The Help: A Reverse Harem High School Bully Romance (Kings of Linwood Academy Book 1)

by Callie Rose

  “Condom?”

  Oh. Right. It wasn’t exactly on purpose that we did it without one last time. But I don’t want to stop, and I don’t want anything between us.

  “I’m on the pill,” I gasp, shaking my head. “Are you good?”

  Maybe I should be more concerned about this. I know he was with Iris last year, and given the hoard of female groupies all the kings seem to have, I’m sure she wasn’t the only one.

  Goddammit. Why am I even thinking about that?

  The thought of how many other girls he’s slept with sticks in my brain like a hot poker, cooling some of the desire burning through my veins.

  But he pulls me out of my spiraling thoughts by gripping my jaw in one large hand as he kisses me hard. When he pulls away, he rests his forehead against mine, pressing into me in little pulses, just the head of his thick length breaching my entrance. It makes my pussy clench, makes me desperate to feel him buried inside me.

  “I’m good,” he murmurs, his voice rough. “I’ve never fucked anyone like this before. Never fucked raw.”

  Never.

  Until me.

  “Oh, God, Linc,” I whisper. I can’t even come up with words to respond to that, so I don’t say anything else, just hook my legs around his waist and haul him toward my body.

  He doesn’t need any more encouragement than that. He slides in to the hilt, filling me completely and making the bed rock slightly.

  Fuck. It’s so good. I’ve never had sex without a condom before Lincoln either, and it’s better this way, so much better. I swear I can feel the velvety skin of his dick as he withdraws and drives in again, and I’m already working up to another orgasm.

  Our first fuck was fast and frantic, but this is slow and deep and hard. I feel every single thrust through my entire body, and he pauses once in a while to grind his hips against mine, hitting my clit and making me moan. A sheen of sweat builds on his forehead as he fucks me like he’s trying to claim me.

  Finally, his pace speeds up, falling out of rhythm until his cock swells and jerks. He’s still coming as he slips a hand between us and circles my clit with two fingers, sending me careening over the edge with him.

  “Oh. God!” I bite out softly.

  It’s a whisper, a broken plea, as my body breaks apart, my world dissolving and reforming around the connection between us.

  He kisses the skin of my chest, neck, and shoulders as we both breathe hard into the silence. Last time this happened, I could feel the walls going back up as soon as the orgasms cleared our heads, but this time, it’s different. He stays buried inside me for a long time, and instead of growing tense, I can feel his entire body relaxing. The weight of his body on mine is perfect. I fucking love it.

  Finally, he withdraws with one last kiss and heads to the bathroom. I hear the tap running before he returns a minute later with a warm, damp washcloth. His cock is still semi-hard, and the sight of Lincoln Black walking across my bedroom in all his naked glory brings a stupid smile to my face.

  This is not how I expected tonight to go, but I don’t hate it at all.

  He catches my grin as he crawls back onto the bed between my legs, using the cloth to wipe up the cum leaking from me. His eyebrow arches. “What’s so funny?”

  I can’t stop smiling, and I weirdly don’t even feel that embarrassed about having him clean me up like this. It feels… I don’t know, normal. I like being taken care of by him.

  “Nothing.” I chuckle. “It’s just—I wanted you too, I think. From the first minute I met you. Until you were a giant dick to me.”

  His expression darkens, and I shake my head, reaching down to pull him back toward me. “It doesn’t matter, Linc. It’s over.”

  That doesn’t seem to placate him much, but he flops onto his back beside me and throws the wadded up washcloth neatly into the hamper before pulling me toward him to drape my body over his.

  “It does matter,” he mutters, combing his fingers through my sex-tangled hair.

  He murmurs something else I don’t quite hear, and then we lay in silence, my head resting on his chest, his heartbeat thrumming in my ear. His body is warm and solid against mine, and when he reaches over to turn off the bedside lamp, I tighten my grip on him, not ready for him to leave yet.

  But he doesn’t.

  He keeps stroking my hair as my eyelids grow heavy and sleep creeps over me, stealing me from consciousness.

  There are so many unanswered questions in my life right now.

  There’s a murderer walking free in Fox Hill, one who may be after me too, and I have no idea who it is. I don’t know why Savannah has it out for me so bad, or what’s going on between me and River, or me and the twins, for that matter. I’m attached to all four of these boys, and I don’t know when it happened, exactly, or how my feelings got so strong.

  There’s so much I don’t understand.

  But there’s also one thing I do.

  Lincoln and I? We fit.

  Our beginning was fucked up, and I don’t even know where the hell this might lead, but this thing between us, the connection that blazes like an inferno—it’s real. It’s powerful.

  And it’s not going anywhere.

  He stays with me all night, his arms wrapped around me like he might protect me even in sleep, and only when the first gray light of early morning brightens the room does he let me go.

  He kisses my sleepy lips, pulls the blankets over me, and slips out the door.

  25

  I sleep for another hour after Lincoln leaves and then doze for another thirty minutes after that, enjoying the spicy smell of him that lingers on my pillow and the pleasant soreness between my legs.

  But finally, I can’t hit snooze any longer, so I haul myself out of bed and shower.

  I head downstairs to meet him at 7:25, and the grin he shoots up at me as he sees me coming down the steps just about melts my fucking panties off. I have a feeling we might’ve just opened a floodgate, and I’m very, very okay with that. The idea of sneaking off to his car during lunch or ditching class entirely and going off campus to tear each other’s clothes off makes me bite my lip, and his cocky as fuck smile tells me he knows exactly what I’m thinking about.

  He rests his hand on my lower back as we head out to his car, the gesture both protective and proprietary, and his touch sends little thrills through me. We haven’t talked about what this means, what we’re actually doing, but I don’t really care. I don’t need a label for it right now.

  On the drive to school, reality starts to sink back in though, and I hope like fuck Savannah took the guys’ warning to heart and will back the hell off of me. I’m not quite sure what we’ll do if she doesn’t. An all-out war with the cheer squad and football team, on top of all the other shit that’s going on, doesn’t seem like a smart idea. But I know Lincoln and the others won’t back down. They didn’t become the kings of Linwood Academy for nothing.

  When I see the red-headed cheerleader in the hall later that day, her nostrils flare and she glares at me as I pass by. She whispers something to one of her cheer squad minions, a girl named Becca, but doesn’t say anything to me.

  Fine. It’s not exactly a ceasefire, but I’ll take it.

  I don’t know why she’s so fixated on me. Yeah, she saw Trent hitting on me once, but she and Iris literally fought over which one of them would get to claim the blond football star all the time, and Savannah never hated Iris with the passion she has for me.

  Or maybe she did.

  I know it’s stupid, and the guys already said they don’t believe it, but I can’t quite let go of the idea that Savannah could’ve been involved in Iris’s murder somehow. It sounds ludicrous when I say it out loud, but I have to remind myself I’m not used to this world. The stakes are higher in just about every way here, and how people do in school—socially as much as academically—can actually have a lasting impact on their life.

  Practically everyone walking these halls is a future CEO, politician, or mogul of
some kind. And as much as the scrabble to stay on top might seem petty to me, it probably seems like life or death to some of them.

  Is it that big of a stretch to think the “life or death” part could’ve become literal?

  There’s absolutely no evidence to back up my suspicions of Savannah though, so I try to put them out of mind and keep a neutral view of her.

  In her defense, she’s one of the few people in school who still talks about Iris all the time. Thanksgiving break is coming up soon, and everyone is getting antsy for the semester to be over. For a lot of kids, the gossipy thrill of Iris’s death is fading. Those who didn’t know her well have pretty much moved on, distracted by other high school gossip and drama.

  The good news is, River’s dad seems to think the cops are finally making moves on investigating Iris’s death more seriously, approaching it as a possible premeditated action rather than just accidental manslaughter.

  Twice over the next few days, the guys have to talk me out of taking what we know to the police. If the cops are seriously investigating, the information we have could be a game changer for them. But, as River points out in a low, serious voice, an actual investigation will only make whoever did it more agitated and liable to strike out. Now is a dangerous time to report anything.

  I still hate keeping quiet, but every time I think about that man attacking me in the parking lot—about his thick arm sliding under my chin, pressing against my throat, cutting off my air supply—a wave of fear washes over me and makes my skin prickle with cold sweat.

  So we don’t say anything, and River keeps a close watch on his dad, trying to glean what information he can from him. I’ve noticed that when he talks about his parents, his dad especially, there’s a stiffness and a distance in his voice. I only met Mr. Bettencourt once, but I get the feeling their relationship is pretty strained. It makes me appreciate even more what River’s doing to try to keep me—to keep all of us—safe.

  This fucking waiting game is driving me out of my mind though. I had to develop patience when I was going through my cancer treatments, but sometimes I feel like I used it all up during that period of my life. Now I just feel a pressing need to move things along faster, as if some part of my mind still doesn’t believe there’s not a countdown timer over our heads that’s about to run out.

  Lincoln sneaks into my room again on Thursday, and the sex is just as intense as it was the first two times. I think he’s on edge too, although he’s trying to hide it. Afterward, he curls his body around mine until morning, then slips away before the household wakes up.

  I never thought I’d say this, but I’m actually glad Mr. and Mrs. Black are throwing another cocktail party this weekend. Helping my mom with preparations and heavy cleaning before the event on Saturday night takes my mind off things, at least. It’s a welcome distraction.

  She handles logistics while I spend most of Saturday morning and afternoon scrubbing, polishing, and dusting. In the early afternoon, I overhear Samuel and Audrey having an argument in his study, but I just turn the other way and make a beeline for the library instead. Whatever marital problems those two have, I don’t want to get in the middle of them. And as long as he doesn’t drag my mom into it, Samuel and his wife can be as dysfunctional as they want as far as I’m concerned.

  At 6:30, I sneak upstairs to freshen up, then head back down to start greeting guests. Mom gives me a shoulder squeeze and a smile as she hustles by to deal with some last minute arrangements.

  “Thanks, Low,” she whispers, but she’s gone before I can answer.

  I loiter in the massive grand foyer until the first couple arrives. I recognize them from the first party the Blacks threw. Apparently, the husband is a big deal in real estate, whatever that means. His wife has huge bambi eyes and clings to his arm like she literally needs the support as I lead them into the ballroom.

  I’m sure they didn’t mean to be the first arrivals—no one ever does—but luckily, the next guests arrive just a few minutes later. From there, I fall into a routine of greeting, taking coats, and ushering people into the large ballroom where the bartender is already hard at work.

  Lincoln and his parents are late, just like last time. Tonight, Audrey is wearing a sleek silver dress with a high neckline and an open back. Samuel is wearing a dark gray tuxedo with a dark shirt underneath, making him look formal and imposing. Whatever fight the two of them had earlier has either been resolved or put on temporary ceasefire, because Audrey gazes at him with open adoration as they come down the stairs. It’s honestly a little creepy, considering I know how the two of them normally act around each other.

  When Lincoln steps off the stairs, I don’t feel so bad for ogling him this time. I feel more like I have a right to now. The suit he’s wearing changes his entire appearance, making him look older and more commanding. I honestly prefer him in his usual relaxed jeans and t-shirt—or nothing at all—but I can’t deny he looks mouthwateringly good dressed to the nines like this.

  I just returned from escorting a few guests to the ballroom, so thankfully no one is waiting on me as I pause in my tracks to stare. Audrey ignores me as Mr. Black smiles brightly in my direction, and when they turn to head toward the ballroom themselves, Lincoln steps closer to me. He dips his head, his breath tickling the shell of my ear, and tingles race across my skin at the feeling.

  “You’re the most gorgeous woman here, Low. Best dressed too.”

  My lips twitch, and I have to press them together to hide a smile. I’m just wearing my stupid black and white maid’s uniform, and although the cut is flattering, it’s nowhere near as fancy as what all the guests are wearing. But the look on his face when he steps back makes me positive he means it.

  I have to resist the urge to grab his lapels with both hands and kiss the fuck out of him. It’s all I want to do, but his parents don’t have any idea we’ve been hooking up, and neither does my mom yet. So I just tug my bottom lip between my teeth and jerk my head toward the ballroom.

  “Better not be late, sir.”

  His eyes flash with heat, and he looks like he’s having to use just as much restraint as I am when he pulls away. Good. It’s nice to know I’m not the only one who feels a little consumed by the connection between us.

  I watch him walk away—and check out his ass as he does, I won’t deny it—and a moment later, the next guests arrive. Dax and Chase show up with their parents, and the twins greet me with enthusiasm, flirting with me openly as I escort them all to the large ballroom. I’m not quite sure how to handle it, and from the looks their mom and dad shoot me, neither of the older Lauders are a fan of this new development.

  Dax whispers to me that the code word is “crab cakes”, and that I should find them out back later once the party gets going. I hide my laugh in a snort and watch him and his brother join Lincoln on the other side of the room.

  When River and his parents arrive, I can’t keep my gaze from flicking to his dad. He looks a lot like River—the same gray-blue eyes and broad, strong features—but he has an demeanor that suggests he’s barely tolerating everyone around him. It makes me instantly on edge, and I wonder if this is part of why the quiet boy always sounds tense when he talks about his dad.

  As far as I know, River hasn’t picked up on anything new about Iris or the investigation into her death for a few days, and when he catches my eye, he shakes his head slightly.

  Still no news, I guess. Damn.

  They’re one of the last families to arrive, and Mom and I start circulating around the ballroom, offering to take empty glasses and fetching refills. I’m getting better at avoiding the wandering hands, although they still fucking piss me off. I have a pretty good mental list of the people to steer clear of from the last party, although when I have to squeeze past Judge Hollowell to reach a woman who’s impatiently tapping her empty wine glass, he surprises me by not copping a feel.

  Huh. What do you know? Maybe he developed some manners in the past month.

  Or maybe that’s
giving him way too much credit.

  I suppress an eye roll and work to keep my expression neutral as I head toward the bar with the empty glass. My mom worked hard to make this party a success, and I want to be here to support her.

  Just as I deliver the wine refill to the bitchy woman, the doorbell chimes. I barely hear it over the rumble of conversation in the room, but Mom perks up a the sound too, so I know I didn’t imagine it. I give her a wave to let her know I’ve got it before heading toward the front of the house.

  When I pull open the door, I frown.

  It’s not more party guests.

  It’s four cops.

  At least, I’m assuming they’re all cops. Three of them are dressed in uniform, and the fourth is just wearing a suit and tie—but he’s the one who flashes a badge at me as they all step forward.

  “Good evening.” He nods curtly. He has deep set eyes, a receding hairline, and a thin, straight nose. “I’m Detective Leland Dunagan, Fox Hill police department. May we come in?”

  I step back automatically, forgetting for a second that this isn’t my house and I don’t have the authority to let them in. Not that I really have the authority to deny them either.

  The four men stride into the house, turning toward the sound of voices emanating from the ballroom. I trail along after them, not sure what to do. Should I try to get ahead of them and warn Mr. Black they’re coming? It’s a little late for that. And what do they want?

  The second they step into the ballroom, heads turn their way. Samuel notices them immediately and steps forward to meet them, Audrey right on his heels. From the corner, I can see Lincoln, River, Dax, and Chase all watching curiously.

  “Excuse me, Officer. Can I help you?” Mr. Black’s voice is polite but cool. He obviously isn’t a fan of having his parties busted up by the cops.