King of Hawthorne Prep

by Jennifer Sucevic

  “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?”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  By the time I trudge to my locker after fourth hour, I’m in desperate need of a break. Thankfully, the bell just rang, signaling the beginning of lunch. I can hide out in the furthest corner of the library and lick my wounds in private, all the while pretending for a few minutes that my life hasn’t become a total hell.

  Mostly, I want to get away from Kingsley.

  Every time I passed him in the hall, his gaze would capture mine and I’d find myself helpless to look away. There’s something powerful about him. Something I’m both inexplicably drawn to and repelled by. It makes little sense.

  I thought for sure I’d get reprimanded for wearing the shirt under my blazer instead of the standard issue button-down. It’s not part of the school-sanctioned uniform and yet, not one teacher said a word about it. Not even Ms. Pettijohn. They would look at my chest before glancing away. This reaction has only solidified the realization that Kingsley Rothchild holds untold amounts of power at Hawthorne Prep.

  Even though I have zero appetite, with no plans to eat my lunch, I grab the paper bag before slamming my locker shut and spinning away.

  “Where are you off to, Hawthorne?”

  The deep voice that cracks through the hallway has me stumbling to a halt. I gulp and squeeze my eyes tightly shut before whispering, “The library.”

  Leave me alone.

  Just for a minute.

  “Sorry, that’s not part of the plan. You’re coming with me to the cafeteria.”

  I swing around to face him before lifting my chin. “No.” My shoulders stiffen as I get ready to do battle. “I’m eating at the library.”

  He arches a brow. “Wanna bet?”

  Frustrated by the situation and the power he holds over me, I stomp my foot. “I want to eat in the library!”

  “Unfortunately for you, I don’t give a shit. You’ll eat lunch with me today and every day after this until I say differently. Now, if you want to be done with our little arrangement, all you have to do is say the word.”

  Grrrr.

  My fingers curl, the nails leaving little crescent-shaped marks in my palm while slicing through the brown paper bag in my other hand.

  When I remain silent, he snaps, “Make up your mind. I’m starving.”

  I hate him.

  I stomp to his side, glowering the entire time, but he seems unfazed by my behavior.

  “You ready?”

  “Yes,” I grunt between clenched teeth.

  “Great.”

  He saunters to his locker before opening it. I begrudgingly follow, dragging my feet until I reach his side as he shrugs out of his navy blazer before hanging it on a silver hook near the top of his locker. Lunch, I’ve discovered, is a less formal affair. Most students forgo their jackets, preferring to roll up their sleeves during the thirty minutes of respite we’re given. For obvious reasons, I won’t be partaking in that particular tradition today. Or any other day I’m forced to wear this stupid shirt.

  He unfastens the buttons at his wrists before rolling the white material up his muscular forearms and revealing a smattering of dark hair against sun-kissed flesh. An unexpected burst of need explodes inside me and I force my attention away in hopes of dampening it.

  “Throw your blazer in here.”

  My gaze slices to him in surprise. He must be joking. There’s no way in hell I’m going to the cafeteria without it.

  I shake my head. “No.”

  “You must have misunderstood me, Hawthorne. It wasn’t a request.”

  I search his face in desperation, already realizing he won’t budge from his stance. Kingsley doesn’t care if I’m humiliated. On second thought, he probably gets off on it. My heart sinks as I swallow down my rising horror.

  Even though I know pleading won’t help the sit
uation, I hear the choked whisper escape from my lips before I can stop it. “Please don’t make me take it off.”

  In the time it takes to blink, his hands go to the sides of my head as he tips my face toward his. He’s so close that I can feel the warmth of his breath drift over my lips. It’s strangely intoxicating. But then again, everything about him is.

  “The only thing I like more than hearing you beg prettily is when you’re on your knees, staring up at me like I’m your fucking king. Don’t worry, I plan on making you do it often, but removing your blazer for lunch is nonnegotiable.” His hands disappear as he quickly divests me of the uniform jacket before shoving it in his locker and slamming the door shut so there’s no chance for me to snatch it back.

  “Can I at least wear my bra?”

  “Nope.”

  “I hate you!” Rage bubbles up inside me.

  A grin slides across his lips. “And yet, that won’t stop you from begging for my cock.” He takes off down the hall, not bothering to wait, assuming correctly that I’ll follow of my own free will.

  Turn around and leave.

  Austin wouldn’t want you to do this.

  As if he can sense the inner turmoil swirling through my head, he raises his voice. “Don’t make me drag you to the cafeteria, Summer.”

  Is this humiliation worth it?

  Ultimately, yes. If I don’t do this, my brother will end up moving to Chicago. Kingsley holds even more power than I suspected. This morning, I got my first real taste of it. If he keeps his end of the agreement, Austin will be allowed to stay on the football team and in Hawthorne for the rest of senior year.

  Is there anything I wouldn’t do to achieve that outcome?

  No.

  I fold my arms tightly across my chest and reluctantly trail after him. It feels like I’m marching to my death. With every step that brings me closer, my anxiety continues to heighten. By the time we reach the cafeteria, there aren’t any other students milling around outside the enormous room. Kingsley stops, smirking when he notices what I’m doing. “Arms down, baby girl.”

  My tongue darts out to smudge my lips. It feels as if there are cotton balls stuffed in my mouth. How can he be this cruel? “King—”

  He shakes his head before eating up the distance between us until we stand toe to toe. His forehead touches mine before he grabs my wrists and physically lowers them to my sides. “Nonnegotiable, remember?”

  I want to scream.

  Our gazes clash as he reaches out, locking his forefingers and thumbs around the tips of my breasts. He teases my nipples until they stiffen into hard little points that poke insistently against the white fabric.

  “Stop,” I groan, simultaneously loving and hating how he’s torturing me.

  He gives each breast a painful tweak before releasing them. “Now everyone will get an eyeful of those pretty little titties.”

  Asshole!

  How can my body be so traitorous?

  He steps away, looking completely unaffected. “Are you ready?”

  No. With a glare, I remain stoically silent.

  Fuck him.

  “I’ll take that as a yes.” Not giving me a chance to escape, he snakes his arm around my waist and steers me into the cafeteria. People turn and stare, but no one utters a sound. My face heats until it feels like I might self-combust.

  Actually, that would be more preferable than enduring this hell.

  He maneuvers us to the table he’s been sitting at since the first day of school. Over the last week and a half, a social hierarchy has emerged in the lunchroom. This table, along with Kingsley and his friends, seems to be the epicenter. Everything fans out from here with the outer rings hugging the perimeter. One seat remains open.

  As we approach the table, his friends fall silent. They stare at me before shifting their curious gazes to Kingsley. After a few moments, the swell of conversation picks up again as if I’m not standing here in a shirt that claims me as property. Kingsley looks down at the guy I recognize as the ringleader from yesterday’s locker fiasco.

  Jasper the asshole.

  “Move over,” The dark-haired boy next to me orders.

  Jasper turns glaring eyes on me before begrudgingly sliding over another seat. When Kingsley settles on the bench, I do the same before setting down my paper bag.

  As soon as my butt hits the smooth wood, he asks the table at large, “Is it cheeseburgers today?”

  The guy across from him wraps his hands around a massive burger loaded with the works before raising it to his mouth and taking a bite. “Yup and it’s fucking delicious,” he says around a mouthful of masticated meat.

  “Hmmm.” Kingsley stares across the cafeteria as he considers his meal options. “All right, that sounds good. I’ll also have fries, a side salad with ranch, an orange, and a lemon-lime Gatorade.”

  I glance around, wondering if there’s an invisible waitstaff I’m unaware of. All the chatter and good-natured ribbing dies away as the guys stare at me expectantly.

  What?

  No way.

  My wide gaze shifts to Kingsley. All it takes is one look at the way his lips are twisted into an arrogant smile along with the malicious glint filling his eyes to realize that it’s exactly what he’s expecting.

  Bastard!

  “You have to be joking,” I growl.

  “Do you need me to repeat the order?”

  I gnash my teeth together before shooting to my feet. There’s no point in arguing with him. Kingsley hasn’t relented one damn bit this morning, and he certainly isn’t going to do it if I challenge him in front of his douchebag friends. For the moment, I’m stuck doing his bidding.

  Without a word, I storm toward the lunch line and take my place at the end of it. Even though people haven’t been gawking, I fold my arms self-consciously across my chest. Kingsley can kiss my ass.

  That being said, I cautiously watch from the corner of my eye to see if he notices that I’m defying his decree. When he rises from his seat, I promptly drop my arms to my sides. Only then does he resettle on the bench.

  Grrrr!

  I have never hated anyone more in my life than I do Kingsley Rothchild.

  You didn’t hate him last night.

  I shake my head, needing to dislodge the traitorous little voice that keeps popping up at the most inopportune times.

  The four older women working behind the counter don’t blink as I rattle off the request and tell them to add it to Kingsley’s account. I should order something for the entire cafeteria while I’m at it. Doubtful he’d care, or that it would make a dent in his checkbook.

  As I walk back with the tray of food, I check the surrounding area for teachers. Or any adult who looks to be in charge, but no one is policing the cafeteria. Apparently, the students of Hawthorne are supposed to prove with this little bit of autonomy that they are mature enough to handle themselves like the young adults they’ve supposedly grown into.

  Ha! What a joke.

  “M’lord,” I say with an exaggerated flourish before dropping the tray with a loud thud in front of Kingsley. The Gatorade bottle wobbles as the cafeteria china rattles. “Your lunch.”

  Kingsley’s eyes narrow as a few of the guys sitting at the table smirk before hastily glancing away.

  I can’t lie, this petty show of defiance feels good.

  As I’m about to sit down, he says, “Where are the napkins?”

  I glare. When he raises his brows, I grit my teeth and straighten to my full height. Sixty seconds later, I slap the napkins on the tray in front of him.

  “Careful,” he warns.

  I press my lips together and fall onto the bench beside him.

  “No ketchup? How can I eat a burger without ketchup?”

  “You didn’t ask for any,” I shoot back with exasperation.

  I hold his gaze in challenge before dropping my eyes. We both know this isn’t a battle I’ll win. For the third time, I rise from my seat and maneuver my way through the cafeteria t
o grab packets of ketchup. As I take a step away from the small counter, I scoop up mustard, mayo, salt, and pepper. Anything he could possibly want.

  Kingsley studies me as I return to the table with two fistfuls of condiments before opening my hands and dropping them so the small containers rain down on his meal.

  “You want to play games?” An evil smirk curves his lips. “That’s fine, we can do that.”

  The smug smile I’d been wearing fades.

  No, I don’t want to play games. I just don’t want to be treated like a servant and humiliated in front of all your asshole friends.

  With his gaze pinned to mine, he says, “Hey, Morgan, you can have your seat back.”

  Jasper glances at Kingsley and then me. With a sneer, he slides over so I no longer have a place to sit.

  I keep my expression neutral. Does he really think I’m going to be upset because I can’t sit with him? I want to laugh. Now I can hide out in the library like I originally intended. Honestly, I prefer it. He’s delusional for thinking otherwise.

  When I shrug and spin on my heels to leave, he snaps, “Where do you think you’re going?”

  My step falters as I point to the exit. Freedom, that’s where. “The library,” I answer instead.

  A wicked gleam enters his eyes as he shakes his head and pats his lap. “No, you’ll sit right here.”

  I stare at his muscular thigh before glancing at him in horror. Without thinking, I shake my head, a denial perched on the tip of my tongue.

  “Do you really want to push me, Summer?” He breaks eye contact and looks around. I do the same and realize that everyone’s gazes are fastened on me. It’s as if they’re all waiting for a silent signal to attack. Nausea grows in my belly as I acknowledge how precarious my situation has become.

  It takes everything I have inside to shuffle forward until I’m close enough for him to grab me. Instead of forcing me to do his bidding, he taps his thigh again. I grit my teeth and waver.

  “Hurry up,” he growls, “I’m hungry.”

  Then eat!

  Instead of screaming that, I swallow down my anger before gingerly lowering myself to his lap. My left breast brushes against his hard chest as I twist my body, trying to find a comfortable place to settle. A groan rumbles up from deep in his chest and an answering response ignites between my legs.