by MV Ellis
“As I keep telling you, it’s just coincidence. I’m new and sometimes I get a little spun around in all the ancient halls, wings and annexes in this place. For the record, because you’ve probably never been anywhere near one, you should know that public schools don’t look anything like this—” I gesture around the lavish hall again. “Especially not Moreton High. It was purpose built and there’s a logic to where everything is. It’s more correction center than country house. This place is like a crazy maze in comparison.”
Not that I owe him any explanation, but I think with him, it’s easier to talk than listen; at least if I’m speaking, he’s not, which means less exposure to his crazy. “I already explained that I didn’t even want to go to your party, but Geneva is hard to say no to.” Just like someone else I know. “I really needed the bathroom when I walked in on you, but as far as I remember, you followed me into the laundry, then refused to let me go, so if I’m a creeper, then so are you.”
Zeph stretches his hand out towards my neck.
“Don’t. If you touch me, I’ll scream at the top of my lungs.”
“Yeah, right.” Zeph laughs. “Go ahead. I’m sure all the teachers on duty giving any kind of a fuck what we’re doing for the entire weekend will come running to your rescue... oh, wait.” His lip kicks up into a mean sneer.
He has a point, though. Though we are supposed to be closely supervised on weekends, in reality, it’s like the wild west, rich teen style. Kids, who as far as their parents are concerned are under the watchful eye of the teachers, are actually basically left to do what, and who, they damned-well please, which seems to be anything and everything inappropriate or illegal.
The level of “freedom,” aka benign neglect, here is off the charts. It’s a total Lord of the Flies type situation from Friday night to at least Sunday night. In reality, it’s not much better during the week, even during classes.
It’s crazy to me how much the parents spend, to get very little in return by way of pastoral care, or anything, really, apart from decent exam results, the “right” connections, and a ticket to an Ivy League college, which, with their level of wealth, is a given, anyway. It’s a fucking joke.
Putting my wayward thoughts aside, I look pointedly over Zeph’s shoulder toward The Abyss, then open my mouth and take a deep breath in preparation.
His eyes widen, and he looks a little unnerved. Of course, the teachers or other faculty members may not hear me, but even with the music spilling out of the rec area, his friends for sure will, which will let the cat out of the bag, either way.
Clearly deciding to take me seriously, for once, he steps back a little, finally giving me some breathing space. At that exact moment, his phone beeps, and he reaches into his back pocket for it, bringing it to his face to unlock it. He swipes at the screen for a few seconds, then the color seems to drain from his skin.
He glares at me again, then turns sharply on his heel and starts walking away without another word.
I breathe a huge sigh of relief, but just when I think I’ve gotten out of the encounter relatively unscathed, he stops a few moments later, spinning back to face me with nothing but pure venom in his eyes. He moves toward me so quickly, I don’t have time to register what he’s doing before it’s too late.
He shoots his hand out and shoves it to my neck, just like yesterday. Equally quickly, he presses his lips down onto mine, hard and rough. I don’t know if it’s shock or overwhelming desire, but I start kissing him back right away.
If I didn’t know better, I’d say someone has a remote control for my body and is taking over my actions. I want him as far away from me as possible on the one hand, while on the other, I want him so badly I can’t think straight.
When my mind finally gets the memo, I’m just about to push him away when he pulls back just as abruptly as he moved forward, leaving us both panting and riled up with desire.
I want to scream and shout and rail against him, telling him never to touch me again, but in the event, my head’s spinning, my blood is heated, and my mind is full of thoughts that shouldn’t be there.
Just when I think the ordeal really is over, he thrusts his tongue out quickly and licks the corner of my mouth at the join of my lips. It’s such a surprising and overly intimate gesture that it completely floors me. At the same time, something about it also pisses me off to the point of distraction.
Of all the hideous things he’s done to me, that tiny, overly familiar gesture is the straw that breaks the camel’s back and pushes me over the edge. The way it—and pretty much every other interaction between us since the first one—is designed to show that he’s the one holding all the power, makes me see red. Suddenly, I can think of nothing else but evening up the score.
I reach out for him and note the confusion in his eyes when, rather than pushing him away, I grab at the waistband of his jeans, tearing at the button and zipper.
“What are you—” His body bucks and his piercing blue eyes grow wide as I grip his dick and balls hard. “Oh”
Oh is right. I squeeze harder as I drop to my knees on the cold marble floor. We’re still in the alcove, out of the main thoroughfare of the hall, but still very much in public. I seriously doubt that anybody is about to come strolling past, but stranger things have happened. Still, even if they do, I figure that the risk of being caught kneeling before Zeph doing what I’m about to do is far outweighed by what I have to gain.
“First one to come is a loser.”
As the light of understanding blooms in Zeph’s eyes, I suck his dick as far into my mouth as it will go, while at the same time applying more pressure at the base with the hand that’s still resting there. I smile around his cock as his body jolts again, and, if I’m not mistaken, his legs give out a little.
Good.
I have him right where I want him, even though I’m the one on my knees. I begin moving my mouth agonizingly slowly up and down his length, gently and carefully grazing him with my teeth—it’s enough to make my presence felt and remind him how vulnerable and prone he is right now, but not enough to hurt. When I get to the tip, I pull back then rear forward and suck hard again before starting the process in reverse, loosening my throat so that I can take him deep.
I move slowly and smoothly, knowing Zeph will find it both arousing and infuriatingly frustrating. For a guy for whom patience clearly isn’t a thing, I know this is killing him. Sure enough, at various points, he tries to up the ante, thrusting his hips forward in an attempt to speed things along.
Each time he does it, I still completely until he stops. His growls of frustration are music to my ears. It feels so good to be the one in control for once—the shift in the power balance between us is a welcome relief from continually being manipulated by him.
“Sonofabitch.” The words roll into one as he grits them out through clenched teeth, striking a nearby marble column in frustration at the same time. “Don’t fuck with me Bambi.” Of course, that’s exactly what I’m doing.
I love that I’m pissing him off so much; clearly he’s not used to having someone else in control in any given situation, nor is he familiar with the concept of being told, or in this case shown, no. The excruciatingly slow tease is probably all but killing him, and I’m here for that.
I up the pace gradually, and finally don’t resist or slow when Zeph reaches down and shoves his hand roughly into my hair before thrusting into me with full force. As his dick rams repeatedly against the back of my throat, I try my best not to gag, but don’t always manage it. He has plenty to work with.
As he picks up speed, so do I, bobbing my head back and forth frenetically. Zeph’s grunts and groans get faster and louder, and as we build to an inevitable crescendo, his dick throbs in my mouth. He’s close, and I have him exactly where I want him, just a few more deep thrusts, and he’s mi—
My thoughts are interrupted by the Zeph’s quick and rough movement, as he pulls away completely. What the actual…? I blink myopically as I struggle to understand what’s
going on, but when I see him hastily tucking his still rock-solid dick into his pants, it becomes clear.
The saying goes that you can’t play a player, and I guess Zeph just schooled me in how accurate that is. His smug smirk as he yanks up his zipper so hard, I’m surprised it doesn’t come off in his hand, confirms my suspicions. So does the way he jerks the hand still buried deep in my hair, fingers intertwined with my thick curls, to drag me to my feet.
Once I’m standing, he tugs on my hair again, forcing me to make eye contact, and when we do, his icy glare sends a chilling shiver down my spine.
“Stay the fuck out of my way, or be prepared to pay the price.” His voice is a robotic monotone and barely above a whisper, which is somehow more menacing than an angry roar.
He lets go of me as though I’m radioactive, causing me to stumble slightly farther back into the shadows of the alcove, and then, suddenly, he’s gone, leaving me drawing in quick shallow breaths, much like his own.
I’m at a loss as to what the hell just happened.
I have no idea what he’s playing at. A person must be basically in a coma not to see that there’s something between us. Chemistry. Attraction. Whatever label we put on it, it’s there, loud and clear, and we both gave into it on Saturday—not so surprising really given that there had been alcohol, and on Zeph’s part, God knows what else, involved.
Obviously, I understand my own regret, but I can’t for the life of me figure out the reason for his. From what I know of him—and most of the kids at St. J’s—sex isn’t exactly a big deal. Like drinking and drugs, it’s something to do to pass the time and take the edge off the seemingly endless boredom of their privileged lives, so what’s with the drama? Is it something to do with his crazy accusations about videos and blackmail?
I have no idea, but one thing I do know is that I have my own plans and my own agenda for being at St. J’s, and they don’t include being a spoiled and entitled rich boy’s plaything. I’m not going to let anything, or anyone—including Zeph Cross—derail me. Still, his harsh words run around my mind, slicing into me like a hot knife through butter, and stinging as though he slapped me in the face.
Every moment with him is a reminder of his might. Whether it’s his sheer physical dominance, or the rest—money, power, influence. Whatever it is, I’m never far from the fact that no matter what I do, he can crush me however he chooses. In all the ways he chooses. Despite my bravado in the way I stand up to him every time we butt heads, the truth of the dynamic between us scares the life out of me.
Chapter 21
Zeph
* * *
There’s Nowhere To Hide
As I stalk back to The Abyss, adrenaline rushes through my veins with the fire of a thousand suns, and despite the line I snorted right before my blow up with Blake, my mood takes a nosedive.
“What’s up?” Lennon asks, immediately picking up on the shift in my vibe.
“Nothing.” I throw myself down on the couch, sagging my shoulders into the cushions and intentionally avoiding eye contact with anyone.
“What’s with the face like a slapped ass, then?” Tyce asks with a chuckle, staring at me.
“Nothing,” I say again.
Thunder mostly plays electric guitar, but right now, he’s holding an acoustic and is gently strumming at it absentmindedly.
“Bullshit.” Tyce flips me the bird and fires up his vape. He’s pretty much never without it. He inhales long and hard, then exhales, creating a kaleidoscope of patterns in the smoke that floats around him. “You walked out of here in good spirits—good for you, anyway—and now you’ve come back in looking like the Devil just told you he’s fucking your mom, and you need to call him Daddy.”
Everyone laughs, and if I wasn't in such a foul mood, I probably would, too. As it is, I silently wish them all a slow and painful death, and convey my thoughts with my eyes.
Thunder starts strumming the guitar a little louder, and the music instantly gets on my last nerve. I want to hear something loud and angry, not whatever this emo shit is. He’s even humming along as he plays. I can’t stand another second of it.
“Will you cut the fucking suicidal bullshit?” I bark.
Thunder looks minorly bruised by my insult. “What the fuck do you want to hear then, oh pissed off one?”
Everyone stares at me expectantly, probably more because I never actually answered Tyce’s question than because they really care about my song choices.
“I don’t know.” I wave my hand through the air indifferently. “Not something fucking weepy, that’s all.” Everyone laughs with me this time, not at me. Clearly I’ve said what they’re all thinking.
“Screw you. It’s not weepy. Maybe you should do another line. You look a little... wound up.” Thunder stops playing, reaches out to the coffee table, and pushes the tray back in front of me, where there’s already a line ready to go.
“What are you, my motherfucking therapist? And since when was coke known to chill anyone out?” I leer, but take the tray anyway. Anything has to be better than the way I’m feeling right now.
“So, did Mrs. Castle, Mark II”—Mrs. Castle is the school’s librarian—“tell you to fuck off, or something?” Thunder drops fake-casually, as soon as I’m done with the tray.
I lean back on the couch, closing my eyes as the high kicks in. Thunder was right. I do feel better now. I ignore his question, listening to the guys talk.
“Why do you call her that?” Jagger probes. “She’s just about the furthest thing from a librarian, ever.”
“Right? But if there were librarians like that, I know where I’d be spending all my study periods instead of in our room jacking off and playing Mortal Conflict III,” Lennon joins in with his brother.
“I see her in the library sometimes,” Thunder drops, faux-casually. I don’t know what’s going on with him, but I do know that I don’t fucking like it.
“Since when are you in the damned library?” Jagger quips, and another round of simultaneous laughter ripples through the room.
“Since fuckable, hot-librarian-type girls hang out there. So, like a couple of weeks.”
“That where you were this afternoon?” I drop the words with fake calm.
Thunder hesitates a moment, reading the situation and me carefully before answering. Smart guy. Well, in some ways, anyhow. In others, not so much.
“Yeah.” He speaks slowly, seeming to measure the weight of the word before he says it.
“And…?” I prompt.
“And... she was in there. Blake, I mean.”
Behind the air of casualness, he’s being cagey and weird AF. Jesus Christ this whole thing with Blake is turning into a total fucking sausage-fest. First Tyce got hearts in his eyes over her, and now Thunder seems to have caught the bug. I groan and lean over, placing my elbows on my knees, and my head in my hands.
I keep quiet about the fact that when I was out in the hall with Blake, I noticed she smelled faintly of Thunder’s distinctive and exclusive aftershave. Not only do I want to avoid any mention of what just went down between the two of us, but I’m also testing whether he’s going to tell me the truth. I seriously doubt it, but something tells me that now isn’t the time to reveal my hand.
I file the information in my mind for future use.
“So…?” I want him to fill in the blanks with as little prompting from me as possible.
“So...I talked to her a little.” Interesting. I feign disinterest, just nod mildly. “She was doing some kind of research, but slammed her laptop closed quick time when she noticed me coming. From what I saw before she shut it, she was looking into some kind of legal issue. I got the impression from her face when she saw me that it’s something big that she doesn’t want anyone else to know. Well, that and the fact that she lied and told me it was shit she was researching for a class, when it clearly wasn’t. I guess it’s an angle we can work as part of the plan.” He sounds like he’d rather lick a dead dog’s decomposing dick.
I sit bolt upright in my seat. “And when were you going to tell me this, asshole?” My voice rumbles around the room, bringing on a heavy and loaded silence. All eyes are on me again. I shrug like they are making a fuss over nothing.
“I didn’t realize it was a thing.”
“It’s not a ‘thing,’ but next time don’t fucking leave me in the dark about shit like that. We have a plan for a reason, remember? And although I might be the only one who gives any kind of a fuck about following through with said plan, I need to know everything that happens between her and us, and I mean everything. Capisce?”
He shrugs just like I did moments earlier, and I just barely resist the urge to tear the skin from his face, then thrust his precious vintage acoustic up his ass. He resumes playing, completely unaware of how close he came to being impaled on the stupid fucking gat.
“Jesus Christ. Lighten up man. Seriously, why are you on such a fucking downer tonight, even after enough coke to amp up a herd of rhinos?” Tyce asks. “You should be doing backflips off the ceiling right now, or some shit.”
“Maybe it’s Thunder’s depressing music. Also, shut the fuck up, before I shut you up,” I fire back at Tyce, tossing him a whole bunch of shade. If looks could kill, I’d be writing his eulogy, for the second time tonight.
He smiles smugly and shoots me the finger again. “Fuck you.”
“You’re not my type. I don’t know about you, but dicks are really not my thing,” I say, and everyone laughs again except Tyce, who glares at me, and then at Thunder, though God knows why.
“Cash.”
We all look at Thunder like he’s lost his mind, except Tyce, who looks at him like he wants to grind glass into his face.
“What?” I don’t miss the bite in Tyce’s voice.
“The collective noun. It’s a cash of rhinos, not a herd. Just sayin.’”
Tyce rolls his eyes so hard I wouldn’t be surprised if he can see down his own neck. “And I’m just sayin’ that nobody gives a fuck, least of all me,” he spits back at Thunder. Thunder shrugs again, as though to say ‘suit yourself,’ and goes back to strumming in silence.
