my book before stomping to my locker to toss my shirt and bra inside. 

As I’m about to slam the door shut, he reaches into the metal contraption and pulls out the silky material before allowing it to dangle from his index finger. 

“What are you doing?”  

His lips lift before he stuffs it into his blazer pocket.  “Holding onto it so you won’t be tempted to put it back on.” 

“I won’t do that,” I ground out. 

“Please.  You’re a Hawthorne.  Who the hell knows what you’re capable of?” 

When I open my mouth to argue, he steps closer until his body can press into mine.  His hand snakes beneath the wool of the blazer until the palm can settle over my breast before giving it a cruel squeeze.  I wince.  “You wouldn’t want me to do a titty check after each class, now would you?” 

“I hate you.” 

He laughs and withdraws his hand before stepping away.  I clutch my book and stalk to class.  Kingsley falls in line beside me, easily keeping pace with my stride. 

“Now, was that so hard?” he asks. 

I gnash my teeth, refusing to answer. 

As we arrive at the classroom, he whispers, “Just to clarify, I wasn’t talking about the shirt.  I meant my cock last night when you were busy sucking it, greedy for every inch I fed you.” 

I trip over my feet as he strolls past with an evil grin before asking, “You coming or what?”