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

by Nicole Fox

  Finally, Noah stands up, stretches his arms over his head, the sleeves of his shirt sliding down to his forearms.

  Then, he sighs and nods to the door. “Let’s go.”

  “Back to the party?”

  If he wants to take me back to the party, I have to assume it isn’t for wholesome reasons. It would mean that everything I’ve just said has changed nothing for him.

  He won’t want to be seen with me all night and have us be talked about for days if it does nothing to benefit him.

  Noah shakes his head. “No. Somewhere else. Let’s go.”

  He opens the door and ushers me out, closing it behind us.

  People walk up as we move through the party, but Noah gives them a terse nod and keeps going, not slowing down at all.

  Amazingly, we make it through the entire house without talking to anyone.

  When we get to the car, he opens the passenger door before walking around to the driver’s side.

  The night is dark, especially out in the country, and I’m not sure where we’re going.

  I know I should be paying more attention. I can’t trust Noah.

  No matter how much I wish things were different, I don’t know what’s part of his plan and what isn’t.

  What’s a trap and what’s real.

  I have to keep my guard up.

  But the late hour, the dark, and the unexpected relief that comes from finally revealing even a tiny scrap of what life at home is like has me exhausted.

  I stare blankly out the window, watching the trees along the edge of the road blur into a single gray-green mass.

  Until the car slows, and I see a familiar rusted metal gate.

  The roads this far out of town are all gravel, so that wasn’t a giveaway.

  But I recognize the gate and the dark shape of the abandoned barn further down the hill. The trees, red and brown and full the last time we were here, are mostly bare now. Spiderweb-like branches tangle across the midnight sky.

  “Why are we here?”

  Noah turns off the car. “It’s the only place I could think to come.”

  He wants to toy with my emotions. He wants to take the things I love, the things I hold precious, and pervert them.

  That’s his goal. He’s made that clear since the night of the bonfire.

  Still, when Noah gets out of the car, I follow him.

  I pick over the dry grass and rocks, and I run my finger along the flaking metal of the gate, moonlight illuminating a shower of rust as it slams closed behind us.

  Noah walks ahead of me, leading the way. I notice there is a groove worn into the grass, as though feet have tread this path many times before.

  I wonder if other people come out here, too.

  Then, I realize the path leads directly to the tree where I found Noah that day two years ago.

  Does he still come out here?

  I haven’t been back in two years because the thought of coming here alone, of being here with Noah, was depressing.

  It was “our spot,” not mine.

  I didn’t want to sit in the grass and contemplate what life could be like if he didn’t hate me.

  But if Noah has been coming here without me, what does that mean?

  Noah sits down against the base of a tree, his knees folded in front of him, and sighs.

  “What are we doing here?” I ask.

  He closes his eyes. “Stop asking so many questions.”

  “Stop dodging so many questions.”

  He opens his eyes and lolls his head towards me lazily. “Would you rather I take you home?”

  I think about home, my mom waiting up for me, no doubt, waiting for a recap of the evening. It’s almost sick how concerned she is with my social standing.

  After she stole Mrs. Boone’s husband, word spread that she couldn’t be trusted.

  No one wanted her to come to their home and be around their husband.

  No one wanted to associate with a husband thief. A homewrecker.

  She’s been clawing her way back up the social ladder ever since, dragging me along with her.

  Whether I like it or not.

  “No,” I tell him. “I don’t.”

  “That’s what I thought,” Noah answers. “So be quiet.”

  He closes his eyes again and rests his head against the tree trunk, a smirk on his face—not quite a smile, I still haven’t seen one of those—and it’s so close to the old Noah, to the playful Noah I used to know that it takes my breath away.

  Then, I slap him.

  Just in the arm and not that hard.

  But he still lunges from his resting position right into me, knocking me back in the dirt. His eyes are dancing with starlight and darkness.

  “What the hell was that for?”

  “For telling me to be quiet.” I squirm, but his hold on my arms is iron, and I can’t break free. “Get off of me.”

  He raises a brow and pins my legs down with his knees. “Apologize first.”

  “Ha! Make me.”

  Noah looks down at me, and I realize how close we are. Chest to chest, his legs over mine, our breath fogging up ever so slightly between us.

  The night is chilly, but I feel heat moving over my skin, claiming me inch by inch.

  Then he’s kissing me.

  It’s happening before I can stop him or even realize what’s going on.

  When I do realize what’s going on, I curl my hand around the back of his head and hold him closer.

  His body is heavy over mine, but it feels like a warm blanket, like a favorite sweater that is well worn and broken in. It feels natural. Comfortable.

  It’s not lost on me that we are reliving our past, clawing at each other on the ground beneath trees that have seen every inch of us over the years.

  It feels like old times.

  Like, for a few minutes, we can forget about everything that has happened with our families and just be “us” again.

  That’s what I thought last time, though, and Noah had other ideas.

  But I don’t want this to end.

  Noah moans against my mouth, his hand slipping under my shirt, his fingers sliding over my ribs.

  I want him to touch every part of me. Now.

  The memory of Tank’s voice rings in my ear. Women can’t help but fall a little bit in love with whoever they fuck.

  What if I’m already in love with Noah?

  Does that make this more or less responsible?

  Does it change anything?

  I know this probably means nothing to Noah. Somewhere down the line, sleeping with him now is going to bite me later. He’s going to make me regret it. Still, that doesn’t stop me from wanting it.

  And it doesn’t have to change my plans.

  I know what’s at stake: My little sister.

  Our little sister.

  I have to be able to turn my back on Noah later, betray him to the Hell Princes, and walk away without a second thought.

  Can I really do that?

  “Penn.” Noah whispers my name and slides down my body at the same time he pushes my shirt up. He kisses his way up my stomach while his hands undo my bra.

  Everything is happening so fast—too fast.

  I don’t have any time to think before his mouth is over my nipple, his tongue lashing against me.

  I moan and arch my back. Giving him more. Asking for more.

  Whatever happens later, it will be worth it. Of that I’m sure.

  I grab Noah’s face and bring him back to mine, sucking on his lower lip and slipping my tongue into his mouth.

  I’ve kissed my fair share of high school boys and it can go wrong very quickly.

  Not now. With Noah, it’s sensual, tantalizing. He strokes the inside of my mouth and my tongue.

  He tastes and teases, but he doesn’t try to choke me with it.

  He’s practiced, and I wish I knew who he’d slept with over the years.

  I pull away and look up at him. His eyes open, bleary. “What?�
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  “Who have you slept with?”

  His face screws up. “Are you serious?”

  “I want to know. Why does no one talk about it?” Then a thought occurs to me. “Have you slept with someone since…?”

  “God, yes,” he laughs. “Do I look like a monk to you?”

  Considering I can feel his hard length pressed against my inner thigh, the answer to that would be a firm, considerably large No.

  “I worked hard to be discrete.”

  “Why?”

  He sighs and rests his forehead on my shoulder, clearly frustrated. “Why are we talking about this now?”

  I gently bite at the thick muscle of his shoulder and up his neck, the bites turning to kisses before I reach his ear and suck the lobe into my mouth.

  “Because you’re really good at this, and I plan to send thank you letters to the girls who helped you practice.”

  Noah lifts up onto his arms, his mouth screwed up in a twist, suspicious of my motives.

  I can’t deny how beautiful he is.

  Or how much I love this boy.

  How much I’ve always loved him.

  I also can’t deny how much trouble I’m in.

  When he makes me regret this moment later, it’s going to hurt.

  “The girls I fucked were…average. It was good for releasing some steam, but they lacked some desirable qualities.”

  “Like?”

  His eyes rake over my face, and I imagine him saying, “they weren’t you.” Instead, he shakes his head. “It hardly matters.”

  That’s all the answer I’m going to get, it seems.

  So I just let it go.

  For better or worse, the past is the past.

  Living in the present is the only option we have.

  I arch towards him and press my lips to the base of his throat, trailing kisses up the length of his neck and over his jaw.

  He cradles my head and lets his fingers play in my hair. He kisses my nose, my jaw, my eyelids. His touch is tender and sweet.

  I savor every single second.

  Eventually, his hands slide between us, fumbling with the button of my jeans.

  I lift my hips, helping me slide the material down my legs, his fingers trailing fire along the sensitive skin of my inner thighs.

  He kisses just above my knees and then moves higher, nipping his way towards my panties. When he finally reaches his destination, his breath tickling my center, I gasp and grab a handful of his hair.

  Noah’s kissing skills are just as good down there. He sucks on me, flicking his tongue torturously over my most sensitive spot.

  I breathe his name, squirming from the sensation, desperate for more.

  And Noah delivers.

  Without pause, he adds a finger to the torture, slipping one and then another into my wetness.

  My body is ready.

  More than ready.

  He adds a third finger that almost undoes me.

  I seize his wrist to stop him from continuing. I never want this feeling to stop, but I also can’t handle anymore.

  I need him.

  Now.

  I tug on his shirt collar, growing more aggressive when he ignores me, instead thrusting his fingers into me faster.

  “Noah,” I moan. “I’m going to come. Wait. I want—”

  It doesn’t matter what I want. My body wants release more.

  Noah pushes three fingers into me and sucks on my center, and I can’t hold back anymore. The wave that has been swelling inside of me finally crests and washes over me, drowning me in warmth and pleasure.

  My stomach contracts, my legs clench, and the hands that were trying to pull Noah away only a second ago turn vice-like as I hold him in place, grinding my hips against him.

  When I’m done, the last waves of pleasure ebbing away, I expect to be spent.

  But I want him even more than I did.

  I want to make Noah shake and quiver.

  I want him to beg me to stop and to keep going and for more and for none of it to ever be enough.

  When I grab his collar next, there isn’t an option. He moves over my body, and I pull his shirt over his head, surprised it doesn’t rip from the force.

  I drag my fingers down his trim, muscled chest. I can feel his heart hammering in his chest.

  Before I even get to his pants, Noah undoes them for me and kicks them off.

  And before I can slide my hand in his boxers, he grabs my hand and wraps it around his length, hissing like I’ve burnt him.

  “You make me so hard,” he whispers against my ear, thrusting gently into my hand. “All the time. Even when you aren’t trying.”

  It’s not an admission of love or even like, but it is attraction.

  That’s something, right?

  For me, for now… it’s enough.

  “I want you inside of me,” I say in response.

  Noah groans and kisses my neck before he spins around and grabs his jeans, pulling the condom from his wallet.

  I push Noah to the grass, straddle his hips, and slide onto him with one thrust. Our bodies connect, him buried to the hilt, me as full as I can imagine.

  It feels right.

  My hands are flat on his chest. Noah reaches up and palms my breasts, his fingers stroking my nipples and sliding down my body to grip my waist.

  He alternates rocking me against him with lifting me up so I slide to the very edge of him before pulling me back down.

  Neither of us close our eyes.

  I admire him, the way his abs tense with each thrust and the way he bites his lip when I roll my hips over him.

  I notice the way the moonlight turns our skin blue and silvery, and the way he keeps glancing up at my face, making eye contact with me to be sure I’m enjoying myself.

  As if there was any doubt.

  Noah is ruining me, just like he promised.

  Truth is, he ruined me a long time ago.

  The first time we ever did this.

  I’ve been chasing that high ever since.

  I arch my back and rest my hands on his thighs. Noah sits up, wrapping his arm around my lower back, and we find a new toe-curling rhythm.

  “Fuck, Penn,” he grits out, pumping into me harder. “I’m close.”

  It’s a warning, but I don’t take it.

  I’ve already had my turn.

  Now it’s his.

  I ride him harder, faster, desperate to see him fall apart beneath me.

  Aching to see the way his brows will draw together and his mouth will open because of me, because of what I’m doing to him.

  Then, I feel Noah’s hand slide from my waist to my center.

  His thumb brushes over me. I’m so sensitive I have to bite back a cry.

  “There’s no one to hear us,” Noah grunts, circling his thumb faster. “Scream, baby.”

  I hold it in as long as I can, trying to make him come before I do, but there’s too much.

  “Noah, Noah,” I moan, grinding on him and against his thumb. “I can’t—I can’t—”

  “Then don’t,” he breathes. “Come.”

  And I do.

  Harder than I’ve ever come before.

  My body clenches around him so hard I’m afraid it might hurt, but Noah groans.

  “So good.”

  I feel him thrust once more and then he’s gone.

  We still, our bodies moving only enough to ride out the remainder of our orgasms, our thrusts growing more and more shallow until I collapse forward on his chest and Noah wraps his arm around my back, kissing my temple.

  The air should be cold, but I don’t feel it.

  I don’t feel anything.

  It’s like we are encased in a bubble that shields us from the world and, perhaps, our troubles.

  Because while we’re lying together, my mind is blissfully empty, blank.

  On the drive home, the bubble bursts.

  31

  Penny

  The troubles I set aside to enjoy my
mind-blowing orgasm with Noah have returned like a dark cloud over my sunny demeanor.

  I should tell Noah about the Hell Princes.

  There’s every chance that what we just did, what we shared, will mean nothing to Noah in the long run.

  But it meant something to me.

  I care about Noah, and if being with him has taught me anything, it’s that I don’t want him to hurt.

  I want him to feel good.

  Preferably, I’d like to be the person to make him feel good, but I’m not an idealist. I know the chips may not fall in our favor.

  Regardless, I don’t want him to be in pain.

  And Tank and his guys want to bring him pain.

  I can’t let that happen.

  “Do you want any gum?” Noah reaches across the car and pops open the glove compartment just as we pass under a streetlight. The yellow light fills the car and reflects off of what looks like a gun.

  Noah shuffles through the compartment for a few seconds until he returns with a pack of cinnamon-flavored gum.

  I shake my head. I’m not ready to lose the taste of him in my mouth.

  He pops a piece in his mouth and closes the glove box.

  It’s so normal. So natural.

  Driving around, chewing gum, being together.

  It feels so right that it’s almost hard for me to remember there were years where we didn’t do this.

  Where we didn’t even talk to one another.

  We’ll go back to that if I do what the Hell Princes say.

  If I lure Noah into their trap, he’ll never forgive me.

  I’m so lost in my own head that I don’t realize we are in my neighborhood until Noah shifts into park in my driveway.

  The lights inside are off. Even the porch light is dark. My mom must have been hoping I wouldn’t come home tonight.

  Unlike most moms who actually care about their teenage daughter’s wellbeing, she’d rather hear I fucked a future millionaire.

  I’m going to tell her the night was a bust. She doesn’t need to know a thing about Noah.

  “Fun night.” I can’t tell if Noah is being sarcastic.

  No matter if he is or isn’t, it’s not exactly the way I’d choose to describe what happened.

  I look over at him, trace the profile of his face against the ambient light coming through the window, and consider my options, which feel achingly few.

  Then, a light flicks on behind him.