by Sofia Daniel
“So, Edward Mercia is free to do as he pleases?” I spat. “Even terrorize and maim?”
Mr. Jenkins dipped his head. “There is always one authority he can’t easily influence.”
My heart skipped a beat. “Who?”
“God.”
Shooting out of my seat, I yelled, “So, I should pray for a thunderbolt to strike him dead?” Angry blotches appeared on the man’s face, and he opened his mouth to utter a rebuke, but I cut him off and headed out of the door. “Thanks for the advice. I’ll know not to come here the next time they try to kill me.”
I slammed the door and stormed through the downstairs hallway. Mr. Jenkins was right about one thing. There was another authority that wouldn’t be as ineffective as him: the police. I took the stairs two at a time, rushed down my hallway and opened the door. Someone had made the bed. When I stepped into the bathroom, all the towels were back on the rack. I threw open the shower curtain to find the tampered shampoo was replaced by an unfamiliar British brand.
All the determination drained out of me in a wave of helplessness that made my legs buckle. I sat on the edge of the bath and rested my hands in my head. The bastards had even stolen my evidence.
I stayed in the bathroom, numb, hoarse and impotent with rage for hours. How could I report something that didn’t look like it had happened? My vision had cleared, and the redness in my eyes faded into an innocuous pink. Whatever they’d put in the shampoo hadn’t actually been as harmful as I’d thought. If I retaliated by throwing hot soup into their faces, I’d be the one facing charges. I shook my head. Splashing people with water was acceptable but scalding them was taking things too far.
At lunchtime, Rita stepped into the room and pushed the bathroom door ajar. “Why weren’t you in classes this—?” She clapped her hands over her mouth. “You’ve been crying. What’s wrong?”
Everything spilled out in a rush of emotion. Rita sat next to me on the rim of the bathtub and wrapped her thin arms around my back, giving me a measure of comfort. She listened to everything without any reminder that she’d warned me about the bullies’ viciousness.
It was the psychological aspect of the trick that had hurt most. Turning off the water to heighten my panic, then leaving me to pound at the door for their amusement, only to take away the towels when they finally granted me cold water. If they hadn’t mistimed the return of the plumbing, they might have caught me washing my face in the toilet. I hadn’t thought them capable of such cruelty.
She took my hand and guided me out of the bathroom and to the bed. “What are you going to do?”
“Huh?”
“Telling you to ignore them won’t work. They’ve taken their prank too far. Will you call your parents?”
I sighed. What could Dad do for me all the way in California and with no money? Mom was too busy with her new role as the millionaire mogul’s wife to even reply to my texts, and Rudolph viewed my time here as a baptism of fire. He already knew about the brutality of British boarding schools, so complaining to him would only prove I wasn’t strong enough for an internship in one of his companies or worthy enough for him to pay for my ivy league college.
“Install cameras around the room,” I said.
Rita drew back. “Won’t that give them something to spy on?”
“Not if we turn the cameras off during prep and while we’re changing. The footage goes to the cloud, so only I will be able to access it.”
“Alright,” said Rita. “Then what?”
“Then we wait for the next person to enter the room without permission.”
Rita guided me to the infirmary, where a medic took a look at my eyes and said I’d irritated my cornea but they were otherwise fine. He gave me a mild bottle of drops that would soothe my eyes and stop them from hurting.
I earned a string of demerits for missing classes, but no footage of me scrambling about the room, blind, naked, and with a towel over my head surfaced on the Mercia-Net. The shampoo prank had been designed to punish, not to humiliate.
The trollop and yank barbs continued, as did other more colorful insults, based on articles posted to the Mercia-Net whenever Mom appeared in the society pages with Rudolph. The level of vitriol thrown at me made me think the girls were jealous they hadn’t snagged a millionaire for themselves.
One evening the next week, I’d finished my prep early and went down to the common room to rest. The room was deserted, and I lay in the semi-darkness on one of the plush sofas. Footsteps shuffled inside, accompanied by whispered voices.
“What did Henry say about me?” asked Charlotte’s whiny voice.
“Oh, the usual.” Low tones curled around my senses and made my nerve endings tingle. This had to be Blake. “You’re beautiful, and he’s too intimidated to make conversation.”
I scrambled under a coffee table, pulled out my smartphone, and recorded.
“How do I get Henry to warm to me?” she asked.
“Give him time,” replied Blake. “The more I bring you up in conversation, the more curious he becomes. He asked me if you fancied anyone.”
“Really?” her voice rose several octaves. “What did you say?”
“I hinted that you might like him.”
I furrowed my brow. Blake playing matchmaker? He seemed the type to sleep with the girls himself, not pass them onto his friends. None of this made sense. Why would anyone want to help Charlotte snag Henry? The girl had no redeeming features unless being bitchy was a virtue.
“Then what did he say?” Her voice was breathy with excitement.
“He was delighted.” Blake’s voice lost its seductive quality and now sounded flat.
I lay on my belly and rested my weight on my elbows. They made an odd pair. Blake stood a few feet away from the door in a white shirt with its sleeves rolled up to his elbows and dark, skinny jeans that showed off his lean, muscular figure. The huge fireplace to their right provided enough illumination to showcase the perfect curve of his ass. Charlotte stood about a foot away, clad in a white crewneck shirt that clung to her every curve and accentuated her breasts. Her miniskirt revealed stocky thighs that tapered off into thin calves.
She pressed her hands on Blake’s chest. “What else—”
He placed a finger over her lips. “Enough, Lottie. I’m helping you with your campaign to ensnare Henry. What will you do for me?”
Charlotte tilted her head up and grinned. “Let’s go to your room.”
“No.” He trailed his finger down her bottom lip and onto her chin. “Here.”
“Why?” she panted.
He pulled her hand to his crotch. “Because I love the danger.”
“Lock the door, so no one sees us.”
He chuckled, the sound rich and dark. “Be quick, or someone will.”
Before I could decipher his last comment, Charlotte giggled and dropped down to her knees. Blake unbuckled his belt, unzipped his fly, and pulled himself out. I drew in a breath through my teeth and dropped the camera face-down on the rug.
Before I got another look, Charlotte lunged forward and slobbered over the organ like a heifer taking her first salt lick. She lapped and slurped and pumped its base with her fist, groaning like was the best thing she’d ever tasted.
Blake threw his head back and moaned, the vibration in his voice going straight between my legs. My heart pounded so hard, they could probably hear it from where they stood. He snapped his hips in a deep thrust that I thought would have Charlotte gagging, but she sped up her ministrations, taking him in like she’d had years of practice. I bit down hard on my lip to stifle my own moan. Blake was losing his composure, and so was I.
My breathing went ragged. I’d never seen someone giving a blowjob. Not in real life, and not with so much enthusiastic abandon. Charlotte’s lips and tongue slavered over his thickness, and Blake cupped his hand around the back of her neck and sped up his thrusts. She clung to his hips, and with a harsh, guttural grunt that made my nipples tighten, he climaxed. Thick globs of
fluid poured out of the corner of her mouth, and her throat flexed as though she was swallowing bucketfuls.
Blake withdrew, still hard and flushed. “I’d say that was a job well done.”
“Aren’t I always good?”
“I can honestly say that Lottie Underwood is the very best fellator in Elder House.”
She drew back. “Only in Elder?”
The good-natured bickering continued while Blake tucked himself back into his pants. I tried slowing my breathing, but my heart still galloped like an out-of-control racehorse. They were conspiring against Henry. Using Blake’s influence to manipulate a relationship with Charlotte. I shook my head. This was spectacular ammunition, and I couldn’t wait to use it as leverage.
Chapter 8
When Charlotte and Blake finally left the common room, I turned off the camera and crawled out from under the coffee table on trembling limbs. Each movement of my legs sent pleasure rippling up and down my core. That had been the most erotic experience of my life. I’d dated a few guys and we’d kissed and groped each other over our clothes, but this was something else.
I sat on the floor, leaning my head against a sofa, and gasped out panting breaths. If that had been me kneeling in front of Blake, I would have locked the door and leaned him against the wall. Taken my time and savored the experience. Wrapped my lips around him and drawn out every lick, every caress, every slurp.
I threw back my head and groaned. Now, whenever I saw Blake, I’d remember his caught breath, his thrusting hips, his sexy moans. I was supposed to hate him and his gang of psychopaths who had tampered with my shampoo, made me believe I was going blind, and then hidden all the evidence. Now, I couldn’t stop thinking about Blake in the throes of passion.
It took several moments to regain my composure, but eventually, I pulled myself to my feet and stepped out into the dim hallway. As I took my first steps toward the staircase, strong arms wrapped around my shoulders and waist.
My heart stopped for a beat, making me stiffen, then it exploded into action. I struggled within the man’s grip, breathing in the heady scent of sandalwood… and something else.
Blake’s deep voice murmured, “Did you like what you saw?”
“W-what are you talking about?”
He rubbed his erection against my ass. “I heard your camera.” He nuzzled my neck, sending ripples of pleasure down my spine. “Saw you under that table.”
“I wasn’t—”
He bit down on my ear, making me cry out with desire. “Don’t lie to me. You’re going straight to your room, and you’ll touch yourself, thinking about my cock.”
I clenched my teeth. “It was disgusting.”
He chuckled, low and deep. The rumble went straight to my aching core. “That’s why you’re so aroused.” He pressed his hardness into me with a firm thrust. “You want me. I’ve known it from the moment we met.”
“Y-you’re deluded. I hate you.”
“Then why aren’t you struggling? Why aren’t you screaming for help?” He let go and stepped back.
The loss of his warmth and intoxicating scent hurt, left me feeling doused with ice water, but I pressed my lips together and jerked my head to the side. One glance at that cocky smile, those decadent, dark eyes, and I’d be weak. I ached for him, but I had enough good sense to know that letting Blake seduce me would open up a realm of torment.
“See.” He took a step toward me. “That expression there is suppressed disappointment.”
I turned on my heels and headed back to the stairs. “I’m going.”
He grabbed my arm. “Give me that recording.”
“No.”
In that low, smoky voice he said, “If it’s masturbation material you want—”
“It’s leverage.” I snatched my arm away. He didn’t need to know I had dropped the camera just before the blow job. “If you don’t stop this campaign against me, I’ll show this to Henry.”
Blake shrugged. “He likes an enthusiastic round of fellatio, same as any other chap.”
“But would he appreciate you colluding with a gold digger to ensnare him?” When Blake’s face dropped, victory surged through my chest. “I thought not.”
His lips thinned. “What do you want?”
“For you, Edward, Charlotte and the others to leave me alone. Stop posting on the Mercia-Net about my family, and stop encouraging others to call me names.”
He inclined his head. “I’ll do what I can.”
For the next few days, the triumvirate only glared at me from a distance. Charlotte sneered, and her doppelgängers muttered the occasional, half-hearted insults, but no one approached me. It seemed that my threat had scared Blake into telling his friends to back off.
Even though I saved the footage to the cloud and to a few email accounts, I kept my phone with me everywhere. Slept with it tucked into my bed-sock, took it to the bathroom, and even showered with it at my side. They had access to my room, and I wouldn’t be stupid enough to neglect such a vital piece of leverage.
Battery-operated, motion-detection cameras also arrived that I connected via the internet to a secure network which would push the footage into a cloud server. I set up the cameras to record while we were at classes, meals, and after light’s out, in case the bullies stormed the room in the middle of the night. But so far, the only things that triggered the motion sensitivity were the entry and exit of the matron and her cleaners. It was as if they’d given up.
In English Literature, Miss Oakley handed out copies of Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales and told us to pair up. I glanced at the empty seat between mine and the wall, dreading having to ask someone to be my partner. As people got up and walked around, forming pairs, I glanced out, looking for a not-so-hostile face, when a huge body blocked my view of the class.
“Budge up,” said Henry.
My insides shriveled with trepidation, along with the moisture in my throat. This was the most he’d ever said to me. Ever. Henry always stared, but always remained silent. He’d never even called me a yank or a trollop or some other combination of insult. My breath stuck in my gullet. Blake must have told him about the recording and he wanted to threaten me into handing over my phone and password.
“Hey, budge up,” he repeated.
Charlotte, who hovered at the desk in front, fixed me with her filthiest glower. “There’s a free space here.”
Henry dropped his satchel onto the desk next to mine, walked around my chair, and lowered himself into the empty seat.
“What are you doing?” I hissed.
He stared straight ahead. “Miss Oakley said to pair up, didn’t she?”
“Yes, but why are you sitting next to me?”
He fixed me with a blank stare. “Plebs don’t get to make choices.”
I folded my arms across my chest. “I’m surprised you know the meaning of that word, considering that you and your friends act the textbook definition of plebeian.”
The corner of his lips curled into a smile.
Anger flared across my chest. He probably saw me and my suffering at his friends’ hands, as a huge joke. “Oh, I know your type,” I spat out what I thought would be the most degrading insult. “You’re one of those weirdos who like being verbally humiliated. Do you need me to get Miss Oakley’s cane?”
Henry barked out a laugh.
Charlotte spun around in her seat. “See, Henry? I told you she was a whore. She just offered you BDSM!”
Henry dipped his head and opened his satchel, acting as though he hadn’t heard her. I glanced up at Charlotte and raised my brows. Perhaps she should have been trading insults for Henry’s attention instead of trading blowjobs for crumbs with Blake. I itched to say the words, but clamped my lips shut. Revealing the illicit activities of that night would break our truce, and they would do much worse than the shampoo prank.
Miss Oakley got us to read aloud the medieval English and to translate it line by line.
“Right,” said Henry. “You do the first few p
ages, and I’ll jot down the notes.”
Giving him a look that I hoped would project my skepticism, I said, “Nice try. We’re doing this together or not at all.”
He ran his fingers through his hair. “Here I was thinking you were intelligent.”
I smirked. “Intelligent enough to recognize a slacker.”
“Very well,” he said with a mock grumble. “What does the first line say?”
“You read it out. It wouldn’t sound authentic with my accent.”
He chuckled. “I suppose not. Here we go: What that Aprille with his shoures soote, the droghte of Marche hath perced to the roote.”
I flipped to the glossary and looked up the words I didn’t understand. “Ummm... When April with its sweet showers has pierced the drought of March to the root.”
Charlotte turned around. “Wrong, trollop! It’s sweet-smelling showers.”
“Ah…” I gave her a sage nod. “Something you’re sorely lacking. Thanks for the insight.”
Henry jerked forward and choked on a laugh. Charlotte’s face fell, and I would have felt bad for her if she and her pals hadn’t nearly blinded me days before.
Throughout the rest of the exercise, Charlotte turned around to stare at Henry and to glare at me, but I focused on the work and ignored her attempts at distraction. It was the best way to hurt the little gold digger.
The truce continued for several more days until Mr. Jenkins walked into the dining hall and stood at the side of the head table. “Good evening, ladies and gentlemen.”
Everyone stopped talking. We hardly ever saw our housemaster these days. I suspected he was lying low with shame after the shampoo incident.
Mr. Jenkins cleared his throat. “As you are aware, it’s half-term in a fortnight.”
Excited chatter spread across the room, and I blinked. Did that mean we got a mid-term break in two weeks? I’d have to check my bank balance, but if I could get a cheap flight, I might be able to make it to La Jolla and back without too much jet lag.
