Beg Me: A Dark High School Bully Romance

by Bella King

  “Get in and let’s go home,” he says, waving a hand.

  I laugh slightly in my throat. “Why don’t you fuck off.”

  His pink face turns sour in an instant. “Boy, I’m telling you if you don’t come home, I’m going to whoop your ass.”

  “Come try it,” I challenge.

  “I already whooped your mama’s ass for letting you slip out without taking out the trash with you,” he taunts.

  Blood rushes to my face, making it hotter than it already is in this disgusting summer heat. There’s so much blood in my cheeks that it hurts, like my head is swollen and about to pop. I can’t contain my rage at this asshole. If nobody else is going to stand up to him, then I will. Threatening to hurt me is one thing, but hurting my mom is a whole different story.

  “Get out of the car, fuck-face,” I say, keeping my voice stern and serious.

  “What did you just say to me?” he asks, unlatching the door and putting a foot on the step leading out of the truck cabin.

  “You heard me,” I reply. “Get out of the fucking car, fucking fuck face asshole.”

  “You’re begging for a beating, boy,” Dean says, stomping toward me. He’s about twice my size, but half of that is the beer gut he keeps hanging over his faded denim jeans. His fists are like sledgehammers, but he’s slow and I’m filled with so much rage that I feel like I could fight through a pack of wolves without a scratch.

  “Come get it,” I grumble as he approaches me.

  The first swing of his meaty fist flies over my head as I duck down. I knew he would swing for my face first. He’s the type of guy to want to knock someone cold right at the beginning of the fight. He doesn’t play nice and he doesn’t give second chances.

  Thankfully, neither do I. The streets have taught me to be ruthless, and I have no sympathy for the abusive piece of shit standing before me. I’m going to give this motherfucker a run for his money and make him think twice before laying a finger on anyone else in the future.

  I slam my fists into Dean’s beer gut, hammering them in rapidly with no regard for the safety of my face. The quick rhythm of punches causes Dean to stumble back and fall over, but he catches my shirt as he goes down, pulling me with him.

  I tumble to the asphalt, scraping my right elbow on the unforgiving ground, no doubt sending little bits of glass, dirt, and whatever other crap in laying across the road into my skin. I don’t let this defeat me, however. I crawl over Dean and pull my fist back, ready to slam it down into his grubby face.

  “Get off of me, boy,” Dean shouts, flailing his hands in front of his face so that I can’t get a clean shot at his bulbous nose. I want to break the damn thing.

  “I’m not a boy, asshole,” I say, standing up.

  Dean looks up at me, and I can see pure hatred in his eyes. He doesn’t seem to be scared of me, but I’m also not finished with him.

  “I’m a man,” I say, sending a kick into his ribcage.

  He lets out a yelp, rolling over and clutching his ribs with both hands. I kneel down, rolling him onto his back again. His hands are too busy with his aching ribs to cover his face, which gives me the chance to make the move I’ve fantasized about since he first stepped into my life.

  With all the force I can muster, I send my fist toward his face, landing squarely on the tip of his nose and smashing it in like it was made of paper. The crunch sends a wave of excitement through my body. I can’t believe I’ve actually done it. I fought back, and I’ve won.

  I stand up, watching in sick satisfaction as blood pours from Dean’s nose onto the pavement. I can hear the droplets of crimson come pattering down on the hot tar, and I can see the defeat in his eyes. I’m the man, and he’s the boy.

  I spit on him before walking to his truck. I may be finished with the beatdown, but I’m not finished with everything. I grab his windshield wipers, ripping them to the side and reveling in the nasty crack of plastic as they break. “Have fun fixing this, motherfucker,” I growl as I slam my fist into the windshield.

  It doesn’t break, but my knuckles nearly do. I punch it again, harder this time. My hand bounces off the glass. I guess it’s not as easy as it looks in the movies. I look around for something to break it with, and spot a small rock sitting next to my shoe. I bend over and pick it up, tossing it up in my hand and catching it again. “That’s more like it,” I say before chucking it at the window.

  It bounces off, leaving the smallest chip in the glass that I’ve ever seen. “Fucking hell,” I mutter, picking it up off the ground again and pulling my arm back for another shot.

  “Flint, what are you doing?!”

  I drop my arm and turn to the side to see Amber coming down the dirt trail from the trailer park. She’s dressed in a small black pleated skirt, pulled up high enough to reveal the entirety of her smooth pale legs. Her t-shirt is tied up and tucked into itself to show ample cleavage and her tummy, which has a small diamond pendant dangling from her bellybutton.

  Her lips are bright red, like fresh blood, and her hair is tied up in a tight and high ponytail. She looks a million times better than any other girl at Blackstone High, and certainly better than anyone I’ve seen around these neighborhoods. Amber is something special, and every time I look at her it becomes more apparent.

  I take a step back from the car as she comes rushing toward me. She looks down at Dean, who is groaning and rolling around on the pavement. “What the hell is going on?” she asks.

  I shrug. “Just taking care of some business. We should go.”

  “What the hell,” she mutters, stepping past Dean.

  “I’ll explain it later,” I say.

  “You better,” she replies, brushing past me as she walks across the road toward the entrance to Greenwood trailer park.

  I give her that head start so that I can see the incredible plumpness of her ass as her skirt bounces with each step she takes. It teases me by almost revealing he edge of her ass cheek every time it lifts up, only to come down again and hide the sweetness beneath the dark fabric.

  I follow after her, eager to get this party started.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Amber

  I was expecting something moderately large, but I wasn’t expecting this. The smell of cigarettes, weed, and beer hits me hard as I walk up to the front lawn of Blake’s trailer with Flint in close tow. Every single other trailer on the same road is packed with people, grills, loud music. It’s more than a party, it’s a major gathering of every senior at the school over the age of eighteen.

  There’s a gang of girls smoking cigarettes while sitting on the picknick table outside, and I spot Blake there trying to sweet talk them. It doesn’t look like he’s having much luck. I point at him and turn to Flint. “Let’s drop this shit off with Blake.”

  Flint nods, not saying anything. He’s quiet after whatever the hell he was doing with that man on the ground. I’m not sure I even want to know, come to think of it. That wasn’t the store owner who we stole from, but what if it was a sheriff or something? We’d both be going to jail before the night is out.

  It’s best to blend in with the crowd in that case. I take confident strides up to the picnic table, locking eyes with Blake. His bulge out like a fly when he sees me, as if in disbelief that I would even show up. I know he’s a horny freak, so he’s probably also ogling at my skimpy uniform. I wore it for Flint, not for him.

  “I have your booze, now where’s my necklace?” I ask, dropping the bookbag full of vodka at his feet.

  Blake looks over at Flint, who appears beside me with his arms crossed. There’s a cold expression in his face, and he still refuses to talk. Blake reaches into his pocket, saying a quick apology to the girls at the table as he walks up to me.

  He stops at the bookbag and bends over, keeping one hand in his pocket while he unzips it to look inside. I should’ve known he would check it first, but I don’t rightfully give a shit anymore. Rats will be rats, and I can’t change that.

  “Only two her
e,” he says, looking back up to me.

  “I broke the other one,” Flint says, coming to my defense. “It’s all good. She held up her end of the deal.”

  I’m surprised he would lie for me. I wasn’t expecting that from him, but then again, the energy has changed between us. He’s no longer the master with me as his puppet. I’m starting to figure him out, and that’s giving me an advantage.

  Blake is placated by the fib and pulls the angel necklace from his front pocket, swinging it in from of my face. “How much is this worth, anyway?”

  I snatch it from his hand before he’s able to play any more games with me. “More than your shitty trailer, asshole,” I grumble.

  “Woah, no chill,” Blake says, putting his hands up. He looks at Flint. “You need to control your girl, dude.”

  Flint places his heavy hand on my shoulder without responding to Blake. “Let’s go,” he grumbles.

  “Where?” I ask as I put the angel around my neck, feeling it’s comforting weight on my skin.

  “Somewhere we can talk,” he replies, pulling my shoulder to get me to go with him.

  I move with him, adjusting the angel around my neck. I feel so relieved to have it back, like I’m safe now, even though I doubt it actually has that effect. It’s nice to have some superstitions, even if all they do is make you feel better. I believe your thoughts shape your reality, so feeling safe might actually put me in a safer place in life.

  However, I’m not sure if I feel all that safe after witnessing Flint beat the living shit out of some guy on the road. He looked like he was trying to smash his car up too, and I saw the blood on his knuckles before we entered the trailer park. I’ve never seen him fight anyone, but he seems like he’s still angry about whatever was going on minutes ago while I got changed for the party.

  “Are you going to tell me what happened back there?” I ask as we come to a stop directly outside Blake’s trailer. There is a collapsible plastic table with cans of cheap beer lead out on it.

  “I was considering it,” he replies, taking a beer from the table, cracking it open, and handing it to me.

  I take it from him and smile. “I like it when you’re more open with me.”

  He chuckles, taking a beer for himself. “I like it when your legs are open.”

  I roll my eyes and take a sip of the beer. He deflects intimacy with crudeness, but that should come as no surprise to me. Men often do that. It’s like they don’t want to admit that they’re capable of having feelings. I suspect Flint is deeply emotional, but he covers it up with thick layers of bravado.

  “What happened with that guy?” I ask, not letting him distract from the topic at hand.

  “Dean,” he says dryly.

  “That was Dean?” I ask, nearly spitting out my beer, which isn’t any good anyway.

  Flint nods. “Dean likes to talk a lot of shit, but I shut him up good.”

  “You certainly did,” I reply, unable to deny that Dean was in no condition to talk once Flint got through with him.

  “He got what was coming to him,” Flint says, taking a gulp of his beer. “He told me that he hit my mom, and I just snapped.”

  “Jesus,” I mutter, shaking my head. It sounds eerily similar to my parents’ situation when my mom accused him of hitting her, but I have no idea who was telling the truth. I’d like to have justified anger like Flint does, but I’ve been denied that pleasure. Maybe it’s better that way.

  Flint stares off into the distance, his eye unfocused and his jaw working beneath the tight skin of his face. There’s a fighter inside of him, and I refuse to believe that he’s all that bad of a guy. Yes, he has serious problems, but he stands out from the usual delinquents at Blackstone High.

  He’s special.

  I placate my thoughts with more beer, trying to focus on anything but how much I want to have sex with Flint. Ever since the kiss in the woods, I’ve been wet for him. Even after changing my panties and watching him rage out in the street, the fabric between my legs is soaked.

  He doesn’t know that. Maybe he knows I’m into him, but even that would be a dire understatement. I’m foolish for feeling this way, I know, but feelings are difficult to control. I can’t turn my horniness on and off at a snap of my fingers. Flint’s the one who is capable of doing that, and he seems to only know how to use the on switch.

  “Life kind of sucks sometimes,” Flint says after a moment. “I think you’ve figured that out by now.”

  I laugh. “At Blackstone High, it certainly does suck.”

  “Was it different for you before?” he asks.

  I’m surprised again by his words, but I’m also hopeful. Not so long ago, he didn’t give two fucks about my past or how I got here. This is my chance to speak my peace. “It was very different. I used to go to private school, and my dad would pick me up in the afternoon playing whatever music I was into at the time. He was good to me.”

  “So, why are you here?” Flint asks softly, leaning in with his beer clutched tightly in his bloody fist.

  “Well, after the divorce my mother got nothing except custody over me because she already had a job. The thing was, she kind of went off the rails after that, and she was fired. We had nothing, so we came here.”

  “But you’re an adult, right? I mean, I was told you were nineteen,” he says with a nervous chuckle.

  “I’m eighteen, actually,” I say, then, in a more teasing manner, I add, “Don’t worry, nobody is sending you to jail.”

  “That’s a relief, but what I meant was that you could just leave you mom and move back with your dad if he was so great.”

  “I don’t know,” I say, pausing to take a sip of my beer. “I don’t even know if he cares anymore. I heard he found a new woman or something, and I don’t want to intrude.”

  “People are gross,” Flint says, shaking his head.

  “You’re not,” I say, looking up and locking eyes with him.

  He smiles. “Sorry, but I’m pretty sure I am gross.”

  “Why would you say that?” I ask, looking at his gorgeous face and thinking that there is no possible way he could ever be considered gross.

  “Because,” Flint says, stepping toward me and looking into my eyes with his hazel beauties. “I’ve been thinking about fucking you since the moment I laid eyes on you.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Flint

  The words were a gamble, but the look in Amber’s eyes tells me all I need to know about the outcome of my risky move. I’m the one with the winning hand, and tonight I’m going to sleep with the most beautiful girl at Blackstone High.

  Our lips touched once in the woods, but I’m going to have another taste of them now. They’re bright red, which I know is going to get smeared all over my mouth, but I want to make a mess. I want to be dirty, raw, and hard with Amber. I want to fuck her like a beast and leave her panting for breath.

  I lean in, watching the two plump red lips in front of me part to accept my kiss. We may be out in the open, but nothing is going to stop me from taking her. Hell, I’ll fuck her on the plastic table outside of Blake’s trailer if there isn’t anywhere else to do it. I’m out of fucks to give except for the one I’m going to be giving to her.

  I wrap my hand around Amber’s waist, pull her dainty body close, and I plant my lips on hers hard. I can feel the rapid thud of her heart against mine as I kiss her. I explore her mouth with my tongue this time, taking full advantage of how willing she is to have me there. I swirl my tongue around the hot inside of her sweet mouth, tasting the passion and mixing my saliva with hers.

  Another moan comes from her lips, much louder than when we first kissed. It makes me rock hard instantly, sending blood pumping at my groin. My cock is stiff and aching to be let free. I mash it against her lower stomach, making her feel the need that I have for her. I want her to know how hard she makes me.

  My hands move over her body, squeezing her ripe ass and holding her cheeks like prized globes in my hands. I can easily move
under her skirt, and I’m excited as my fingers brush against the lace of her small panties that rest tightly against her ass cheeks.

  I grab both cheeks, squeezing the softness in my hands and pulling them apart as I press her even closer to me. I’m not gentle, nor do I intend to be during any of this. Amber needs to learn her place, and that’s below me with her legs open and big blue eyes staring into mine. She’ll submit to me. This is her new life, and I’m the type of guy that she better get used to.

  Although, I think Amber is really enjoying what I’m doing. The rougher I handle her, the more she moans. It’s incredible because most women I’ve known just didn’t like rough treatment and would slap me for it. Amber is soaking it up like a sponge.

  I move one of my hands up to her shirt, rubbing it across her belly and up underneath the fabric. There are still plenty of people around, but they’re used to seeing this kind of shit. Hell, at parties like this, I’m seen women getting railed back to back by a whole line of men. It’s nasty, but that’s how these people are. As they say, only god can judge.

  I push my hand under the cup of her bra, finding her nipple already firm beneath it. I pinch it, amused that she’s so turned on by me. I never imagined that a woman like her would want to have anything to do with a deadbeat kind of guy like me, but here we are.

  Amber’s lips soften against mine as I squeeze her warm breast, feeling the divine softness of her flawless flesh against my callused hand. I almost feel bad for touching her body, as though I’m an impure demon, defiling something holy, but the guilt of doing so is washed away by inexplicably strong lust.

  Suddenly, I’m away from Amber, her warmth no longer pressed close against my skin. The force pulling me back is heavy, abrupt, and purposeful, sending me flying backward onto the patchy grass in front of Blake’s trailer. My ass hits the ground, sliding along it a few inches before I come to a stop.

  I look up to see Amber’s red lips parted in a perfect “o” shape. Normally, that would make my cock as stiff as a board, blood pumping into the vessels to an agonizing extent, but this time it sends the heavy weight of dread dropping through my internal organs and slipping off into my bowels like thick, cold coffee grounds.