The Prom Queen's Sinner: Thornwood Small Town Forbidden Romance Book One

by J. E. Bradley

  I’m on my way.

  Savannah

  Wyatt’s car pulls up to the dark forested back road a block away from the hotel. I’d walked in determined steps, the light of the party at my back, focused only on him. On the safety of his arms. Right now, I can’t think of anything else.

  The sky swirls with a gentle studding of stars and translucent clouds, and my exhale is a plume of white before me. It enters the air as if it's a shred of my soul, the part of me that I’ve long kept hidden that Wyatt so perfectly exposes. My heart breaks with a pain that I’ve never felt before. It’s the shedding of an old skin; a recognition of reality.

  When I slip into Wyatt’s car, I’m not ready to tell him what happened. Although, I know that I should. I should tell him everything I'm thinking. Everything I’m feeling. Everything that beats up my brain each day including my dad, my eating disorder, and now Derrick. Isn’t that what people in love do? Share the depths of their darkest selves?

  “Are you okay?” Wyatt asks me. His eyes are intense, searching me from across the truck.

  “No…” I say, and tear my witch hat off of my head. “And I want to talk to you about it, but I’m not ready yet.”

  Wyatt’s lips twist upward. Sardonic and smooth.

  “You know, Savannah, I think we’re more alike than we both realize. Maybe that’s what drew us together.”

  Wyatt speeds onto the road and I let out a haggard breath and smile. I hope he can’t see the mascara running down my cheeks or my puffy eyes.

  “You’re different from anyone I’ve ever met,” I tell him.

  “More fucked up you mean,” he chuckles darkly.

  “That’s what makes you hot,” I slide a glance at him, and I’m only partly joking. “You’ve got the whole ‘sexy bad boy who works on cars’ thing going on.”

  There’s a ghost of a smile on his lips as he stares out at the road; orange under the illuminating street lamps.

  “I’m not a boy,” he corrects me. “I’m a man. A sick fuck who wants to screw you till you’re begging me to stop.”

  The last part of what he says sends tingles jutting through me, and I reach out for his hand. My body is still adjusting to the assurance of safety, the nonstop shivering from Derrick’s assault now melting away. Can I already feel desire so soon after what happened? Maybe I’m the sick fuck.

  But there is beauty in madness as they say. This is an unequivocal fact that I’m living each day, and it inspires me to think that maybe nothing has to make sense. Maybe it can all be doomed and damned and terrible, but at the core, maintain its goodness.

  I take his hand from its resting place on his thigh and guide it directly to my pussy. I watch as his jaw muscle twitches and he glances at me, then back at the road. Without question, his strong fingers stroke me, and I flatten my head against the rest and arch my back, losing my breath.

  A sick fuck who wants to screw you till you’re begging me to stop.

  “Why don’t you do it, then?” I say, gasping when he slides my panties aside and uses one finger to dip between my lips. As evidenced by my dripping cunt, I’m both excited and aching for him. The night's events be damned. All I need is him. He is my cure to every wrong thing; the only right.

  Wyatt remains silent, and continues to slide his fingers along my sex. He rubs my clit carefully, as if he’s massaging it into submission. I bite my bottom lip so hard I swear I’ll draw my own blood, and a low moan breaks from my throat.

  “You’re such a bad girl, Savannah,” he states casually. “You shouldn’t ask for things you might not want.”

  “I do want it,” I insist, grinding myself against his fingers. I then draw up my knees on either side of me and hook my heels on the seat, my puffy black skirt frilling around my stomach, revealing my slit to him. He makes a noise in the back of his throat, and I see him visibly tense. His shoulders squaring harder. His jaw becoming sharper.

  “You’ve wanted my guidance for a long time, haven’t you honey?” he shoves two fingers inside me and I nod, rolling my head to look at him as I suck in short shaky breaths.

  “So fucking needy,” he drawls, fucking me with his fingers as he drives.

  But then, he rolls to a stop on the side of the road. The night is utterly dark as we’ve pulled onto a street with less light. We listen to the wet noises of my pussy and my breathlessness in the silence, and I watch Wyatt’s dark smile illuminate the night. Only the stars are witnesses to our display.

  “Come here,” he says.

  He opens the car door and beckons me, and I comply swiftly. Wyatt maneuvers me so that I’m on all fours on the edge of the driver's seat, and I look back at him, situating myself and watching as he undoes his trousers and shoves them down just enough to reveal his rock hard cock. His gorgeous face is shadowed, and his smile has been replaced by a lust-fueled focus. His tip is already glistening with precum, and I’m desperate for him to fill me up.

  Wyatt flips my skirt up over my ass and yanks my panties down. His hands clap my ass cheeks and he grips them, shaking them before he aligns himself and slams his entire length into me. I jerk forward, moaning, afraid that someone will hear, but not truly caring enough to stop.

  “You like that, don’t you?” He growls from behind me, and pumps himself in and out of me. I lift my backside up so that he has the perfect angle to glide in and out in sharp thrusts, his balls slapping my ass. I want him to destroy my pussy, and I don’t recognize the noises coming out of me. The raw, insatiable desire burning on my tongue. Burning between my legs. It’s like fire, both consuming and enlightening me with every blow of his cock. I begin to shove myself back onto him frantically, and he grunts, breath jagged.

  “Yes, I love it. God yes, Wyatt.” I whimper.

  The forest is filled with the sound of our fucking. And I smile, tears building in unwelcome ripples on my lashes.

  My clit aches with tension, my muscles coiled tight and ready to explode. Wyatt’s hard slams send me further and further into bliss, and then he moves one of the hands that are gripping my buttocks around to work my clit and I cannot hold it back anymore. My pussy clamps and pleasure flows through me in spasms, and then Wyatt’s cock flexes and the sensation of his seed spewing out makes me shiver with delight.

  “Fuck, Savannah,” he growls, pumping slower, joining us more carefully, allowing me to drink up every last drop of goodness. I didn’t realize that I had been shutting my eyes, but the sound of a car coming hastens me to attention. Before we can untangle ourselves, the car passes in a blur.

  “Do you think they saw us?” I ask.

  Wyatt pulls out, and he looks down at my pussy, now dripping with his cum. He slides his tongue over his lower lip and then glances up at me.

  “If they did, they got quite a show.”

  I laugh, but my laughter is meshed with sobs. My entire body collapses against the seat, and I’m unable to contain it any longer. My ass is still in the air, but I can’t even move. I’m not crying because of him, never because of him, but because of the complexities I face.

  “Sav,” he says my name forcefully. “Did I hurt you?”

  I shake my head, words lost in torturous grief.

  Wyatt grabs napkins out of the glovebox and cleans me up as well as he can, and then fixes my panties. He helps me up onto his lap and he shuts the car door. I’ve crumpled into him, my knees at my chest, his arms wrapped around me.

  “I’m so sorry…” he says, voice haunted with guilt. “I should have…”

  “No!” I snap and cling to his chest. “You’ve done nothing wrong. It’s me. It’s my life. I’m just…” I am at a loss for words, and another sob chokes me. Wyatt strokes my back in understanding. As if I am more precious to him than anything in this world, and that thought alone makes me cry harder.

  “Honey,” he whispers in my ear, strong arms securing me in place. “You’re safe.”

  It’s almost fate that he’s said those words. Does he know how much I appreciate him for this very th
ing? Does he know how unsafe I feel in my everyday life? How I’m afraid that around every corner I turn my dad will be waiting? That Derrick is going to eventually snap and fully rape me? That I won’t be able to survive the pressure of any of it?

  “Hey…” he says lovingly. “It’s Friday night. Halloween. We can spend the whole weekend doing whatever you want. Why don’t we go grab a milkshake from the Red Thorn Diner?”

  I wipe my eyes and get my breathing under control before nodding and lifting my face to kiss him.

  Wyatt

  We’ve spent the weekend lounging, talking, kissing, and fucking.

  It’s been nice, but I know she’s still not cracked. She’s not even as much as peeled back a layer for me. Halloween night, once we’d downed our milkshakes and gone back to my house, I heard her vomiting in the bathroom. I wonder if it was on purpose because she didn’t complain about feeling sick and her breath was minty from using the mouthwash afterward. Did she think I wouldn’t hear?

  I’ve noticed that Savannah is very careful not to upset people. She’s the world’s greatest people pleaser, and it’s fucking sad. I wish I could do more to make her feel comfortable, but now that I’ve bared my soul to her on more than one occasion, I think it's her turn.

  I’ve seen her pretty young body naked in many different positions, but her heart is a mystery to me. I don’t know what she thinks or feels, and there are secrets that swirl in her eyes when she thinks I’m not looking. I wish I could force it out of her just like I can force her to orgasm. But I have patience, and I could never push her into something she didn’t want. Even now, as I make calls on rental homes and contemplate life with her, what that would look like once she graduates, I’d let her go without a second word if she wanted it.

  I’ve never deserved her, and even now I know it’s wrong.

  The world would never understand what we have. I’d be blacklisted in this town, my business corrupted if anyone knew. Savannah’s father is not well known, but Savannah Zukair’s name is chanted through school halls, in cafes, in bookshops, in restaurants, in local businesses that have recognized her as someone they’d love to have as an intern. I can imagine the town gossiping about her, wondering: will she be a lawyer? A doctor? A businesswoman? How can we use her brilliance for our gain?

  I don’t want her to please these people. I want her to please herself alone.

  ***

  I get a text from a random number on my phone that says, strangely: The night air feels good, but be careful not to stay out too late.

  The message is from an unknown number, and my thoughts immediately go to the night before when I’d taken Savannah on the side of the road. I text back asking who the sender is, but then get a call. I’m swiftly able to ignore the text when I start to speak to one of the owners of a rental property.

  “We’re out of town, but we left a key in the mailbox. You can check it out today if you want,” I heard through a static connection.

  So we drive. The truck rumbles as we hit the highway and the trees give way to icy gray skies. I briefly try to contemplate the text but decide that it must be a coincidence if those still happen. If anything, if someone has something to say about our relationship I’m sure we’d hear about it in much more of a dramatic way than a single cryptic text.

  It isn’t long before we’ve arrived. The driveway is cut through half an acre of forestry, but then the cabin is set on a neat grassy hill that eventually gives over to white sand and shells. The raging ocean welcomes us with massive whitecaps and angry waves. It’s loud and soothing simultaneously.

  Savannah is wearing a long knit sweater dress and thigh-high black boots, her gold skin and long black hair contrasting against the cream fabric. She doesn’t mean to look this sexy. She doesn’t mean to ask men to look at her. But I can’t not stare. Especially now that I know what’s beneath that slinky knit dress.

  “What do you think?” I ask, watching as she peruses the living room.

  It’s a small house with one bedroom and one bathroom, but she doesn’t need much else. Luckily, it’s newer and has freshly updated utilities, something that my house is severely lacking in.

  “It’s...perfect,” she says, staring out the large bay window in the living space at the rolling ocean waves. We listen to their muffled sound for a few moments before she glances back at me.

  “You can’t do this for me,” she says, swiveling back to face me. I can see in her eyes that she’s rippling with anxiety.

  “Why not?” I ask, genuinely interested.

  “Because, I can’t give you anything in return. I’m not your responsibility...if it wasn’t for my dad everything would be…” she throws a hand over her mouth and her eyes go wide with fright. “I just meant…”

  Realization thunders across me in sharp panging waves. I should have fucking known. Who else would have been given access to her? Why else would she have not gone home? I almost smack my head against the wall because I’m so fucking stupid. The sheer force it takes to hold me back from jumping in my truck and going straight to her house to beat her father until his body bleeds is monumental.

  “Your dad did that to you?” I growl, enraged. I take long deep inhales, pacing the entryway, with fury an inferno in my chest. I’d kill him if I saw him now. He’d deserve to die.

  “Wyatt, please,” she pleads, arms outstretched. She wants to embrace me, but I step away from her and throw a solid punch into the wall. Fuck. That was a dumb decision. Her dark blue eyes, fringed with thick black lashes, widen even further, and she staggers back.

  “I’m- Savannah, I’m sorry,” I say, but she won’t look at me. What have I done? She leans against the back of the sofa, hands gripping the edge loosely, her posture entirely defeated.

  “Look. No one should ever be allowed to do that,” I say, trying to collect myself. “He shouldn’t be allowed to walk, no less without assault charges.”

  She says nothing, and I think that I’ve broken her. I begin to walk toward her and she holds up a hand, shaking her head. But I don’t stop. I will not have this moment come between us. I’m going to give her this whether she is with me or not.

  “Savannah,” I speak her name, desire clawing at the edges of my voice. I step forward again, once more so that I am maybe three feet away from her. I am slower this time, and she looks up at me, fire in her watery blue gaze. Her eyes are pinched, shooting narrow daggers into my gut.

  “Wyatt,” she replies sarcastically.

  “You can’t expect me not to react. There’s consequences for his actions,” I explain sternly, trying to get her to see reason. But I think all she sees right now is her fear. And I can’t let her live like that forever.

  “You wouldn’t understand,” she snaps. “He’ll find me. If I tell, he’ll…”

  “What will he do? Huh?” I ask angrily. “What will he fucking do?”

  She closes her plump lips and sets her jaw, face softening.

  “I don’t want to go there,” she whispers.

  “You don’t want to go there, Savannah?” I repeat stiffly, tone gruff and unyielding. “We’re here. We’re here right now, and now you have to tell me.”

  I reach a hand out and she flinches.

  “Oh my god, are you afraid of me?” I ask. Hollow. It feels like my entire body drains of blood.

  “No,” she shakes her head. “I just...you don’t realize how hard this is.”

  Instead of backing away further, I close the space between us. I’m not allowing her past, her trauma, her unresolved fears-- any of it, to keep me away. As much as she might want to keep her precious secrets intact so that nothing else can hurt her, I’m not going to allow it.

  I reach around and caress her long black hair, wrapping it around my hand and pulling it down so that she looks up into my face. She winces and yet, I see what my closeness does to her. Her eyes darken, but she does not move.

  “I’m a fucked up bastard, Savannah. But I’d never hurt you. I’d never in a million years h
urt you. I’d walk through fire for you. I’d kill for you,” I say, tone low and severe. In response, her lips part and she takes a sharp breath.

  “I’d do anything you wanted. But this?” I pull on the soft hair wrapped in my fingers. “We’re not going to fuck and then ignore reality. I’ve done that before. It’s not as pretty as it sounds.”

  “My dad is the only family I have,” she tells me. “My mom died when I was three. The rest of my dad’s family is in Dubai and disowned us, and my mom’s parents are dead. Her sister is a drug addict living on the streets in Florida. I just hate the idea of him…” she shakes her head as if she knows she’s insane for saying it. “I know that he deserves to be charged with assault. I know that. But it’s hard to think of my only family in jail.”

  This is the first time that she’s actually opened up to me, and the partial crack I see in her armor nearly lays me out. I’m aware now that she is lonely, just like me. The fact that she’d always stayed at Krista and Charles’ place should have tipped me off.

  “Why’d your dad let you stay overnight with Derrick so often?”

  “He knows Krista is well known in the town. I think it was more so about who I was staying with. He thinks if I married Derrick then I’d have some sort of high-ranked social standing in Thornwood,” she says and looks partially guilty.

  The thought of her marrying my son causes my skin to crawl. I try to hold back my discomfort.

  “I’m sorry that you have no family,” I say. “I know I can’t make that better for you.”

  “No.” She rolls her eyes. “It’s fine. I hate my dad for what he did to me. It’s just...complicated.”

  We stare at one another for a few moments before she reaches out and rubs her hand over the crotch of my jeans. I hold back a smile and push my body against hers.

  “Why did you break up with my son?” I ask.

  She swallows and continues to rub me, causing my cock to harden. Although I’ve asked her another question, I can imagine pulling that little sweater dress up and bending her over the couch and burying myself in her, giving her no respite. But I have to stop. I have to make her answer my questions when she’s finally opened enough to do so.