I’m already shaking my head, tears dancing behind my eyes. “He gave up that right two years ago, Karm. He doesn’t get a say in who I want to fuck. Not now.” I choke on a sob, wishing I was anyone else right now. “Not when he left, and I had to fight to be who I am right now. He doesn’t get that right.”
“Just because you don’t think he deserves it doesn’t mean he’s not taking it.” She regards me with a sad expression.
This is bullshit.
Two years.
Two fucking years of silence, and he thinks he can come in here and just order people to leave me alone. As if they will fall right in line just because he’s gracing the halls of Silver Creek again, and this time, his posse is beside him.
Fuck that.
This shit means war.
CHAPTER 9
First day of school and I’m already dropping the ball. I can’t think; everything around me is fuzzing into the background, and my focal point is not firmly on the teacher as it should be. The only thing I can focus on is the steady ache between my jean covered thighs.
History is pure torture any day of the week, but especially today, even though all we’re doing is going over the syllabus.
It should be easy for me to follow along, jotting down notes here and there when our teacher orders us to, but it’s inherently becoming impossible to concentrate on anything.
I need relief.
I don’t care how or from whom.
All I know is I need it now, before the end of the day—even if I have to make an ass out of myself to get it.
With Callum back in town, I’m discovering that the memories from two years ago are finding it much easier to resurface than ever before. Usually, it takes effort. Intense effort for them to rise to the forefront of my mind, rendering me useless until I can quiet them once more.
The only way I’ve found even seemingly effective is giving myself over to my body’s wishes. Trust me, when it first happened, I didn’t expect what caused me the most pain would inadvertently end up as my salvation. That every touch from a male’s fingers would inch the demons back toward their rusted iron cage.
I know I’m fucked up; psychotic.
Only a person as messed up as I am would grasp what hurt them the most and exploit it.
It used to be terrifying, disgusting.
But now, it’s become second nature to me.
And I can feel the need rising inside of me like a blazing inferno of need. It twists my guts in knots, yearning for the touch to make all my memories fade into nothing.
I’m jittery in my seat as I run my fingers through my short locks. My back shunts back against the seat, my knee bouncing with untapped anxiousness. Swinging my gaze around the classroom, I take it all in, trying to quiet the need burning deep within the pit of my stomach. My eyes trail over the dusty bookshelves lining the room, to the bay windows that span from one side of the room to the other, giving me a full view of Silver Creek’s only road through the town.
Sweat trickles down the back of my neck. My chest heaves, trying to gather as much air into my lungs as possible. The tiniest slither of a memory pushes against the back of my eyelids every time I blink.
I can’t …
There’s no way.
Raising my hand, I gather the teacher’s attention. He jolts with surprise, but stops what he’s doing and calls on me. His attention makes everyone turn around, and most usually that wouldn’t be my type of thing, but right now I couldn’t care less.
“Can I go to the bathroom, please,” I release, my voice coming out breathy and raw.
“Certainly.” Mr. Sexton gives me a strange look, appearing as if he’s second guessing himself, before turning around to his desk to write me out a slip.
He says nothing as I gather my things, all of them. Nor does he speak when I get up and have to grab the side of the desk when I sway just so. Mr. Sexton merely forces a professional smile on his face and holds the slip out for me to take.
I’m really fucked up right now.
“Mm, so fucking tight and hot.” The words whisper through my mind, forcing a choked breath to sting my lungs.
Flashes of the bathroom from two years ago blink in and out of existence as I head to the front, snatching the slip out of Mr. Sexton’s hand. He jerks away as if I burn him, staring at me with worry etched in his scrunched brows.
Except, I don’t have time to stand around and make him feel better. I will be lucky if I can make it to the restroom in time to stop the madness from unleashing inside my mind.
“Wonder if he’ll want you now, little girl?”
“Mm, the blood running down your creamy thighs looks delicious.”
“Fucking take it, baby. That’s right, be a good little slut for daddy.” T-That’s a new one, I think to myself, shivering in revulsion.
I’m vibrating with tension as I push the door open and race down the hallway. The shirt I’m wearing clings to my back by a layer of sweat.
The temptation to break is looming near, but I can’t allow that to happen until I’m locked up safe in the nearest restroom.
If people knew about that night, then they would think I was insane for doing the things I do. They would push me to the psych ward at some criminally insane hospital, hoping they could snap me out of whatever fog I stuck myself in for the past two years.
Healing a sexual traumatizing experience with more sex is unheard of, but people can only push you so far by those around you until you just do it. I never expected in my wildest dreams for it to work; for the times I spent with those guys to successfully become a soothing balm of sorts. But it does. It’s the only thing I’ve found that works.
Drugs, booze, and partying may dull the senses, but it never takes the pain and memories away. It never hides them. Merely masks it while I’m under the influence.
Sex is my medicine, and I need some form of it right now.
Speeding down the steps, I take them two at a time. My clit throbs painfully underneath my lacy thong, causing jolts of electricity to shoot through my body on impact. Between the memories—oh, god, the fucking memories—and my body readying itself for a release, I’m damn near frantic by the time I reach the landing and see the door to the restrooms.
Pushing open the first door I come to, I race inside and fall back against the unforgiving metal. My breaths whip out of me in a frenzied fury, so much so, I barely hear the muttered curse from across the room.
“What the fuck are you doing in here?” A male voice barks out, shoving away from the urinal while zipping his fly. His eyes are hard, unmoving.
“I, uh,” I stammer, not knowing what to say. I can’t really tell him the reason I’m in here; hell, I don’t even know his name.
“Spit it out.” Walking over to the sink, he turns the facet and starts washing his hands. His eyes never leave mine through the reflective surface of the mirror until he finishes up and turns toward me.
Breathing hard, I reply, “I really didn’t mean to shove my way in here.”
“Yet, you’re still here.” He quirks a brow.
Shit. “I’m sorry.” I go to leave, but a humming noise stops me in my tracks.
“You’re that girl, aren’t you?”
“What girl?” I inquire, already knowing what’s about to fall from his lips.
Hesitating a look over my shoulder, my eyes meet his. He’s silent for a moment, roaming his heated gaze from the top of my head down to the bottom of my feet and back again. It gives me a moment to stare him over, seeing the sandy blond hair slicked back over the top of his head, the angular, chiseled jawline with just the smallest dusting of stubble. Blazing azure eyes stare back at me from a handsome face and bang ass body.
He takes a hesitant step closer, warring within himself over what he should do. “You’re the girl Lockridge blacklisted, aren’t you?”
How would he possibly know that? There are over two hundred girls in this school, and unless Callum passed around my picture and name, no one would
be any the wiser. Knowing Callum, that’s probably exactly what he fucking did, and this guy is trying to slather my wound with salt.
I play dumb, seeing if I can gather more information. “Blacklisted? What does that mean?”
Tilting his head, he regards me with an inquisitive stare. “It means yo—the girl in question,” he catches himself saying, “is off limits. No guy in this school, or this county can touch her. If they do, then they have to deal with the elite.”
Elite? My brows furrow on the word, not quite understanding. Callum, Quinn, Ellis, and Asher aren’t exactly elite status around here. Yes, from what I spied earlier regarding their clothing and such, they have money. But calling someone “elite” makes them sound more important than they truly are.
All of them are nothing more than rich pricks. With their fancy clothes, and fancy cars, and larger-than-life personas.
They’re immature little bullies that want control even if they don’t know what the term means.
Teenage guys that think their shit don’t stink.
There is nothing elite about them.
So, their need for fear is unwarranted in a place like Silver Creek. The terror they make people feel around them is just a guise for what they truly are—teenage boys with a pension for throwing tantrums if people don’t do what they say.
“You make them sound like some philistine organization or something,” I say with a fake laugh.
“They’re nothing of the sort, but you’d be a fool to believe they have no pull here,” he says in return, a mysterious light entering his eyes. It gives me pause, my fingers trailing along the cool metal door.
A prickle of energy bounces between the both of us. I see the heat in his gaze as it sweeps over me, and my body chooses that point in time to remind me why I burst into the boy’s bathroom in the first place.
“What’s your name?” I ask, disregarding his words as I turn to face him.
“Traven Wharton.” A secretive smirk tilts his lips, like he knows all the filthy things playing around inside my head and wants to make good on them.
The thing is, he probably wouldn’t be close even if he tried. No one knows the things that go bump inside my head; they’d probably balk at all the nasty, filthy things if they did.
Painful memories in the halls of Silver Creek burn the back of my eyes, much like the feeling of tears. I hate tears; hate emotion. The only thing that will do me any good is if I show the same indifference I have since Callum sealed my fate after the party.
“Your nothing but a whore.”
“Slut, slut, slut, slut.” Their beady, cold eyes peered deep into mine.
“Jessalyn fucking Savoy, come here and let me taste that golden pussy of yours.”
Laughter. There was so much amusement a pang of emotion clogs my throat at the reminder of their hatred. Recalling the obvious joy all of them got at torturing me.
All from the order of Callum fucking Lockridge.
I’m completely flummoxed how he could order people from so far away; how he had enough pull to make the students treat me so harshly in his absence.
However, that all changed when I accepted my fate. Accepted that what they called me is truly who I am as a person. All it took was that monster ripping away my innocence, and my boyfriend—the man I loved more than anything in this world—to turn his back on me.
In hindsight, I should thank him. Lord knows he probably didn’t expect it. So the jokes on him.
It’s because of him that I finally said fuck it and started living the way I wanted to live. Not allowing the dregs of society to keep me pinned down anymore.
Yes, I may have been doing that to counteract what happened to me, but the ending note is the same.
I was broken, battered, and beaten—but I wouldn’t allow anyone to call the shots for me anymore. My body, my life, my goddamn rules.
So, yes, I believe a “thanks” is in order. Probably get down on my knees and show them all what their leader turned me into with his betrayal. Show them what it looks like breaking someone so good, so thoroughly, they turn into a shadow of their former self.
But maybe, my eyes scan Traven up and down, after I’ve had a little taste. “Wharton, huh?”
I want to break them. Shred the obvious hold they have on the student body here at Silver Creek. Show all four bastards I am nothing like the rest of the assholes in our grade. That they have no hold over me or any of the things I do.
CHAPTER 10
Quirking my finger, I let a small smile play across my lips as I lean back against the door, dropping my bag. Already so many filthy visions dance through my mind. “So, do they have you under their gritty little fingers? Are you going to cower to the big, almighty Callum Lockridge?”
His reply is instant. “I do what I want when I want.”
This could be interesting.
Licking my bottom lip, I allow my gaze to trail down his stiff body. I take in his dark wash jeans, the converse shoes on his feet, and salivate over the polo shirt stretching across his vast muscles. He is absolutely … yum!
I slowly return my fiery gaze to his. “Prove it.”
Fire lights in his eyes as he closes the distance separating us. His strut is careful, even when his body is taut with sexual tension. It’s a mesmerizing sight, seeing a man in his element. It’s clear he isn’t clueless in what a girl wants. He has that strict determination that melts any woman’s panties into a puddle at her feet.
There’s something to say about a man’s svelteness. There’s headiness to it that practically makes me pant for more.
I am so ready for this. My body burns hotter with the idea of finally getting what I want. He’s hot, probably knows which way to throw his dick for maximum climax—it’s all my dirty heart desires in this moment. I don’t care if that fucker takes me up against the day wall; I need my fix. Now.
I lick my lips in anticipation. His eyes catch the movement, a please smirk tugging at the corner of his sensual lips. However, the moment his chest presses against mine, his fists landing by the sides of my head, the scent of cinnamon causes a snag of pain to scratch at my insides. I swear, it’s like he’s fucking everywhere.
Grinding my molars, I force all thoughts of Callum out of my mind and lean into Traven. His warmth and the feel of his rigid stomach and chest pressing against my softness feels damn good, almost perfect.
But then, another waif of cinnamon. “Are you chewing Big Red or something?” My mind slowly stiffens at the thought of it being his fingers, his tongue, and his dick giving me pleasure. He mumbles his reply, but already I can feel myself cowering into my mind, cursing it and my body for being lousy bitches.
Not fucking now. Please, not now. Let me have this.
“Think you’re funny, do you?”
“Mm, the blood running down your creamy thighs looks delicious.” His fingers swirl around in my filth …
“Not funny. Just horny.” I push the memory away, forcing a breathlessness to enter my words.
“Hm, what are we going to do about that?” His gaze trails down to my cleavage, staying there so he can look his feel, then back up to my eyes.
Not into it. So, not into it. Goddammit. This fucking sucks, man. I can feel my arousal quieting each inch he presses closer to me, and I absolutely hate it. My body should thrum with untapped release, causing the hair on my arms to stand on end. I should feel more than what I’m feeling right now. So much more.
Before stepping in here, I was two seconds from blowing. My clit was thrumming so hard I practically saw stars with every grind from the seam of my jeans. Now, like a fucking prick, it’s a light throb. Just enough to piss you off, but not enough to get off. Nowhere even close.
“How do you know I’m the one Lockridge was talking about?” I ask, grinding myself against him. Maybe if I do that, the little fucker will stop talking and work me up again.
“Call it intuition.” Tim, Tom, or whatever his name is, groans, pressing his face to mine and inhaling
my soft scent. “Or maybe, it’s the smell of pure sex wafting from you in waves—the pure desperation seeping from your pores.”
“Is that how you sweet talk all your girls?” Forcing myself to get into character, I lift my hand and sift my fingers through the short hair at the back of his neck. “Instead of spouting love sonnets and all that other bullshit, show me the reason girls love to come back for second helpings.”
Honestly, I don’t know if that’s true. I’ve never seen this guy around school, so that means I haven’t got acquainted with him if you know what I mean. Instead, he’s more of a mystery than even I am, but that won’t stop me from using him even if my body is pulling a PMS moment, not being able to make her fucking mind up on what she wants.
Instead, call it gut instinct. Something tells me this guy is either a fuck boy or he has a desperate drive for acceptance into the group.
He releases a laugh at my words, the timbre rich and hearty as it falls from his pouty lips. “A real piece of work you are. If I had any sense, I’d walk away right now and let them deal with you. Who knows, maybe if I scratch their back, they’ll scratch mine.”
Fuck. I’m losing him. Or maybe, I didn’t even have him to begin with. Either way, I need to do something fast. Fuck.
Reach down between us, I daringly slide my palm along the bulge in his jeans. His eyes flash at me, a growl rumbling in his chest as his lips fall open on a harsh exhale.
“Is that what you really want to do?” I breathe faster, tricking him into believing I’m just as effected as he is. “To be honest—” I lean toward him and grip his cock hard through his pants, rubbing and caressing. “I’m surprised, because I didn’t think you’d go this far. You know, being one of their puppets and all.”
That gets his attention. Hard eyes narrow on me a second before he strikes. Lightning fast, his lips fuse with mine as he shunts me into the bathroom door with his body. Groaning, our lips tangle, all thoughts of anything other than getting off flying from our minds.
Break Me, Baby: A Reverse Harem High School Bully Romance (Silver Creek High Book 1) Page 8
