Gritting my teeth, I try to tamper the need, attempting to smother it out of existence. But it’s no use. It continues to rise and rise. As his teeth rake against my bundle of nerves. As his tongue flicks against it before he sucks it between his lips.
It rises to a fever pitch when I feel fingers slide through my wetness, then lightly press against my entrance. He teases me, grunting and groaning like he can’t get enough. My head falls back on my shoulders, eyes closing tight. A rainbow of lights dot along the back of my eyelids as the only thing I can do is take it, feeling my arousal skyrocket
“So fucking sweet,” he grunts, his hot breath swirling around my wetness. “It’s honey and sugar. Goddamn,” he draws out the last word before swiping my aching clit with his tongue.
I wish he would just stop talking. Maybe then I wouldn’t feel as bad if I cream all over his tongue. I can pretend it’s someone else; someone I like, rather than it be with one of the devils starring in my nightmares.
“Shut up,” I groan, then do the utmost idiotic thing ever. I weave my fingers through his hair, gripping the strands tightly. Brett turns feral, licking and sucking, and pushes his finger all the way into my pussy until it hits his knuckle. He curves his finger, then fucks me as he licks at my cunt.
“You like me licking on this needy cunt of yours, don’t you?” He swirls his tongue around my clit, taking it between his teeth. A cry ricochets into the vast nothingness around us, as my back bows against the dresser. “Fuck. So wet and warm. I could eat you all day, brat. Lick this cunt until your cum runs down my chin, then eat you all over again. Would you like that, hm? Do you like my mouth on your dirty like pussy?”
Oh, sweet Jesus. “Don’t stop. Mmm—fuck ...” I gyrate against his face, coming undone for him. I hate it; hate myself for being so weak and pliable. But his tongue, fingers, his dirty, filthy words are my undoing.
I’m teetering on a razor's edge, and I know I’m about to beg. I’ll do anything to feel that blooming ache burst inside me. The flames are shooting higher and higher, and I’m to the point where I can barely care what happens afterward. I want this; want everything he said.
But then, as I come to that point, all things cease. My eyes snap open as my body moves of its own accord, rocking back and forth through thin air, trying to find purchase against anything. Just one small graze of his tongue or his fingers—all I need is something to finish this.
Instead, my mouth falls open as Brett slowly lowers my leg to the ground. My fingers slip out of his hair and fall to my side, lifeless. My heart is pounding so hard, my vision dims with each beat of the organ in my chest.
“W-Why-Huh?” I stammer, gasping for breath.
I tingle from head to toe when he climbs to his feet, licking his lips with obvious satisfaction. His eyes close as a mixture between a growl and groan rumbles in his chest. “That’s the best pussy I’ve tasted in a while, brat.”
My body shakes, like it has thrust me into sub-zero temperatures. “Um, I-Wha …” Clearing my throat, I try to steady my breathing. The longer he stands there, the more the fog of desire and lust dissipates. “What’s happening?”
Instead of answering, Brett nods toward the clothes on my side of the closet. My eyes follow his, but don’t stay for long before they’re right back on him. When he turns around to walk away, I’m flabbergasted. After everything, he’s just going to walk away. As bad as I hate to say it, he had me right where he wanted me because of that goddamn glorious tongue of his. Now, he’s going to play off that he’s unaffected? Bullshit.
Opening the closet door, Brett shoots me a grin full of malice and devilish intent. “First rule, brat—you don’t make the rules. We have ways of getting what we want without force. We also have ways of punishing you that will make you wish you’d just complied. This was a punishment. If you had done what I wanted you to do, you’d be nothing but a puddle of cream right now. Remember that.”
Then he’s gone, softly closing the door behind him.
CHAPTER 22
“You will conduct yourself with the poise and grace of a lady. You will not slouch; you will not curse; you will carry yourself as if you are a queen in front of all her loyal subjects. You will do everything we tell you to do, when we tell you to do it. Do I make myself clear?” The warning is abundantly explicit in Brett’s voice. We will punish you if you don’t shine like a diamond in the rough. I swear, it’s a bad remake of Aladdin.
I can’t stop my features from screwing up into a sneer, my hatred burning deep. Everything about him, I loathe. Well, except for the visual aspects, but even I don’t believe that’s enough to bypass the hatred I feel when he opens his mouth. Because when he opens his mouth, that’s when things go to hell.
Huffing, I push past him and make my way into the closet. Grabbing the first uniform I come across, I jerk it from the hanger. I hear material shred under my strength, but disregard it and reach down, grabbing my discarded boots near the dresser. I make my way out and into the room, pushing past him like he’s a pest getting on my nerves. And that’s because he is. I hate how easily he gets to me.
“Fuck no,” he says, anger alighting in his tone. “You are not wearing those disgusting shoes. You will go back in there and pick from the footwear provided.”
My skin burns with anger. Ever since we woke up this morning, me wrapped in his warm embrace, we’ve alternated between screaming at each other and him trying to bully me into submission. Sad to say, it will not work. Bullies are just little children trying to play grownup. I’m not scared of them, but they are assuredly terrified of me. Well, all of them except the guys that now own me.
First, it was the way I wear my hair, and I hate to say, he won that argument. Son of a bitch. Instead of wearing it in my usual French braid, he made me arrange my long, chestnut locks into loose waves that cascade down my back.
Next, it was the way I wore my makeup. Again, he won that argument. Instead of going with my usual smokey-eye, I had to understate it. No eyeshadow, minimal blush, contour to hell so it would frame my sharp cheekbones and feminine features. A few coats of mascara, no eyeliner, and only a light sheen of gloss on my lips.
I look nothing like I usually do, and I absolutely hate it. This isn’t me; this is the version they want me to portray.
Now, it’s the way I will wear my uniform and the shoes that go on my feet. I refuse to allow him to win this one. I will not walk around school all fucking day with blister-makers strapped to my feet. I have to walk more than a mile a day, and I will not allow him to force me into pain the entire time. If the ground wasn’t crisp with freshly fallen dew, I’d be tempted to go barefoot.
“I don’t want to wear them. I’m not going to, Brett.” He can’t make me. It’s only him and I have a better chance of going against him without the other two being here.
His dark eyes penetrate me as he shoves his long, muscular leg into a pair of khakis. “Did I ask if you want to wear them? No. I don’t ask, I tell. You will, and you’ll get the fuck over it. Keep talking back and I’ll take you over my goddamn knee.”
He wouldn’t dare. I’m not some child he can beat into resignation. He may bend my body—sexually—to his will, but whipping me like I’m some child is not exactly the way into my panties. Ignorant dick. You’d think for him being so smart, he’d realize a willing woman is so much better than taking one by force.
“I’m not a fucking child!” I yell out in frustration.
He shoves his other leg into his pants, then struts toward me, buttoning and zipping them as he goes. “Then stop acting like one, brat.” Then he gets into my face, overwhelming me with his proximity. “I’d bet my inheritance you’ve never had someone tell you what to do. That your parents,” he sneers the endearment, like it leaves a bad taste on his tongue, “let you run around and do whatever the fuck you wanted. Instead of readying you, they spoiled you. Well, you’re in for a rude awakening, princess, because I’m not the pampering type.” Don’t I know it.
God, he’s such a
fucking jerk! He speaks in riddles, thinking I’ll get the gist of what he’s saying without saying it. What were they supposed to be readying me for? Life? I want to laugh in his face, but the darkness shining there stops me. He knows more than he’s admitting, and that drives me crazy. I’m the type of person who needs to know everything, even if it’s terrible. No one can catch me with my pants down, especially around this place.
Vibrating with anger, I stand toe-to-toe with him. From my stature, I have to crane my head back to peer into his bottomless eyes. I want to claw his enraging perfect face. I want to kick, scream, and throw the biggest tantrum known to man. The only thing that stops me is the fact I know I’m better than this. That throwing a tantrum like some toddler will do me no good. If anything, it’ll make it worse. And I refuse to prove him right.
I don’t know where the need comes from; to prove him wrong. But it’s a need so imbedded in me I can barely see past the red haze tinting the edge of my vision. My entire body screams to react to him; to show him that his words and actions and orders will not go well with me, but I can’t. If I do, then that’s the same as giving in. I’ll lose a piece of myself if I hedge down that road.
“I’m not wearing the heels, Brett. You can’t make me.” I stand my ground.
Before I can react, he grabs me around the waist and pulls me across his lap. He sits down on the edge of the bed, fighting against my ministrations to get loose. I’m still naked—except for a new bra and lace thong set Brett forced me to get in earlier. Strong arming me in place, my hands fall out in front of me at the same moment the door to his room opens without preamble.
My eyes snap up to see Chaz and Dorran standing in the doorway. They make no move to get me off his lap, and I don’t know why it crossed my mind they would. Chaz merely smirks in my direction, his dark eyes dancing in glee. Anything I felt for him when I first met him before was dashed last night, even if a small part of me held onto the fact there may still be a part of him that was good. Now I know. There’s no part inside Chaz that’s good; he’s pure evil incarnate.
And Dorran, he’s the ass that’s going along with what his friends say. I wish my throat would unlock, so I could tell his friends how I perceive Dorran, the secrets he’s begging to keep. Because it’s clear he’s hiding something from his friends.
“Are you just going to stand there?” I ask to no one in particular, but my eyes pin Dorran to his spot.
His gaze isn’t as closed off and maniacal as Chaz’s or Brett’s—I guess that’s the reason my eyes lock with this. If any of them will get me out of this situation, I suspect it might be him. But he doesn’t even move, let along blink. His gaze is frozen on my form bent over Brett’s lap.
Brett’s arm flattens across the middle of my back, while his other hand slowly roams over my exposed skin. I try to fight the shudder, but it’s no use. My body wants him—all of them—even while my mind is cursing at me to put a stop to it.
“They will not help you, brat,” Brett replies huskily, his tone filled with sensual intent. Of course, he would get off on something like this. Sick, twisted piece of shit.
Ignoring him, I whisper, “Dorran. Please.”
As Brett’s hands continue to drive me out of my mind, I watch as Dorran’s eyes slant inward—the pinch of uncomfortableness settling between his brows is enough to break my heart. His body is taut, tension filled as he gazes at Brett and me. But instead of moving to do something about it, it’s as if this invisible force is holding him in place.
Brett has to have something on him, especially for Dorran to act like this. Like he doesn’t want to be here; as if he wants to steal me away but can’t bring himself to break character.
Dorran, I can tell, is a sweet, kind soul. It’s obvious to see it in his eyes when he thinks no one is looking. But once he’s surrounded by the guys, he turns into a different person. A complete shadow of himself, like he’s covering up the best parts.
Why?
It kills me to know there’s this different side of him the guys don’t know. They’re supposed to be friends; share things with one another they don’t with anyone else. So, why is he being so closed off? If these are his friends, then he should be as comfortable with them as he is with himself. They should be an extension of him.
A sharp, stinging slap against my ass brings me out of my head, forcing a cry of shock to explode from between my parted lips. The pain reverberates into the deepest part of my flesh, singeing me all the way to my bone.
“Brett!” I screech in outrage.
“Count for him, darling,” Chaz says, smirking.
“Fuck you!” I growl, lunging toward him on Brett’s lap. It’s only Brett’s hold that stops me from scrambling off his lap and confronting the asshole smiling from the doorway.
More chuckling follows just as another blow slams down onto the other cheek. This time, I feel it all the way to my soul. My back bows upwards, nearly taking me off Brett’s lap all together. My strength forces Brett’s hand from my back and down to the base of my spine, but instead of forcing me downward again, he allows it.
Tears surface, and I hold them back with everything I have. I refuse to allow them to fall.
“He said count, brat!” Brett slams his hand down again and again and again, alternating between my cheeks. He strikes against my upper thighs, and a harsh one lands against my aching pussy when my leg slips off his lap. The moment his hand contacts my pussy, a garbled cry of torture rips from my throat in a painful, raw screech. The pain is immeasurable, unfathomable. I’ve had some painful sex before, but this is so different.
And it’s in the same moment I realize the reason it’s different. To my dismay, his spanking is making me wet. My legs slide against each other easily, noting the slick flesh sliding back and forth. Shame floods my cheeks in a bright flush. Horror encompasses my body to the point I freak out, throwing caution to the wind just so his touch will lessen.
“Let me go!” I howl, jerking and twisting. He has to scramble to keep me on his lap, grunting from the effort.
I can’t let him know what his touch does to me. It’ll obliterate my resolve, and it doesn’t matter if I’m firmly in hate with all of them. My body has a mind of its own, and it wants pleasure. No matter who it comes from. It’s been months since a guy’s fingers traced my silky skin, drawing out the pleasure just buzzing beneath the surface.
It’s been months since I’ve seen Trevor, the last time being on my front stoop in front of the apartment my father and I shared. It was in the better part of town, unlike where he lives, but he’d ride his bike to come see me every chance he got. Especially after that night with his boss. He needed to make sure I was okay, even when we were at school and he’d get this funny feeling.
I love and miss his overprotectiveness. Because in its place, I have a pain that verges on hatred from three cruel, cruel boys.
“You still think you have a say in the matter!” Brett thunders, slamming his hand down on my sore ass.
I flinch, doubling my efforts. It’s not until his fingers weave through my hair and he pulls me up against him, I stop. His warm breath wisps across my heated cheek, and I inwardly curse when I feel fat, salty tears run down my face. I hate showing them emotion, especially one that derives from pain. I promised I wouldn’t, and I hate myself for giving in so easily.
They don’t have the right to see it; the right to cause my tears.
“You will submit to us, brat,” he seethes into my ear. His low, gravelly tone causes more wetness to soak my thong. And I hate him for it; the anger rising steadily in my belly.
Shivering against his grip, I grit my teeth, seething in a low voice, “You can have my body, but you’ll never have me. I refuse to give in. I refuse to give into any of you assholes.”
A tense quiet envelops us, and I can practically hear the gears turning in his head. What else is he going to hit me with that I haven’t already heard? It’s been non-stop since my father walked out of his apartment, and I’m s
ure that whatever he comes up with isn’t something new, but it will be something just as deadly.
Brett, Chaz, and Dorran will never own my heart or spirit; they don’t even own my body unless they’re touching me. They’re assholes, and while that may be my jam, there’s a big difference.
I love guys that are assholes to anyone other than me.
“You will.” He licks his way from my neck, all the way to my collarbone, then back again, biting softly as he whispers, “Just like your mother.” He laughs softly, tauntingly. Everything stops. “She couldn’t help giving in, either.”
My entire body goes stiff in his embrace, freezing to the point I shake from the adrenaline fading. My blood turns into blocks of ice in my veins. Maybe I misheard him; that would be the only reason I’d hear the term ‘mother’ come out of his mouth when pertaining to me.
A slow, numb feeling spreads, working its way outward. It reaches every appendage, sliding through my body like tar, slow and steady. It eats away at my organs and extends to the tips of my fingers and toes. It nearly steals the breath from my lungs at the wrongness of it. I’m numb; nothing can break through the sludge that makes my body feel as if it’s a thousand pounds.
“What?” The question feels like sawdust on my tongue.
His tinkering, sadistic laugh echoes around the room. Any other time, I’d react. But at this point in time, my body can’t. I can only focus on the guys standing near the door and the one holding me prisoner. How does he know my mother? How does he know anything about me? As if he senses my inner ramblings, his hand tightens in my hair to the point of pain, but instead of reacting, I merely meet his eyes with my emotionless ones.
He looks pleased with himself. Majorly so. And I know what he’s about to tell me will break me to the point I won’t be able to put myself back together. He’ll succeed, and there’s nothing I can do to stop him.
His eyes search mine, then all over my face, before his come to rest on mine once more. A frown falls over his features as he takes me in, but just as quick as it came, it’s gone, replaced with his pleased, arrogant smile. “Hm, we forgot to tell you, didn’t we? The little plaything we had before you—the woman that took our virginity—”
Little Plaything: A Dark High School Bully Romance (Reighton Preparatory Academy Book 1) Page 15
