Faithless: A High School Bully Romance (The Privileged of Pembroke High Book 3)

by Ivy Fox

  Her pain no longer present.

  Ours is nothing but a memory.

  All that resides in this room is love.

  Ash is already at her back, keeping her body steady as he plays with her puckered nipples between his fingers. His teeth bite her shoulder with every loud moan she makes, and I feel her orgasm getting closer to the surface, even though today I want us all to share our euphoria together.

  Still, the devil in me can’t resist making her cum with my mouth, knowing Ash will take it out on her body for doing so without his blessing. I suck on two wet fingers and then proceed to thrust them inside her, while nipping on her sensitive bud with my unyielding tongue, coaxing her orgasm forth until she can no longer keep it imprisoned.

  “Ollie!!!” she screams, and I grin cheek to cheek, feeling her orgasm rip her in two, knowing that it won’t even compare to the one both Ash and I are going to give her next.

  The sound of the slap on her naked ass that immediately ensues leaves me grinning like an even bigger love-struck fool.

  “Bad Snow. I think you’ve forgotten how this works. You can only cum when I say so,” Ash reprimands, his malicious smirk already stitched to his face.

  He throws me a mischievous wink, and I get to my feet, licking her juices off my fingers. Her half-mast eyes are full of lust, only increasing my passion and desire for her.

  “Bad Snow,” I tease her, mimicking Ash’s go-to line when she doesn’t follow his rules.

  She bites her lower lip, her hunger just as fierce as our own. I pull her hips my way so she can feel my exposed cock on her wet pussy, softly rubbing her sensitive nub, and increasing her desire. Ash leans into her ear, biting on her lobe, and I lower just enough to suck on the other one.

  “Has Rome prepared you for us?” Ash asks, rubbing on her backside.

  The soft little crimson blush that touches the top of her nose and cheeks is just too cute.

  Fuck, but this woman is the very definition of temptation.

  “Use your words, Snow. Did my brother make you ready for us or not?” Ash repeats more forcefully, his need to have her in every which way coming in full force.

  “Yes.” She sighs when my lips latch onto her nipple.

  “How?”

  “Finger,” she admits.

  “One? Two?” he provokes, wanting to know how ready she really is since what we want to do is intended for her pleasure, not pain.

  “Hmm.” She nods sheepishly at the double digits.

  “That will have to do,” Ash states, his deviant smile in place.

  He gives me a tight nod, and it’s all I need to pull her by the waist so she can wrap her legs around me. Ash continues to murmur in her ear, while I take her mouth, leaving only her moans to answer him.

  “First, I’m going to take this sweet little pussy, and once you’ve left my cock nice and slick, Ollie is going to take over for me. Do you understand?”

  She gives him a little nod, unable to answer him while I’m devouring her mouth. But the minute my brother slides into her core, the hiss that comes out of them both has my cock hardening to the point of combustion.

  “Fuck. I knew it would be like this. You’re so perfect, Snow. So fucking perfect,” he praises as he thrusts in and out in such a slow, torturous pace that he has our girl whimpering.

  “I just need you a little bit more. Just a little bit,” he promises, throwing me a pleading look.

  “Liar,” I taunt, knowing full well how wonderful it feels to be inside her. To have all of her. It’s like touching the sun, burning every cell of your body with warm love, making you delirious in its heat.

  “Fuck, Ollie. Just give me a minute,” he begs, unable to pull himself away from her grasp.

  I don’t mind to wait for my turn. This is more than enough for me. Having Snow in my arms and keeping her heart next to ours, is all I ever desired anyway.

  The thing about loving someone this wholesomely is that it doesn’t revolve merely around sex. That’s just another manifestation of our love, nothing else. What we four have encountered is just too pure and miraculous.

  Sure, the outside world will call it dirty. Unnatural. But we know differently. What we found is something most go through their entire lives searching for and still come up empty-handed. We know that. We know, deep in our souls, that we stumbled upon a miracle. A love so powerful, so immense that we would go to the ends of the earth to keep it. Sacrifice ourselves to preserve it. So let them call us fiends. Let them think this is unnatural because nothing has ever felt more natural and profound than loving this woman.

  Nothing.

  She’s our home.

  Our peace.

  Our family.

  It’s what we all are to each other, even if the unforgiving world outside doesn’t understand it.

  The pained expression on my brother’s brow lets me know just how he’s starting to unravel—unable to resist the heaven he just found and desperate to have it swallow him whole.

  “Ash,” I call out to him, the sweat on his brow, pouring down.

  “I can’t… I just…” he stutters, unable to pull himself away.

  I smile at my twin and then look to my love, her head slumped on his shoulder, her chest heaving up and down, unable to keep up with her erratic breathing.

  So it falls to me to take care of both of them. My hand travels south to find the little button that will ensure her explosion, creating with its touch the spark she needs to combust before Ash comes undone.

  “Ollie.” She gasps when I start to toy with it.

  Her little cries become that much louder, alerting the rest of the house to what is happening right here in the middle of our living room.

  I don’t care. Not one bit. If I had it my way, I would shout it out, on every rooftop of every building in New York City, how much I love this woman. Let her wail. Let her cry out her ecstasy.

  Her pleasure mends my heart, while her tears only break it.

  “Fuck, baby, cum. Goddamnit, Snow, cum!” Ash begs, slamming into her with such force that my knees begin to quake.

  When I feel a light caress on my cock beginning to lightly stroke me, my own breath leaves me in a loud spurt. Snow straightens her head, her eyes intent on me, while she manages to pump my hard shaft with her delicate hand in a way that has me mumbling like a fool.

  “Together,” she orders, and just like that, she’s the one taking over the show.

  I get lost in her eyes, as much as the hot caress on my cock. With a take-no-prisoners attitude, Ash plunges into her wet, hot core, while she continues to strum me to oblivion. The minute her orgasm crests its peak, Ash and I let go and follow her off the cliff, surrounded by blinding light, warming our overheated bodies.

  It takes us forever to find our bearings, but as we slump onto the floor, nestling her between us, our hearts sync together to follow one simple beat. She lays her head on my shoulder, while Ash rests his on her chest, wanting to memorize the song her heart is playing for him.

  “I missed us,” she hushes melancholically, the past wanting to rob her of this one moment of tranquility.

  “Me too,” I whisper, gently kissing the tip of her nose. “But we have the rest of our lives to make up for the time we lost.”

  “What if not all of us get so lucky?” she questions, her mind on the brother that isn’t here to enjoy her the same way Ash and I are able to.

  “Luck has nothing to do with it,” Ash counters, lifting his head just high enough to look both of us square in the eye. “We’re Graysons. We make our own luck. One way or another, we will get what’s owed.”

  I offer him a thin smile, hoping he’s right, when Snow erases it from my face with the words that leave her cupid bow lips.

  “And so will the people who try to get in our way.”

  Chapter 8

  Holland

  The legal system is biased when the death of their own is involved. I’ve watched eno
ugh news reports and documentaries to know that a trial usually takes months—if not years—to be conducted. However, when the president of the United States’ favorite candidate for the highest seat in the Supreme Court is suddenly murdered, the wheels of the justice system gain momentum, and trials are rushed to give the people what they want.

  Unfortunately for me, they want the man I love to be imprisoned for the rest of his life.

  “All rise.” I hear the bailiff call out, announcing the entrance of the Honorable Judge Katz.

  Feeling powerless to do something about our predicament, I’ve tried to focus and take comfort from the little things going in our favor. Particularly at holding blind faith that the people for which Rome’s freedom depends on, will live up to their reputation. The Coens have more acquittals under their belt than any other attorney in the state, if not the country, making them a regular Johnny Cochran.

  It’s not their competency that I’m worried about, though. It’s the district attorney’s.

  I’ve heard Ash yell over the phone, time and time again, how DA Rosenblum is not going to make it easy on the Coens, especially because this high-profile case will make his name stand out from the rest of the candidates running for governor later this year. I also overheard Ash lament how Judge Katz—the very one ordering us all to take our seats at this precise minute—is gunning for the Supreme Court position left vacant by Malcolm’s death. And what better way to gain support than to put his murderer behind bars indefinitely.

  All these people have Rome’s life in their hands, and to my utter doom, they each have their own agenda.

  Ollie grabs my hand while the DA is ordered to summon his first witness of the day. None of us are surprised to hear the name of another one of Malcolm’s lawyers. The state has been adamant in demonstrating the flagrant motive of why a son would kill his own father so mercilessly. And as everyone knows, money is a good motivator. Billions, however, seems to be more than a just cause for cracking someone’s skull open.

  If they only knew Rome as I did, they’d never even think this could be a possibility. He might have hated his father, and for good reasons, but while he spent his life thinking of ways he could get their father out of their lives, not once did he conceive of killing him as an option. But these people don’t see that. All they see is a spoiled, privileged, white kid whose wealthy lifestyle was somehow put into jeopardy with his father’s wish to go after his children’s fortune.

  If they only realized that Rome never cared about money. All he cares about is his family. And because he’s been inflicted with such martyrdom all his life, he’s willing to see this charade of a trial through, just so no one will suspect what really happened. And while the prosecution goes after him with a sword in hand, the real murderer observes only a few seats away, witnessing justice fail miserably.

  It’s not fair, and it’s not right. Yet, here I am, silently watching all of this unfold.

  One by one, the new witnesses step forth, all with their individual, detailed stories of what Malcolm was up to, all seemingly factual, at least. They have documented proof that, in his last days, Judge Grayson was going to proceed with a lawsuit to divide his late wife’s estate in a way that he would be the main beneficiary and hold half of its total net worth.

  If any of his lawyers found it oddly suspicious that the appearance of such a will—one done just prior to Eleanor Grayson’s death—suddenly emerged a few months shy from Rome turning twenty-one, thus not granting him access to his whole inheritance, none of them mentioned it. Not even when the Coens flat-out asked them as much.

  The explanation they give, time and time again, is that Malcolm found it in a safe in one of their homes in Europe when he was on the honeymoon with my mother. All I can think of is the words that Elle mumbled in my ear the first time she heard the explanation, ‘Convenient, isn’t it?’

  Just like me, she doesn’t believe her mother would have left anything to their father, let alone most of it. However, her reasons are very different from mine.

  When I first told Elle what her father did to me, I thought the weight would lift off my shoulders. And to a point, it did. But as this trial continues, I realize that the Grayson family has more than just one secret. And there is one, in particular, that would cause far too much pain on each of them, should it ever see the light of day. Rome has carried the burden for most of his life, and now, so will I.

  The horrific conditions under which Eleanor Grayson must have lived, while married to such a monster, is something I will never breathe one word of. None of the Grayson siblings have gone unscathed from Judge Grayson’s ruthlessness and cruelty, but if they were to find out that the mother they so callously lost was also a victim of his worst abuse, then I’m not sure how any of them would be able to heal. And with his death, that’s exactly what’s happening. When the news arrived of his death that Christmas day, I saw it in all their eyes—peace, relief, and freedom.

  If Rome or I tell them all the horrendous and nefarious deeds their father had inflicted on their mother, then all that pain would surface once more. If I thought it would bring closure and solace, and as much as I’d be willing to do it, no one can kill a man twice.

  “You can call your next witness, Ms. Kelleher,” Judge Katz says, bringing me out of my troubled thoughts.

  When the ADA calls my mother’s name, my neck begins to sweat.

  “They’re calling her so soon?” Elle hushes, disgruntled.

  “Seems like they are eager to cast as much suspicion as possible on Rome, right from the start. If the jury has made up their mind during the first days of the trial, it will be harder for the defense to convince them otherwise,” Ollie explains, revealing how he’s also been doing his homework.

  “Fuck,” Ash grunts next to me, grabbing my hand in support.

  I, however, don’t say a word. My eyes are fixed on my mother as she waltzes to the stand, wearing all black from the neck down to her Louboutin heels, looking the epitome of poise and elegance while faking her mourning. She stands, head held high, looking attentively at the crowd while promising to tell the truth, the whole truth, as God is her witness, palm flat on the holy bible.

  Lies.

  She’s going to lie.

  And I can’t do anything to stop her.

  “Mrs. Grayson, can you tell us how long you’ve known your late husband?” Ms. Kelleher questions, after giving her condolences for the deceased.

  “We grew up together. I’ve known Malcolm for as long as I can remember,” she states matter of fact, and my brows furrow in puzzlement.

  They knew each other all that time?

  “I see. So, is it safe to say you were always in each other’s lives, even before your marriage?”

  “Yes. I was actually the one to introduce Malcolm to his first wife, Eleanor. She was in my sorority at the time,” my mother continues, throwing her best forlorn look toward the jury.

  “So, you were close friends with the Grayson family before being made a part of it?”

  “Of course. I always felt that, even though Malcolm and I were only married this year, I was a part of the family long before then.”

  “Like hell, she was.” Elle seethes at my side, and I watch Ollie grab her hand to try and calm her down. Thankfully, she doesn’t stir away but instead latches onto his hold.

  “And when did you commence a romantic relationship with the deceased?” Ms. Kelleher continues to probe.

  “Sadly, when my first husband killed himself,” she informs, faking wiping a tear out of the corner of her eye for added sympathy.

  My anger starts simmering in my stomach at the performance she’s putting on. She didn’t give a crap about my father. Not one tear did I see her shed when he died. Not on the day Nana and I buried him, nor any day there on after. Yet, here she is, fabricating her sorrow, and making everyone in this room believe my father’s death tore her apart.

  “Can you elaborate?”

 
; “It’s a sore subject for me, all things considered, but if you think it will help,” she hushes, seeming pained with the topic. “When Craig died, I turned to my friends for comfort and found Malcolm to be the steady rock at my side. My shoulder to cry on if you will. He lost his wife a few years ago under tragic circumstances as well, so he understood my pain. One thing led to another, and while we grieved together, we also realized that there was love blooming between us.”

  “I think I’m going to gag,” Elle spits out.

  “Make that two of us,” I reply.

  Ash gives my hand another tight, comforting squeeze, but it’s of little use. Not when Rome is detained in front of us as a prisoner, while my mother spins her deceitful tales of woe.

  “And so, you married,” Ms. Kelleher adds, a sympathetic frown to her lips as she directs the statement to the jury.

  All twelve jurors look riveted at the love story my mother so gracefully portrayed.

  “Yes. It was something I think was always destined for us. I never thought our happiness could be stolen this way, though. So suddenly. So maliciously.” She hiccups tearfully, bringing a linen tissue to clean her crocodile tears.

  “Of course, you didn’t. Do you need a minute, Mrs. Grayson?”

  “No, thank you. My husband, wherever he is, would want me to proceed.”

  The sympathetic murmur of the crowd brings the sickening bile from my stomach up to my throat, as does the sight of two jurors cleaning their own tears off their faces.

  “While living at the Grayson manor, how were you received by your husband’s children?”

  “My stepchildren all welcomed me into the fold with open arms. Maybe not as lovingly as one would have hoped since they adored their mother so much, but enough to try and make us all a family. For example, the way they received my daughter as their own touched me immensely. I will never be able to put my gratitude into words.”

  “That bitch.” Ash grinds his teeth, starting to lose his cool.

  “Did all of the Grayson children receive you into the fold like this?”