Fearless (The Privileged of Pembroke High #5)

by Ivy Fox

  “You’re probably thinking I’m feeding you a line, but it’s the honest truth. I was lying here wondering something. Wanna know what?”

  My nose scrunches up even though I know he can’t see me.

  “Do you regret it?”

  I purse my lips, the loaded question raising my hackles.

  “You don’t have to answer that, Princess. You probably regretted it the minute I pulled out. But fuck, for the life of me, I don’t regret a single minute of it.”

  There’s a long pause after his confession, almost as if remembering every little thing I let him do to me that one night.

  “On second thought, I do have some regrets.”

  “You do?!” I choke out, needing to know what he could possibly regret from that night.

  Well, aside from the aftermath that we’re all living in, of course.

  “Found your voice now, did ya?” he jokes, pleased that I broke my vow of silence.

  “What do you regret?” I repeat, my insecurities eating away at me.

  “You really want to know?”

  I bite my bottom lip, silencing my answer. If he’s going to tell me that I was the worst lay he ever had, I’d really prefer to maintain my blissful ignorance.

  It’s a well-known fact that Saint is a player. He’s probably had sex with more women than I can count. There’s no way I could compete with their experience, or his, for that matter. But that night still meant something to me. When my world was falling apart, he made me feel special—cared for and cherished. If his next words are going to taint the perfect memory of that night, then I’d rather not hear them.

  “I’m going to take your silence as a yes. Hmm, let me see. What do I regret most about it?” He hums, only adding to my nervous state. “I regret that you didn’t let me take you like I wanted. Kiss you long and hard until you felt your toes curl. Give you one of those possessive kisses that would kick all the others to your rearview mirror. Leave you so wet and hungry for me that you couldn’t think straight. I’d lie you on the bed and kiss every inch of you. Head to toe. Take my time with it. Let myself enjoy you being speechless for once. I’d suck those pretty pink tits into my mouth until I had your back arched off the bed, talking in tongues to God himself. Then after I made you cum by just playing with that gorgeous rack of yours, I’d lick my way down until your greedy pussy was riding my face. That’s when the real fun would begin.”

  I swallow dryly, his words making my thighs rub together.

  “Fuck, just thinking about it gets me hard,” he mutters, his sheets ruffling.

  “What are you doing?” I croak hoarsely.

  “What does it sound like? I’m going to jack off just imagining how sweet that fucking pussy is on my tongue.”

  “Do you always have to be so crude?” I reply breathlessly, imagining his mouth on me.

  “Don’t act like what I say doesn’t turn you on, hellcat. I bet you all the money I have in my wallet that your little kitty is fucking drenched for me. Tell me I’m wrong.”

  When I don’t answer him, he laughs.

  “Too scared to see for yourself?”

  “I’m not scared.”

  “Then prove it. Touch yourself.”

  My teeth sink into the corner of my bottom lip.

  “Don’t have all night, Princess.” He fake yawns.

  “You’re an asshole. You know that?”

  “You really need to sharpen up your pet names for me, Princess. Now stop buying time and get your hands moving.”

  I take a deep breath and slowly push my pajama shorts down, followed by my panties. When my finger brushes against my wet folds, I whimper with need.

  “Yeah, I thought so. Fuck, what I wouldn’t give to be there in that big room of yours right now.”

  “What… what would you do?”

  “What wouldn’t I do?”

  “Tell me.” I lick my dry lips.

  “I’d open up your thighs and wrap your legs around my shoulders. Pin you down with my palm on your belly so that when you came for the second time, you’d have to lie there and take it. And fuck would you take it. I’d lick you up and down, tease that little clit of yours until you screamed.”

  “That would be a problem,” I reply huskily. “My brothers would hear me scream and come running. They’d kill you if they ever found you in my room doing that to me.”

  “Fuck your brothers,” Saint retorts unapologetically. “They couldn’t stop me from eating your sweet cunt out.” He groans, and the sound of his sheets rustling on the other end of the phone tells me he’s stroking his cock to the image of licking my pussy.

  “Although… the idea of stuffing your mouth with your wet panties just to keep you quiet does have its appeal. But on the list of things I would ever use to gag you, I have to say that my cock always comes in at number one.”

  Another whimper escapes me at the image he just planted in my head.

  “Have you ever had one in your mouth before?”

  When I don’t answer, he groans.

  “Fuck, Princess. Do I have to take all your firsts?”

  “Who said you took all my firsts?”

  “I did. I was your first kiss, your first fuck, and I’m pretty sure this is your first time having phone sex. So yeah, next time we’re together, I’m putting you on your knees, Princess. I want the full quadfecta.”

  “You weren’t my first kiss,” I mumble, suddenly aggravated by his cockiness.

  “Middle school kisses with Blondie don’t count.”

  “You know what, I’m hanging up now.”

  He laughs.

  “Touched a nerve there, did I?”

  “Argh! You get me so… so… so…”

  “Horny?”

  “Angry. The word I’m looking for is angry, you big jerk.”

  “That’s okay, too. Angry sex is the best kind to have anyhow.”

  I roll my eyes.

  “You know what? You talk a good game—like you’re the man or whatever—but that night, the one you’re reminiscing about, I remember it very differently. I remember a boy who wanted me to feel loved and protected. To be safe and cherished. For all your talk of fucking, and how half of the girl population at our school say that you were the best they ever had, you sure gave me the PG version.”

  There is a long silence.

  My anger simmers when he refuses to say anything.

  “Saint? Are you still there?”

  “I’m here,” he replies evenly, with no emotion whatsoever.

  I slam my head on my pillow, hating that my hot-headedness broke the atmosphere we were trying to create. I’m on the verge of apologizing when he beats me to the punch.

  “You really want to know why I didn’t fuck you like the rest of them? Why I didn’t treat you like another hole needing to be filled?” he asks with a menacing tone. “Because you’re not like them. You never were.” He growls. “That night meant something to me, and I wanted it to mean something to you, too. Okay? Happy now, or do you need me to draw you a picture?”

  “Saint—”

  “You know what, I’m tired. Have a nice fucking night, Princess. You sure as fuck ruined mine.”

  And then he hangs up the phone.

  Shit, shit, shit!

  Why is it that every time I open my mouth, I just make things worse?

  I place my pillow on top of my head and scream into it, letting out all my frustrations. When I’m done, I sneak a peek at my phone and verify that only ten minutes have passed since Saint hung up on me. With a large intake of breath, I redial his number, mentally preparing myself for him not to answer. But when he does, my heart literally skips a beat.

  “Sometimes, on restless nights like this one, I lie on my bed and imagine you walking into my room. Your hair is still wet from a shower, and you have that cocky grin that I hate and love in the same breath. I hate it because every time I see it on your face, it makes my heart race. Almo
st like you know the effect it has on me.”

  Thankfully he stays silent, giving me the courage to continue.

  “You don’t move. Just stand there at the end of my bed, looking at me. And then, with a curved finger, you tell me to come to you. I crawl on my hands and knees on top of the mattress until I reach you. I wait on bated breath for you to tell me what to do next. You then cup my cheek with that big hand of yours that always makes me feel so tiny. So breakable.”

  “You’re not breakable,” he says, his voice low and deep.

  “You tell me that I’m beautiful.”

  “The most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen,” he adds gruffly.

  “You tell me to take off your belt and then unzip your jeans, but to never take my eyes off yours.”

  “I like it when you look at me,” he interjects with a growl.

  “I’m so nervous. I’m so scared that you won’t like my touch.”

  “I fucking live for you to touch me.”

  My chest begins to heave, imagining that he’s here, telling me these words.

  “You help me pull down your boxers, then grab my hand with yours and circle it around your cock. I’m surprised how soft and smooth it is.”

  “Nothing soft about it now, I can tell you that much.” He groans. “I can feel your hand on me. Can you feel me?”

  “Yes,” I moan, my hand traveling down my chest until it reaches my pussy.

  “Tell me more, Princess. I want to hear you say it.”

  “Your fingers find their way into my hair, silently coaxing my mouth to the tip of your cock. I take one lick, tasting the salty essence on the crown, my panties soaked just from tasting you.”

  He hisses in my ear, and I almost combust.

  “You’re so gentle with me that my heart almost leaps out of my throat with how gentle you are. I trace the hard vein of your cock with just the tip of my tongue. The way you groan emboldens me to wrap my lips around you.”

  “Don’t stop,” he whispers.

  “My belly flips as I take you in, slowly at first, but then I become impatient. I’m so wet and needy for you. I feel so empty, and the only thing that makes me feel whole is sucking you.”

  “Fuck.”

  I flick my clit, thinking about the way his cock hits the back of my throat, my gag reflex acting up and me pushing through it anyway. Tears stream from the corners of my eyes as I continue my onslaught on him until his cock swells inside my mouth to the point of pain. I tell him all of this as Saint praises me for all my efforts. He tells me how beautiful I am sucking his cock. How perfect and marvelous he feels in my mouth. All of it gets me so hot, my skin feels like it’s on fire.

  “Are you going to swallow?”

  “Yes.”

  “Down to the last drop?”

  “Yes.”

  “Fuck! Baby, I’m cumming. I’m cumming!” he grunts, and with his words in my ears, my back arches off the bed, my orgasm ripping me apart.

  I fall back onto the bed, my temple drenched, my heart racing, and a smile so big that it would put all others to shame. I close my eyes and feel the ghost of his knuckles brush lovingly against my cheeks.

  “Angry sex is good. But make-up sex is even better. Goodnight, cariño. Dream of me.”

  I always do.

  Chapter 8

  Chad

  Between the perpetual racing of student models backstage—getting dressed or doing their makeup and hair—and the constant slew of orders being shouted out by the stage director and her assistants, Pembroke High’s famous winter fashion show is always a hive of activity. For one night only, our school becomes the center point of New York City’s high-end fashion. Sure, none of us are professional models or designers. Yet, for the paying audience outside watching the show, they expect the same high standards to be met.

  Not that any of that ever frazzled me. In all honesty, I usually have fun at these things, especially because I get a front-row seat to watch my best friend in her element doing what she loves most. Elle thrives in a chaotic environment and is always one step ahead of all the other designers, knowing exactly which dress should go on who to be a sensational hit. She isn’t shy in dropping to her knees—needle and thread in hand—to make some last-minute touches, guaranteeing its success.

  This year, however, everything feels off.

  And that’s mostly because she doesn’t want me here.

  Not really.

  If Elle wasn’t so determined to play off that we are still as close a unit as we’ve always been, then I’m sure she would have asked me to sit this one out. My gut tells me she was half expecting me to recuse myself instead of having that awkward conversation with me. Still, I guess I’m just as stubborn as she is by refusing to bring up the subject. Now she has to deal with me being in her safe space, even if deep down I know she resents me for it.

  What a fucking mess I’ve made of my life.

  Both Elle and Saint are pulling away from me, and the worst part of it is, I’m the one who keeps doing the pushing.

  “Hey, you okay over there, Chad?” Reid asks after I’ve been blankly staring at myself in the mirror for God knows how long.

  “Yeah. Everything’s great.”

  I pull my T-shirt over my head to change into my tuxedo.

  “You sure?” he repeats, his forehead creasing in doubt.

  “Positive.”

  I slap on my pearly white smile to ease his concern.

  “Good. Now be honest. How do I look?” he asks, squaring his shoulders to make himself look more distinguished in his suit.

  “Like an extra on The Bachelor.”

  “Shit! That’s what I thought, too,” he grumbles, his gaze falling to someone behind me. “Looks like your boy isn’t happy about wearing a monkey suit either. Better help him out with his bow tie before he shreds it to smithereens.”

  I turn around and see Saint ripping said bow tie off his neck, looking down at his get-up as if the suit has personally offended him.

  “He can take care of himself. He always has.”

  I ignore Reid’s curious stare and begin to get ready for the final strut down the runway. The fashion show always ends on a high with the best formal wear designs, and I, for one, am eagerly anticipating its end so I can go home and just wallow in my own misery.

  I’m about done with adding a bit more product to my blond waves to keep them intact when I hear shouting coming from outside.

  “Shit! Someone just fainted!”

  “I think she’s dead, dude!”

  “Some girl just OD’d on the catwalk!”

  “Oh, my God. It’s the new girl. She looks like she’s dead!”

  The fuck is going on out there?

  New girl?

  Do they mean Holland?

  I follow the herd of students who run out of the dressing room to see what all the commotion is about. It’s a struggle to push through the overlooking crowd since it seems everyone wants the best spot to record whatever is happening. By the sea of mobile phones in the air, no one is too concerned in giving a helping hand, preferring to immortalize the macabre turn of events on social media instead of calling nine-one-one.

  I push through the revulsion I feel for their apathy at someone else’s suffering and start shoving kids left and right until finally coming to a halt. My eyes land on a fairly naked Holland, covered only by a man’s jacket, completely unconscious and void of life.

  “Little liar, please wake up. You’re scaring me, baby.” I hear Rome plead, caressing Holland’s cheek as if his touch could breathe life back into her.

  A familiar wail bludgeons into my chest, Elle’s obvious agony calling out in need of me. I try to run over to her, but these assholes around me just won’t move. I’m at my wit’s end, elbowing and punching my way over to a weeping Elle when her brother Ollie beats me to it, hugging her protectively to his side. My heart slices open as Elle hides her face in Ollie’s chest, bawling her e
yes out.

  “Don’t do this to me, little liar. I need you. You hear me? I need you. Wake up, baby. I need you to wake up now,” Rome continues to beg, completely uncaring that everyone can hear his desperate prayer.

  He’s so consumed with despair he doesn’t even realize when the EMTs arrive.

  “Sir? You need to let her go now, sir. We’ve got it from here,” one of them explains, pushing Rome to the side so they can help the unconscious girl lying on the makeshift catwalk.

  More EMTs appear and place Holland on a gurney, explaining that she will be taken to Liberty General.

  “I’m coming with you!” Rome shouts as he gets to his feet, his gaze fixed on the unresponsive, pale-faced girl.

  “Are you family?”

  “Yes. He’s her stepbrother,” Addison interjects loudly with a disgusted tone.

  By the astounding gawks and sudden shrieks in excitement of such unexpected gossip, the attentive crowd must have assumed that Rome was Holland’s boyfriend and not the stepbrother Addison was vindictive enough to point out. Ollie lets Elle go in favor of pulling an unhinged Roman Grayson as far away from Addison as he can before he strangles her right here amongst hundreds of witnesses.

  For the second time tonight, I rush over to help the girl I have been in love with for all my life, only to be beaten to the punch by the other man who is also battling fiercely for her heart. Saint pulls Elle into a hug, whispering something in her ear too low for me to make out, and I watch her melt in his embrace.

  And suddenly, I understand the rage and vehemence running through Rome’s veins.

  If I could, I’d kill Saint on the spot with my bare hands.

  Luckily for Addison, Reid is also quick on the draw and places himself in between her and a psychotic Rome.

  “Step back, Grayson! If you touch one hair on my sister’s head, it will be the last thing you do,” Reid threatens, not that it appears to intimidate Rome any.

  Ollie keeps holding Rome away from his target while Reid does his best to protect his sister.

  “I swear to God, Addison, if you had anything to do with this, I will kill you!” Rome yells with such conviction that it leaves an artic chill hovering above us all.