Cruel Elite: A Dark High School Bully Romance (Princes of Ravenlake Academy Book 3)

by Nicole Fox

  She snorts and rolls her eyes, flipping her hair over her shoulder. “Please. Don’t flatter yourself.”

  “You’ve taken pictures for me before.”

  Her gaze snaps to mine at the mention of our past, and her cheeks heat. “That was different.”

  “I disagree.”

  I close in on her, and Penny shifts, pressing her back against the stall wall again.

  This time, I follow her, enclosing her body with mine, one hand on the wall, the other stroking the side of her blushing cheek.

  When I lean in close to whisper in her ear, I can see goosebumps rising across her chest.

  Penny is silent, perhaps for the first time in her life. Speechless.

  My goal with Penny is selfish. There’s no grand meaning or purpose.

  Simply put, I want her to feel the ache I feel.

  The hurt.

  I want her to see the good things in her life spoiled, stripped away, and disregarded.

  She took everything from me, and now, it’s time to take some things away from her.

  “Noah, what are you doing?”

  Her voice is quiet when she finally speaks. It’s not the nasally voice she uses with everyone else.

  It’s Penny, unfiltered.

  I smooth my palm over her breast and down her rib cage, squeezing her waist before I flick the button of her pants open.

  She gasps, and I shush her quietly, calmly.

  “You left class and took pictures for me,” I remind her as my palm skims over the hot skin of her stomach. “You waited for me when I asked, and you unlocked the bathroom door for me.”

  My hand dips under the delicate lace of her panties and slides into her womanly curls. Heat radiates from her center, warming my cool fingers.

  Penny stiffens and grabs my wrist. “You forced me.”

  “You were alone in the bathroom. You could’ve left. You could’ve gone back to class. You even could have turned your phone over to someone and charged me with harassment. Yet, here you are.”

  I still and pull back, looking down at her.

  “Tell me to stop,” I say, inching my fingers further down.

  Her hand is still around my wrist, squeezing tightly.

  “Tell me to leave, and I will. Say the words, and I’ll go. Or…” I grab her hand and peel it off of my wrist, letting it drop to her side. “Stay here and let me give you what we both know you want.”

  Penny blinks, her dark mascaraed lashes fanning quickly.

  Then she closes her eyes.

  She tips her head back against the stall, spreads her legs a bit more to make room for my fingers, and nods her head.

  As soon as I touch her, my fingers are soaked.

  Penny can lie, but her body can’t. She wants this.

  Desperately.

  I slide my fingers down the length of her lips a few times before I focus on her center. As soon as I do, Penny tenses.

  I curl my fingers up, flicking over her sensitive area again and again, watching as Penny’s mouth parts, feeling her exhale on my skin.

  “Is this enough or do you want more?” I ask, circling my fingers over her relentlessly. “Answer me.”

  Penny presses her lips together and squeezes her eyes closed even tighter.

  I grab her chin with my other hand, and her eyes pop open.

  “Answer me,” I repeat. “Do you want me inside of you?”

  I slide my fingers down, poised at her opening, waiting for her response.

  Penny licks her lips. “You’re already inside of me, Noah.”

  Before I can guess at what her true meaning is, Penny shifts her hips forward and takes the tips of my fingers into her.

  It’s my turn to be surprised.

  Penny grabs my hand and pulls it more firmly against her, fucking herself with my fingers.

  It is unreal. Mindblowingly hot.

  My cock twitches in my pants, and I watch in a daze as Penny rides my hand, seemingly with no help from me at all.

  She bucks and rolls her hips, slides herself to the tips of my fingers and then plunges them back inside of her. It is a wanton display of desire and pleasure.

  I realize all at once that I’m losing control here.

  So I press a forearm across her chest, pinning her to the stall, and reclaim the upper hand.

  I add a third finger, giving her a moment to stretch to size before I plunge in. All the while, my thumb is drawing circles over her clit.

  Penny begins to thrash, her jerking shaking the stalls and making the doors rattle.

  “Shit,” she moans, wrapping her long fingers around my elbow for stability. “Noah. Oh, God.”

  I feel her insides clench around my finger. A second later, her stomach clenches, too. Her mouth falls open, her eyes roll closed, and Penelope LaFevre rides the wave of pleasure I’ve sent her way.

  I forgot what it felt like to watch her come.

  To be the person responsible for making her feel good.

  Though, in this case, the pleasure will be temporary.

  I slide my fingers from her still-convulsing pussy and wipe them on the inside of her jeans. Penny doesn’t move. She stays leaned against the stall, eyes closed, breathing heavy.

  “Did I force you into that, too?” I taunt.

  Penny gives me a lazy smile and then lifts her middle finger in a crude gesture. “Fuck you.”

  “You wish.”

  She zips up her jeans and adjusts her shirt, setting herself right after all the wrong we just did.

  “No, I don’t.”

  Penny goes to move past me, but I block her with my leg and corner her against the stall.

  “Yes, you do. Do you want to know why?”

  “Please, Noah. Enlighten me. Tell me,” she says, rolling her eyes.

  I lean down close, my lips only an inch from hers. “Because you’re so fucked up, you’ll accept affection even if it isn’t love.”

  The color drains from her cheeks, and I know I’ve hit a sore spot. I tap on it again.

  “No one at home loves poor Penelope, so she takes it wherever she can get it. Even if it’s in a bathroom stall in the middle of the school day from a boy who fucking hates her guts.”

  Her lower lip trembles once, and then she stiffens it and shoves at my chest with both hands. It’s not hard enough to hurt or actually move me, but I play along.

  I’ve had my fun with Penny today.

  It’s time to let her go and think about what she’s done.

  “You’re an asshole, Noah.”

  “Maybe,” I shrug. “But you’ll keep coming back for more. Because you can’t help yourself.”

  Penny has her back to me, but I can see her face in the mirror. She looks exactly how I want her to look: dejected, cast aside, broken.

  As she should be.

  20

  Penny

  Fuck.

  Noah.

  Boone.

  For the last hour of the school day, I can feel what he did to me between my legs. My body is swollen with pleasure, and I’m sure everyone can tell what I’ve done.

  Everyone must know what I let Noah do to me.

  They don’t, of course.

  It’s only my shame talking.

  And it is shame. A deep, gnawing shame that eats away at what little self-worth I have left.

  Mostly because Noah was right about my parents.

  No one at home loves poor Penelope.

  I have daddy issues and mommy issues, and I throw myself at guys because I can. Because they don’t refuse me.

  Because, if only for a few minutes, they tell me I’m beautiful and worthy and wanted.

  Then, they slide out, leaving me behind, and the hole in my chest yawns open again.

  It used to be that Noah filled it.

  Now, he’s the one chiseling away at the edges, making it deeper.

  Mr. Thomas is mad about how long I was in the bathroom, but he doesn’t ask any questions.

  Anika and Jennifer sneer
at Haley Cochran as she passes us in the hallway, but I don’t even glance over.

  They ask what my problem is, but I blow them off.

  I hate myself far more than I could ever hate Haley Cochran, and I’m not in a mood to pretend otherwise.

  After snagging my bag from my locker, I head out to the senior parking lot to get my car, but I’m only halfway across the lot when a car pulls up in front of me, blocking my path.

  It takes me a second to realize it’s Momma.

  She rolls down the window. “Get in.”

  “What are you doing here?” I ask. “I drove to school. My car is here.”

  “We’ll come back for it. Get in,” she snaps. “We’re going to yoga.”

  I climb into the passenger seat. After the day I had, yoga might actually be nice. Usually, after an orgasm, I’m loose.

  But Noah left me feeling more tense than ever.

  “I don’t have my yoga clothes or mat. I didn’t know we were doing this.”

  My mom smiles over at me, her expression a bit too forced. “Don’t worry. I brought you some clothes.”

  I’m suspicious, but hopeful. Maybe this is just an impromptu mother-daughter yoga date.

  Maybe she’s trying to make amends.

  It doesn’t take long to realize how wrong that thought was.

  As soon as we step into the studio, I wince. The air is stifling and humid. It has to be at least a hundred degrees.

  “Hot yoga?”

  “To sweat out our toxins,” my mom says, handing me my bag and mat. “Go to the bathroom and change before class starts.”

  I head into the locker room at the back of the studio and unzip the bag to reveal my clothes.

  My winter clothes.

  The leggings my mom packed are fur-lined, and the shirt is long-sleeved with a thermal layer on the inside.

  If I wear either of these things into that hot box of a studio, I’ll drown in my own sweat.

  I open the door to find my mom and tell her what happened, but she’s already standing outside the door.

  “What is it, dear?” she asks, her voice sweet enough to give cavities. “Class is about to start.”

  “These clothes are too warm. They’re my winter leggings. I can’t wear them to hot yoga.”

  “At least this way, no one will mistake you for a stripper.” She smiles tightly and walks away.

  That’s when it becomes clear.

  This is a punishment.

  Days later, and my mom hasn’t let it go.

  I feel sick. Noah was even more right than he realized.

  Even after everything my mom has done and said, I had hope. I was so desperate for any kind of love, or even a small sign that she cared, that I fell for her trap.

  I expected something of her that she has never once shown me, and it’s all because I’m desperate.

  I’m desperate, and today, I’m far too tired to fight.

  Despondent, I bundle up in the cold-weather workout gear and head into the class.

  People in the room look at me like I’m crazy, including my mom.

  “Honey,” she says, loudly enough that the women around us can hear. “You’re going to pass out in that outfit. Why didn’t you bring shorts?”

  “I have a lot of toxins to sweat out.”

  She gives me a faux worried glance and then turns away as class starts. In the back of my mind, I wonder if you can sweat out toxic people, too. That would be handy.

  The class is even worse than I imagined.

  The exercise I usually find calming and centering is now suffocating. I feel like I’m being swallowed in heat.

  My head is foggy, my limbs feel swollen, and no matter how many times I blink, my vision feels blurred.

  Sweat pours down my forehead and the back of my head, drenching my ponytail. In a few positions, I swear I can even feel my saturated clothes squelch and drip sweat onto the floor.

  When the routine is finally over, I’m ready to run to the locker room and peel out of my clothes, but my mom stops me and points to Maryann on the other side of the room.

  I’ve been so focused on not passing out that I didn’t even notice Maryann.

  “Go apologize to her.”

  “Mom.” My voice sounds weak and raspy. “I don’t feel good. I don’t think—”

  “I think I’m going to take your change of clothes and leave you to walk home if you don’t do as I say.”

  If my legs didn’t feel like Jell-o, walking home wouldn’t be so bad. The temperature is in the mid-fifties and at least I’d be by myself.

  As it is, I can barely walk across the room.

  I need the ride.

  Maryann is rolling up her mat when I walk over on trembling knees. She looks up and smiles, concern flashing in her eyes. “Penelope! You and your mother aren’t usually at hot yoga, but we’re happy to have you.”

  I swallow down a rising lump in my throat. “It was fun. A different experience.”

  “I enjoy it. I can’t keep up with some of the vigorous exercises you young people do, so this is how I get a good sweat in.”

  Maryann dabs at her neck with a towel and seems to take a good look at my outfit for the first time.

  Her brow wrinkles. “I might suggest wearing a few less layers next time you come, though. I’m surprised you didn’t faint.”

  I open my mouth to respond, but no words come out.

  My tongue feels dry and swollen, and everything seems to turn on an axis.

  Faintly, I hear someone shout something, but the sound comes to me as if I’m underwater. I don’t even try to swim to the surface. I close my eyes and sink readily into darkness.

  I feel a hand on my face and open my eyes to see Noah standing over me.

  Not the Noah from the bathroom today.

  Young Noah.

  The Noah who held me while I cried and tenderly brushed tears from my face.

  He’s cradling me now, a hand cupping my cheek. “You’ll be okay, Penny.”

  I sink into his embrace, ignoring the dark part of my mind that warns this could be a trap.

  Even in my own head, I’m afraid of being tricked, fooled. I can’t even trust my own hallucinations.

  “Why are you here?” I ask.

  “Because you needed me. I’ll always be here for you.”

  His words echo ones he’s said before.

  Promises he has made that he hasn’t always kept.

  Though, I haven’t kept mine, either.

  Noah has been angry with me for years. Angry with me about things I can’t change or control, but still, he has been hurting, and I kept my distance.

  I never tried to reach out or make things right. I distanced myself from him, hoping he’d come back eventually.

  It was easier to blame him for our falling out and put the onus on him to fix it, but I could have fixed it.

  At least, I could have tried.

  Noah needed me, whether he’d ever admit it or not, and I stayed away. I broke my word.

  “How did you know I needed you?”

  Noah smiles, an expression I haven’t seen from him in years, and winks. “Because I made you a promise, Penn. I said I’d always be with you.”

  The words feel both comforting and ominous, and I’m too tired to parse them out.

  Instead, I close my eyes and sink into the hallucination, clinging to this version of Noah for as long as I can.

  Even if it isn’t real.

  21

  Noah

  I look around and realize I’m in the music room in the basement.

  It’s like I blacked out and woke up here.

  Like I went into autopilot, so my feet carried me down the stairs I never go down.

  Into the room I never go to.

  To pick up the guitar I never touch.

  My brain is still fixated on Penny. How she felt under my fingers, so soft and wet, and fuck, the way she sounded was incredible, those low whimpering moans and how she grinded herself against my hand
like if I pulled away she’d come undone completely…

  No.

  I need to remind myself of something.

  I’m not doing this for Penny’s pleasure. I’m not even doing it for my own pleasure.

  I’m ruining her life because she ruined mine. Eye for an eye. Simple as that.

  But does that mean I can’t enjoy it while it happens…?

  Whatever. Fuck the questions swirling in my head.

  I need a different kind of release.

  My body knew I needed to play music today. To burn off some of the nervous energy in my fingertips.

  When I pick up my guitar and start to play, it feels like the notes are being pulled out of me the way a magician pulls colored scarves out of their sleeves. An endless reservoir.

  I’m not sure how long I’m down there. All I hear, all I sense, all I feel, is the music.

  No Penny. No dad. Nothing.

  It’s bliss.

  I’m still playing when I hear a shifting by the door.

  I startle and look up to find my mom watching me.

  Her brown eyes are surprisingly clear. Clearer than I’ve seen in months, in fact.

  “I’m sorry,” she says. “I thought I heard you playing, and I wanted to see. It’s been so long.”

  I lean the guitar against the chair next to me and rest my elbows on my knees. “I’m out of practice.”

  “You’re wonderful. You always have been.” Mom winks at me and then her smile grows sad. “I only wish you hadn’t stopped playing for so long. I could tell you missed it.”

  I want to point out that it’s surprising she noticed much of anything through her near-constant haze of alcohol.

  But I bite my tongue. I don’t have any true desire to hurt my mom.

  She has been hurt enough.

  “I’ve missed a lot of things.”

  I blurt that confession before I can stop myself. It’s a weird feeling—saying something both vulnerable and true. Not my usual style.

  I cough, clear my throat, and add, “But it’s fine. I’m sure I’ll pick it up again in no time.”

  “I’m sure you will. You have always been so talented.”