by Mae Doyle
My cock aches to be plunged into some willing cunt, but there’s no way that that’s happening with Elle. Not that I’d want it to anyway, right? I mean, just because she looks like my dead ex doesn’t mean that she’s anything like her.
When Elle still doesn’t respond I stalk off to the bedroom. She can sleep on the fucking floor for all I care. I need rest so that I can think clearly tomorrow when I have to deal with Elle fucking Suttles.
Even as I shower and brush my teeth, I keep an ear out for movement from the rest of my suite. Nothing. Stupid girl is probably gonna sleep right there on the floor, and I don’t give a shit.
Chapter 6
Elle
I don’t know that I could move even if I tried. My feet feel frozen to the floor and my mouth is so dry that calling for help is out of the question. I was so tired when we got here that I stupidly left my bag with my phone in Clay’s car.
Not that he would have let me use it anyway. He’s a fucking control freak who probably would have smashed it if he’d known that I had it, and who would I call anyway.
My mom? She was probably just finishing off a bottle of rum with Ted and wouldn’t even answer my call. No, it wasn’t like I had anyone at Kennedy Academy who gave a shit about what happened to me.
I’m terrified to move, but I do look around. I’ve never seen a room like this for a kid before. He has a built-in suite in his parent’s house, which would blow my mind as it were, but it’s decked out with high-quality crap.
I love to cook, and the appliances in his kitchen are no joke. They’re also spotless, so either he doesn’t ever cook, or he has someone come in and clean for him. Honestly, either one could be true and neither would surprise me.
There’s the biggest flat screen TV I’ve ever seen hung on the wall across from the sofa and a door ahead of me that leads out onto a patio with a hot tub. For someone who doesn’t seem to get along with his parents, they sure keep him in style.
I know that I should be more afraid than I am right now, but I can hear the shower running and I think that I have a few minutes to myself. Looking around his impeccable suite should give me a bit more information about him, but it mostly leaves me with more questions.
There’s nothing here to make me think that he has any hobbies. There aren’t any pictures on the walls. Hell, if I didn’t know any better, I would think that I was in a hotel room, not the room of a high school boy.
High school asshole. The shower clicks off and I shiver as I think about what he did to me under the bleachers. What he could have done to me. He was in complete control, and he knew it. The worst part is that I liked it.
There’s not any way that can ever admit that to anyone else, and I know that even thinking about it puts me in danger of letting him do it again, but Clay is addictive. He’s already under my skin, already making me want him more than I’ve ever wanted anyone or anything in my life.
I should hate him for what he did to me, but part of me feels bad for him. It’s the same part of me that tried to fix my parent’s marriage when I was younger and the same part of me that always roots for the underdog in movies and books.
It’s probably the part of me that’s going to end up getting me killed.
My eyes land on the door leading outside and I cross the room as quickly and quietly as possible. I have no idea if I can get the door open, or where I would go if I did, but I have to get free from here. The door is locked and keyed from the inside, which means that no matter how hard I jiggle the handle, it doesn’t move.
Shit.
My heart pounding, I walk back to the sofa and stand there, trying to look natural. I don’t want him to think that I was trying to escape, even though it’s the obvious thing for me to try to do. I’d be stupid not to try.
Clay opens his bedroom door and steps out. He has a towel wrapped low around his waist and, for the first time, I can see all of the muscles roping his body. His hair is damp and sticking up and he grips the top of his towel tightly, holding it in place.
I can’t help but look at the perfect V leading down his body. Fuck, he’s hot.
He’s also a psychopath.
“You going to sleep in here?” He sounds nonchalant as he cocks his head towards his bedroom and I hate him for not caring what I do or where I sleep. It makes me angry that it doesn’t seem to matter to him where I end up as long as I can’t get away.
“No. I’m not coming anywhere near your bed.” The sofa is between us and I grip it with one hand, my fingers digging into the back. It’s a cool leather under my touch and I know instinctively that it’s not fake.
Nothing in here is fake. Except him, of course.
He shrugs. “I figured as much.” Leaning back into his room, he grabs an oversized shirt and throws it at me. “The sofa is comfortable, but if you get cold, you know where I am.”
What the hell?
I grab the shirt and hold it against my front, still keeping my eyes locked on him. He’s a damn animal, and he’s crazy if he thinks that I’m going to turn my back on for one minute.
“Your call, little kitten.” He shuts the door with a loud click and I’m left alone, the only sound the pounding of my heart.
I’m safe. I may not be in the morning when he gets up, but right now I have a little time to myself. I shed my cheerleading uniform quickly and pull on his shirt before curling up on the sofa.
My mind keeps jerking back to his hand caressing my tit. No, not caressing. Molesting. Teasing. Hurting.
There’s something fucked up about Clay Bryson, and I don’t want any part in it. All I have to do is make it through the night and everything will be okay.
I keep repeating that to myself as my mantra. If I keep that in my head then I won’t be able to think about how warm his hand was on my body, how he licked his lips when he looked at me. Goddammit, I won’t be able to think about how I felt myself getting wet at his touch.
Maybe I’m just as fucked up as he is.
Clay
A strange sound wakes me up and I roll over, my heart already pounding in my chest before I even sit up. My blankets are wrapped tight around my legs, pinning me in place, and I have to struggle with them for a few minutes before I’m able to get free.
For a moment, I feel like I’m back in my car after the accident. Struggling against the doors. Fighting to make my way out.
Shaking my head, I try to clear it.
What the fuck was that noise?
Nobody in my family comes into my suite. That was part of the deal after the accident and after I moved downstairs. Someone comes in a few times a week to clean for me, but I don’t see them, and they don’t see me.
That’s another part of the deal.
So who the hell is outside my door? It’s not until I’ve slipped on a pair of PJ pants and prepped myself to attack whoever is in my space that I remember Elle.
Stupid fucking Elle. She must be banging around in the kitchen and woke me up.
Counting to five to try to control my temper, I throw the door open and she jumps. Well, I think that she jumps, but then she drops to the floor in the kitchen, her arms over her head, a spatula clutched in her right hand.
I take in the sight for a moment before speaking. She’s still wearing the shirt I gave her last night, but that’s about it. It’s bunched up on her thigh and I can see the smooth line of her leg and ass.
Fuck, she’s hot. My cock twitches in my pants and I try to ignore it.
“What the hell are you doing in my kitchen?” She stands up and faces me, still gripping the spatula and now holding it between us like a weapon. Yeah, like she could defend herself against me if she really needed to.
I could crush her. I just may, when I’m done breaking her.
“I’m hungry so I’m making breakfast.” Still watching me and keeping the spatula between us, she backs up and picks up an empty coffee mug. “Coffee?”
“Laced with poison? Hard pass, kitten.” I walk up to her and grab the cup she�
��s been drinking out of, taking a long sip before setting it back down. “Yours tastes fine though. In fact, I think that I can taste a little bit of you on the mug.”
She frowns and she pauses for a moment. Her face grows pale for just a second before she looks angry.
“I didn’t poison you. Not because I don’t want to, but because I couldn’t find any.” She turns and pours herself another cup of coffee, taking a big gulp of it with her eyes locked on my face
“So you do hate me.” This is good. If I can make her hate me then I won’t feel any remorse over destroying her. The fact that sometimes she looks so much like Tiffany is almost too much for me to bear, but then I remember that Tiffany isn’t here and why she isn’t here, and I just get angry again.
Angry is good. Angry is safe.
Angry isn’t paying attention to how damn good she looks wearing nothing but my shirt.
“You’re making breakfast?” She’s pulled some eggs out of the fridge and found a frying pan but hasn’t started cooking yet. “I think that there’s bacon in there, too,” I say, pointing at the fridge.
“I’m vegetarian. And I was going to fry me some eggs, but you can make your own.”
Of course she’s vegetarian. Only a little bitch like her would be. She probably saw one too many Sarah McLachlan commercials and cries when she thinks about eating a baby cow.
What a stupid bitch.
“No, I think that I want you to fry me some bacon and eggs. I’m hungry. Winning big games makes me work up quite the appetite, so unless you have something better for me to eat, get to it.” I wink at her and wait while what I’ve just said sinks in.
Elle doesn’t move. Her face has flushed a little but she’s keeping her eyes locked on mine.
“I told you to make me something to eat, Elle. You’re a tasty little kitten, so unless you’re offering yourself to be on the menu, get to cooking. I wouldn’t mind getting a lick of you, though.”
I cross the kitchen to her before she has time to react and grab her hand with the spatula, forcing her to drop it when I squeeze. She cries out but doesn’t move, and I bring her hand up to my mouth.
“You going to make me some bacon, sweetheart?” Her fingers are inches from my lips. They’re trembling, but the rest of her is still. There’s a fire in her eyes that makes my cock hard. She doesn’t answer and I lick my lips, bringing her hand closer to my mouth.
Still she doesn’t move. This bitch thinks that she can call my bluff and get away with it.
Before she can pull back, I open my mouth and slide her finger in, sucking it. She gasps and then I bite it, hard.
Not hard enough to draw blood, and certainly not hard enough to break it, but hard enough to make her cry out and pull her hand back.
“What the fuck, Clay?” She holds her hand to her chest, squeezing her hurt finger. “You were going to bite my finger off!”
“Not a chance. I just wanted to see what you tasted like, and I’m sure that there’s another part of you that I would like to eat better. You willing to let me get a taste of that?”
Pinning her up against the counter, I run my fingers under the hem of her shirt. My shirt. She tries to step back but can’t move.
“Let me go. I’ll scream.”
I laugh, my face inches from hers, my fingers working her shirt up higher and higher. She has on lace panties and I trace a finger across them. “Scream all you want. Nobody will hear you. If they do, I guarantee that they won’t give a fuck. I’m already too far gone for them to care about.”
“What did you do?” She barely breathes out the question, but it pounds in my head.
It’s the same thing that Teague yelled at me that night.
“What did you do?! What did you do?!” He stood by my mangled car, watching while I fought with the door. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t get her door open. I couldn’t reach in to lift her face from the dash, and I couldn’t look away from the spiderweb she made when her forehead slammed into the window.
I could see Tiffany. I just couldn’t get to her.
I swear, I can hear his voice still.
Angrily, I push back from her, letting the shirt fall back down around her thighs. “Make me some fucking breakfast, Elle, or I swear to you, you won’t be wearing that shirt for much longer.”
She pauses and I think that she’s going to argue, but instead she turns on the stove and digs in the fridge for bacon.
I watch her, feeling the anger in me slowly ebb. I’m not ready for her to see the beast in me yet. I’m broken, and she’s starting to realize it, but the longer I stay in control, the longer I can play with her.
Stalking back to my room I change into jeans and a hoodie, then come out to eat. She stands and watches me, but she doesn’t say anything. Her arms are crosses across her chest and I pause for a moment, taking in how thin she is.
I notice that she doesn’t make herself anything to eat and I push my plate over to her when I’m halfway done. “You’re too skinny. Eat something.”
For a moment, I think that she’s going to do what I tell her to, but then she sweeps the plate off of the counter in one smooth motion and turns and dumps the entire thing in the trash. Then, without looking at me, she sits on the sofa, her knees hugged up to her chest.
I watch her for a moment and then leave to get Bethany. She can take the bitch home. I don’t want to see her right now.
Chapter 7
Elle
“Have a good rest of your weekend, Elle,” Bethany smirks at me as I climb out of her car. I’m still wearing Clay’s shirt. When he got her and told her to take me home, I didn’t want to waste time changing, and it wasn’t like showing up back home with a ripped cheerleading shirt was a good idea.
I needed to get out of there as quickly as possible.
Although, honestly, my home isn’t that much better.
I grabbed my bag from his car but I haven’t checked my phone for messages. Not like I’m expecting any, but it would be nice to think that someone was missing me.
The screen door slams shut behind me as I stomp into the house and I wince at the loud noise. Coming home from spending time at Clay’s is a huge culture shock. I feel like I just got back from vacation in a gorgeous hotel and I’ve been thrown back into the hell where I live.
Tears burn at the corners of my eyes but I blink them away. None of this is worth crying about, and tears won’t fix a damn thing I’m going through, anyway.
My mom tries to speak to me when I walk through the kitchen on the way to my room, but I ignore her. If it weren’t for her and fucking Ted, then I wouldn’t be in this position to begin with.
“Elle! What has gotten into you? And what are you wearing?” She follows me from the kitchen to the hall and then stares at me as I head up the stairs. Normally I’d be afraid that slamming my door would make it fall off its hinges, but today I don’t give a shit. I want her to know that I’m pissed.
The door shakes behind me but I can still hear her calling. “Get down here right now! What is your problem?”
She sounds tough, but I know that she’ll give up soon. The dark circles under her eyes tell me that she’s hungover, and the fact that Ted is still in bed are a good clue that they partied late into the early morning.
I remember when I was younger and she was always talking about how in love with my dad she was. That’s back when she was kinder. When I think that she cared about me. When she didn’t look at Ted with love and me with hate. That was before my dad died of cancer and before everything in my life went to shit.
He was the only one who really understood me, and after he was gone and it was just me and my mom…well, that’s when it all fell apart. That’s when she started going out more and more, bringing home strange men.
Not all of them were kind. Some of them looked too long, too hard. Some of them, like Ted, liked to come visit me in the night. There’s nothing that I can do to get away. I have to make it through the next few months.
&nbs
p; That’s when I started dreaming of getting the hell out of the house as soon as possible. Graduation is just a few months away and then I plan on being gone. I just don’t know where I’m going to go.
And I don’t know how I’m going to get there.
Throwing myself onto my bed, I grab my phone. I’d made a promise to myself that I wasn’t going to keep up with people from back home when we moved. I didn’t want my mom to be able to ask them where I’d gone after graduation, but now I’m regretting that decision.
I’ve never felt so alone.
Unlocking my phone, I debate opening Instagram, but I know that if I do, I’ll end up looking up my old friends. It’s easiest to stay disconnected without social media. After we moved, I made sure to delete everything and deactivate all of my social media accounts.
I miss my friends, but if I think too hard about them then I’ll just get sad. I can’t get sad right now – not with Clay in my life. I have to be focused if I’m going to figure out exactly why he hates me and what he wants from me.
I sit on the edge of my mattress and stare at the phone in my hand. It’s so tempting to just reactivate my old accounts and check in with people. Scoffing at myself, I almost toss the phone aside, but then I have a brilliant thought.
There’s nothing stopping me from making a new account so that I can spy on Clay and Bethany as well as some of the other assholes from school so I can try to figure out what’s going on.
Nobody can hide everything from social media, and if I can see what makes Clay tick then maybe I can avoid pissing him off.
I hesitate for a moment, a bad feeling in my stomach, but then I power through and set up a new account, KittenElle. The name makes me smile, even though it makes me think of Clay.
It’s almost a way for me to take some power back from him. If I can claim the stupid name that he keeps calling me then maybe I can take some power for myself.
