by Katie May
The scene is so erotic, so enticing, that I find my hand drifting to my own crotch without conscious thought. Through the material of my jeans, I begin to rub myself. I wish desperately I was brave enough to place a finger in my pussy. I imagine it’s already soaking wet.
But then that image changes, and instead of my finger, it’s Lucas’s cock. I envision it impaling me as his slender fingers tweak at my breasts.
The vision transforms a third time, and instead of Lucas sheathing his length into me, he’s pushing it inside Karsyn’s ass. The quarterback groans, muscles clenching, as Lucas enters him inch by inch. And then Cassian’s there, his thick cock on display as he fists Karsyn’s hair, bringing the other man’s lips to his twitching dick. As Lucas fucks Karsyn’s ass, Cassian fucks his mouth. Behind Cassian, Elias places his lubed cock into the crease of the dark man’s ass, his hands flicking Cassian’s nipples. And then there’s me, sitting over them all, naked. Like a ruler supervising her court. I’m their fucking queen.
As if my mental imagery wishes to reflect that, all of a sudden, all four men are surrounding me. Cassian kisses one breast, and Karsyn sucks my other nipple. Elias pulls my lips into a heated, passionate kiss, while Lucas’s pierced cock lines up with my entrance…
Oh. My. God.
My orgasm explodes through me, soaking my jeans and panties, as I squeeze my eyelids shut.
That image…
I force my eyes open, only to meet a pair of blue ones down below. I watch in rapt fascination as Lucas’s cock twitches once, twice, three times before shooting cum. His eyes never leave mine as a low, predatory groan leaves his mouth.
What the hell did I just do?
Feeling flustered and embarrassed, I run as fast as I can up the remainder of the staircase.
I’ll repeat—what the fucking hell did I just do?
Chapter 24
Thank fuck I always have a change of clothes to wear after cheerleading practice everyday. Because walking around in cream de pants? Not my cup of tea.
There’s not much I can do about my panties, though, so I choose to go without them. I toss the wadded up underwear into the bottom of my backpack, remove my jeans, and then slip into a new pair. This one is a shade or two lighter than the previous pants I wore, so I can only pray no one paid me enough attention to notice.
In the bathroom mirror, I purse my lips and stare at myself intently. My cheeks are flushed, the red noticeable even from a distance, and my white hair is unruly from how many times I ran my hand through it. There’s not much I can do about the cheeks, but I did bring a brush.
Quickly, I sort through the tangles until it once more hangs around my shoulders loosely.
But despite my immaculate physical appearance, my insides are in tangles. Thousands and thousands of intricate webs, pulling and tugging at the organs like iron chains.
I hate myself.
How can I not?
I fucking came envisioning the Devils. It’s dark and sinful and so damn disgusting, I feel sick just thinking about it. How weak must I be for that to happen? How pathetic? The familiar tendrils of self-loathing circle around me before grasping both wrists and pulling tight, extending me like some fucked up sacrifice on a stone altar.
The thing that pisses me off the most? It’s the fact that I can’t stop thinking about it. Whenever I close my eyes, I see Lucas’s hand on his cock, pumping. I see his face contorted into a mask of euphoria. I see those curled lashes of his, lashes capable of making most girls jealous, flutter against his cheeks as sticky cum squirts from his tip.
Arousal once more settles in my core, percolating like molten lava, and I rub my thighs together like some sort of hussy.
No, Peony! Stop!
Taking a deep breath and reminding myself of all the reasons why I hate the Devils, I swing my backpack over my shoulder and head into the hallway. I’m already twenty minutes late for Orchestra, but I doubt Mr. Tucker will reprimand me. I’ll just lie and say I got lost or something; despite this already being my second week, he’ll believe me.
It’s only when I’m passing a hallway of practice rooms do I hear the voices.
“I said no.” I’d recognize that low, husky timbre anywhere. Cassian. But even in middle school, when he hated me almost as much as I hated him, I’ve never heard such rage before. It changes his sultry voice to something dark and almost unrecognizable.
“Honey,” a second voice coos, and my footsteps falter when I realize it belongs to Mrs. Town. Anger momentarily darkens my sight, almost like a tarp being tossed haphazardly over my head, and my hands clench into fists. “Come here.”
Against my better judgment, I tiptoe towards the door. Unlike the first practice room I found him in, this one has a small, rectangular window facing the hall. Risky, but I figure they believe no one would be coming this direction at this time in the hour.
The black rage transitions into something red-hot when I see Cassian standing against the wall, scowling, and Mrs. Town cupping his junk through his pants.
“I don’t want to do this anymore.” He attempts to step away from her, but she only tightens her grip on his cock. Pain flashes across his face, one he covers up by gritting his teeth.
“Come on. I’ll suck you.” Without waiting for him to respond, she unbuttons the top of her shirt, pushing her bra cups down until her massive breasts spring free. They’re definitely fake, probably the size of a modest watermelon. She begins to pluck at her nipples as she gives Cassian what she probably thinks is a seductive look. Honestly? It makes her appear slightly constipated.
As she falls on her knees before him, those massive breasts of hers bounce in a way that’s designed to draw the eye. Her manicured hands run up Cassian’s thighs until they reach his zipper.
He’s…trembling. Not in desire as I originally suspected. Not even completely in anger. It’s fear.
Horror rushes through my veins as I take in the image before me with new eyes.
When Mrs. Town removes Cassian’s cock from his jeans, that horror turns into anger, so thick and pronounced, I’m choking on it. My magic sparks before I can contain it, and then it floods from my pores in a sudden surge of power.
Mrs. Town’s screech is music to my ears, and all I can do is grin as she’s suddenly propelled backwards by some unseen force.
Cassian looks alarmed, but does not lift a hand to help the bare-chested teacher back up.
“I think I was electrocuted,” Mrs. Town breathes in horror, staring up at the fluorescent light above.
“Oh, really?” Cassian’s tone makes it sound like he couldn’t give a damn anyway. Slowly, he tucks his flaccid dick back into his jeans and levels her with a look capable of curdling milk.
Mrs. Town staggers to her feet, appearing flustered, and says something too low for me to hear. Without another word, she pulls her bra back into place, rebuttons her shirt, and then sashays towards the door, red hair swaying.
I have just enough thought to duck to the side, using the shadows as coverage, before she glides past me.
My breathing is choppy as I suck in lungfuls of air, grateful I wasn’t caught. But my relief is short lived when Cassian’s dry voice queries, “How long have you been here?”
He leans against the opened door of the music room, attempting to adopt a nonchalant, “cool guy” expression. But I can see the tightening of his eyes, the clenching of his jaw, the dimness in his normally radiant eyes.
There’s no use lying. I have no doubt he saw me through the window.
“A bit,” I say vaguely, backing up a step. He immediately counters my retreat with two quick strides of his own.
“What exactly did you see?” he demands in a dangerous tone.
I hold my chin up stubbornly, refusing to cow beneath his dark, penetrating gaze.
“What she did was assault,” I settle on at last, and I hear his teeth physically grind together as he glares down at me.
“You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.�
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“I know what I saw,” I counter. He’s trying to intimidate me, trying to use his massive size in order to get me to cower, but I simply straighten my shoulders and meet his gaze dead-on. I always feel as if I’m walking on eggshells around this devilishly handsome man, as if every word I say only serves to poke the beast.
But I can’t ever seem to stop myself.
“So you saw me begging for it?” he asks darkly, continuing to use his impressive height to tower over me and make me feel small. I think out of all the Devils, he’s the biggest. It’s surprising, considering Karsyn is the football player and Elias is known for his kickboxing. But Cassian? He’s massive. “You saw me begging for my teacher to suck my cock?”
There’s a threat in his words, an underlying warning to “back the fuck off,” but I choose not to heed it.
“I saw you shaking,” I confess. “I saw that sliver of fear in your eye as you told her no.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about, baby,” he purrs, trailing a finger down my cheek. He stands close enough for me to feel the hard planes of his chest against my delicate curves. “I wanted that bitch to fuck me.”
“Cassian…”
“Besides,” he shrugs his broad shoulders, “it’s a mutually beneficial arrangement. She gets my monster cock, and I pass Lit. A win-win. And I need to pass my English class this year.”
“It’s assault,” I stress again, feeling my heart rise in my throat until it becomes lodged there. Ba-dum. Ba-dum. Ba-dum.
“Not if I wanted it,” he counters, smirking arrogantly back at me.
“But you didn’t.” I can feel tears well in my eyes, and Cassian appears momentarily taken aback. He drops his finger from my face as if my skin burned him. “Cassian, I understand.”
His dark brows furrow.
“Huh?”
“And I know you think that you can’t do anything, that no one will believe you, that it’s your fault…” My voice hitches, and whatever Cassian sees in my expression causes his own to darken exponentially.
“Who hurt you?” he rages, baring his teeth. “Who the fuck hurt you?”
You did, I yearn to say, but I know that’s not what he’s asking.
“It doesn’t matter.”
“Yes, it fucking does!” he bellows, and I cast a glance in both directions, worried someone will overhear. Fortunately, this section of the school is separated from the academic classes on the lower level. And most of the music classes are a few halls down. Cassian, seeming to realize where my thoughts have gone, takes a calming breath, attempting to moderate his volume. I don’t think it works, though, when I see the pure venom spewing from his eyes. “Who was it, baby?”
“I understand, Cassian,” I say instead, willing him with my eyes to…to what? Stop his illicit affair with our teacher? Turn her in to the authorities or even just the principal?
“But you don’t, baby. You really don’t.” He squeezes his eyelids shut, and before I can even respond, he smashes his fist into the wall. It does nothing to cement, but his fingers come away bruised and bloody.
“Fucking hell!”
“If I fail her class, I don’t get my scholarship,” he whispers, and I remember from my research that he got accepted into Juilliard for guitar. “And if I don’t fuck her, I don’t get my A. So no, you don’t understand.”
I understand more than you can possibly believe.
Cassian’s face closes down when he sees the rebuttal on my face. With an enraged roar, he kicks at the nearest wall before stomping away, cradling his injured hand to his chest. I watch him go, feeling my heart shatter into thousands of pieces, all of them smaller than the sprinkles you would put on ice cream.
What Cassian is doing destroys something inside of you. Destroys a tiny portion of your soul you can never get back.
And if anyone is going to destroy Cassian, it’s going to me, not that bitch.
Trembling slightly, I pull my phone out of my pocket and swipe to the video of Mrs. Town and Cassian on that first day. And then, I head towards the principal’s office.
Cassian might never forgive me for what I’m about to do, but I didn’t come here wanting his friendship.
I came here to destroy him.
But maybe this time, my method of destroying him might actually save his soul.
Chapter 25
I have a date.
Tonight.
With Emmett.
My heart gives a girly little scream, throwing confetti in the air and writing his name and mine repeatedly in my internal notebook. But then that confetti turns into bouts of blood and our names contort, transforming into some demonic summoning ritual.
And though I should be focusing on Emmett, and only on Emmett, my mind repeatedly drifts back to my confrontation with Cassian, followed by my trip to the principal’s office where I showed him the video.
My hands are slick with sweat as I think about what I did. He’s going to hate me. I know that. I accepted that. But…
“Peony?” Nana’s head appears at the top of the ladder, her vibrant violet hair visible in the dim light. “Mariabella is here.”
“I’ll be right down,” I say as I peruse my selection of dresses for the hundredth time. Do I go casual? Flirty? Fun? According to Emmett, after dinner, we’re heading to a party at Jessica Simmon’s house. What would someone wear to a house party?
When Nana doesn’t immediately retreat, I turn towards her with an eyebrow raised. “Yeah?”
“Why didn’t you tell me you’re going on a date?” she demands, sounding genuinely upset.
“Because it just happened today.” I grab a few different outfits at random, slinging them over my arms, before grabbing my makeup case and curling iron out of my trunk. The rest of my supplies are already in the bathroom.
“It’s with that one boy, isn’t it?” Nana gushes as I gesture for her to climb down the ladder. I follow after her, dropping my clothes and items unceremoniously onto the ground so I don’t need to carry them as I descend.
“What boy?” I query once my feet land on the wooden flooring.
“The one with the purple highlights.” Nana grins mischievously. “I see the way he looks at you, Peony. I always knew it was a matter of time.”
I swear my body’s internal temperature ratchets up a billion degrees. I can feel flames fan my cheeks as I bend down and grab my discarded items.
“No,” I protest. “It’s not him.”
“Oh.” Nana frowns. “Well, I guess…have fun tonight?” Her words turn into a question, and I just barely resist the urge to roll my eyes. “And don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”
“That’s a pretty short list,” I tease as I move down the hall and towards the foyer where I see Mariabella’s sheet of golden hair. “I might need a microscope to read it.”
“Oh, ha. Ha.” Nana swats my arm playfully. “You can be such a brat sometimes, you know that?”
“And you’re a wrinkled, old hag,” I retort, and she gasps, placing both her hands over her cheeks.
“I am no such thing!”
Mariabella turns towards us when we enter, a wide smile unfurling on her face.
“Peony!” She races forward and grabs me in a tight hug, before releasing me and turning towards Nana respectfully. “You must be Mrs. Simone.”
“Please, call me Cardinal.” Nana extends a hand, but Mariabella ignores it and pulls the older woman into a hug.
“It’s so good to meet you!” she exclaims, and Nana chuckles good-naturedly, patting my friend on the back. To me, she adds, “When is your date going to be here?”
I glance at the archaic grandfather clock with vines and various types of flowers carved into its woodworking. “About an hour.” I grab Mariabella’s hand and pull her towards my bathroom. “So let’s make me look beautiful.”
Mariabella laughs lightly. “You’re always beautiful, silly. But I am dying to do your hair.”
We enter the first-floor bathroom, and immed
iately, Mariabella instructs me to straddle the toilet.
“Hair first,” she says, plugging my curling iron in and grabbing my brush. She begins to slowly, leisurely, brush through my white hair, and my eyes squeeze shut with how good it feels. I’m one of those people who loves it when someone plays with their hair.
Mariabella curls the long strands before French braiding the front and connecting it in an intricate loop at the back of my scalp, joining the long tresses cascading past my shoulders.
“Damn,” Mariabella drawls out as I stare at my reflection in the mirror. “I did good.” She pats the bathroom counter as she unzips my makeup bag, pulling items out at random. “Now sit.” Her face scrunches together when she pulls out a pallet of blush that has seen better days. It’s clumpy in some places but as loose as sand in others. “When was the last time you wore this makeup?”
“Um…” I shrug helplessly. I rarely, if ever, put on makeup. Maybe some mascara and blush here and there, but never anything overly fancy.
She clicks her tongue as she pulls out my eyeliner, moving to stand between my legs.
“Now close your eyes,” she instructs, her eyes flicking to my lips before moving to my lipstick collection. She makes another face at my limited shades, releasing a heavy sigh. “We don’t have a lot to work with her.”
When Mariabella finally declares she’s done, we both step back to admire me in the mirror. I have to admit she did a great job of accentuating my already prominent features. The dark gold, sparkly eyeshadow heightens the amber color of my eyes. She contoured my cheekbones and applied a light layer of blush, the combination looking surprisingly natural. Light pink lipstick was applied to my lips, completing the look.
“You’re a fairy godmother,” I breathe, a wide grin splitting my face in two. She makes a nonsensical noise in the back of her throat.
