by Alley Ciz
We’re nearing the section of lockers where the topic of our discussion is located, and I shake my head.
“Bruh…” Brad rounds in front of me and stops me with a hand to the center of my chest. I glance at it then at his face. The tick of his jaw tells me he’s past the point where I could intimidate him. That’s a mistake. “We can’t let what that bitch did slide.”
“Someone’s salty he pretty much finished his meal before the special ingredient was revealed,” Duke singsongs, and Banks reaches out a fist for him to bump.
“You’re saying you’re okay with having been fed rodent?” Brad challenges. I push a palm to his forearm when he still doesn’t make any move to take his hand off me and resume walking without waiting.
“Fuck no,” Duke calls back over his shoulder, automatically falling back into step beside me. “I gifted that shit directly to the porcelain gods.”
“How about you focus on tonight’s game since BP is already at the top of our division.” Bringing up the football team’s current lackluster record is a low blow, but it serves as the misdirection I need. “We’ll figure the rest out.”
“What’s there to figure out?” Midas comes to a stop halfway between our two homerooms. “Fucking bend the bitch over a desk, and we run a train on her ass until she learns who’s really in charge here.”
My hands ball into fists at my sides. The only person who will be sticking their dick inside any of Samantha’s holes will be me. We may all be members of the court that rules this place, but make no mistake, I’m the motherfucking top dog here.
“Listen to me, Abbot.” I get in Midas’ face, the tips of my Uptowns covering the winged ones of his Ferragamos. Dude is obsessed with his designer shoes, and it shows in the way he tries to murder me with his eyes. Too bad he doesn’t intimidate me in the least. “The only person teaching the pretty little princess a lesson is me, so keep your dick far away from her.” I step closer, forcing him to steady himself with a hand on the wall if he wants to remain upright thanks to his feet still being trapped under mine.
My silence dares him to challenge me, and I’m disappointed when he doesn’t. Seconds later, Midas and Brad scurry off to their class while Duke, Banks, and I enter ours.
Tinsley is already seated at the table she shares with Samantha. Banks makes a beeline for her, bending over and bracing himself on his elbows in front of her. “Morning, baby.”
Tinsley rolls her eyes at his greeting and mutters something about not being his baby.
Duke’s gregarious laughter has the other earlier arrivals lifting their faces from their phones to check out what’s happening. Without anything exciting going down to keep their attention, they quickly fall back into their own self-obsessed existences.
The Banks and Tinsley show is like an old rerun—fascinating to watch, but you’ve seen it because they play all the time. It’s why I let the familiar weight of Duke’s arm sling around my shoulders and guide us to our own table catty-corner to the girls’.
I feel her before I see her. Unlike Duke’s antics that only got the briefest glance, every eye in the room turns to follow Samantha as she stalks inside.
Well, fuck me raw with my hockey stick.
Chick is feeling herself today. The only other time I’ve seen her look this…fierce was when we crashed the Royal Ball.
Instead of her typical rotation of purple, gray, or black Chucks to finish off her uniform, she has on a pair of black leather lace-up knee-high boots. There’s a heel to them and a few buckles on the sides, but my favorite is the contrasting innocent-looking lace gray socks sticking out two inches above them to cover the base of her knee.
If the footwear weren’t badass enough to have my fingers burning to grab hold of her, the long strides and confident sway of her hips would do it. Not once has Samantha St. James cowered to those of us at BA. This version? It’s some next-level, dick-hardening stuff. Fuck Midas for only adding to the images of what she would look like bent over a desk for the taking. My control is dangerously close to snapping.
“Not today, Satan.” Samantha knocks Banks’s hand away from where it’s hooked under Tinsley’s chin. Except for a snort from Duke, the room sucks in a collective breath as she goes as far as to shove Banks, then shoves again when he doesn’t move away fast enough.
My friend drops his chin, and his eyes go so wide that even with the distance between us, I can see a full ring of white around his irises. Me? I kick back and get ready to enjoy the show.
With a simple twist of her body, Samantha dismisses Banks by giving him her back. If it were anyone else, I’d say that was a tactical error.
Like an artistic photograph, everything surrounding Samantha goes blurry as she becomes the center of my focus. I notice every detail about her. How she switched out her nail polish to black—matte, like her precious Royals prefer—as she pushes a to-go coffee cup across the tabletop. Her makeup is heavier, again like that night, with that winged black liner at the corner of each eye the girls like to wear.
“How do you feel about a little lunchtime field trip?” Samantha asks Tinsley as I shamelessly eavesdrop.
“Having a craving the cafe doesn’t serve?” Tinsley cradles the cup between her hands and cautiously takes a sip after blowing across the lid, Banks tracking her every move. “Rat du jour not tempting the palate today?”
“Oh shit.” Duke coughs the words into a fist, and I throw an elbow back to shut him up so I don’t miss anything. He shoots me a knowing look at the way Samantha’s teeth bite into her lower lip.
“As…appetizing as that may be”—Samantha’s nose twitches in amusement—“I need to roll through BP.”
Tinsley sits up straighter, and I mirror her action. “Why?”
“Some people need reminding to not be assholes.” Her eyes flit in my direction, and she flips her hair with an air of aloofness that shouldn’t be able to go hand in hand with the threats she’s clearly making.
“Bruh…” Duke nudges me between the ribs with an elbow. “Chick might have bigger balls than you do.”
I cant my head in agreement, keeping my eyes on Samantha. The way she’s leaning across the table has her back arching just so and causes the hem of her uniform skirt to barely hit the tops of the back of her thighs. In this position, it wouldn’t take much to discover what type of panties she has on. Are they boy shorts? Those lacy, half-short things that show off the bottom curve of the ass cheeks? Or maybe it’s a thong, the fabric minuscule. All it would take is a simple hook of a finger and I would have easy access…
“…figure out who can drive me.” Lost in my musings on if her pussy would be wet when I touch it, I miss a chunk of their conversation.
“What about…?” Tinsley asks, and the two of them do that thing girls do where they finish their sentences with facial expressions. It’s annoying as hell when you’re trying to creep on a conversation.
“I didn’t want to involve him.” Samantha shakes her head with a sigh, finally rounding the table to claim her seat. “It’s fine. I’ll order an Uber or something.”
The bell rings, signaling the start of class and an end to their discussion.
If asked, I couldn’t tell you a thing about today’s lesson. Instead of focusing on the teacher, I stewed in thoughts about Samantha. Tinsley had to have been referring to Wesley Prince. It’s obvious Samantha spends a significant amount of time with the Royal—she’s a race rat, for Christ’s sake. Why does the thought of her calling him for a ride make me feel like punching a wall?
It doesn’t make sense.
But goddammit, this is my time with her. If I couldn’t get the alone time with her I wanted at the Royal Ball, who the fuck does he think he is trying to encroach on mine?
Yours? The bitch isn’t yours. Stop getting territorial. You have more important things you should be focusing on this year anyway.
Fuck! I’m arguing with myself. What the hell is this girl doing to me?
Irrational or not, it doesn’t ma
tter. It’s time to take control of the situation. The second the end-of-class bell rings, I’m out of my seat, stalking behind Samantha and caging her against the lockers across the hall.
Her back is pressed flush to the metal, her breasts grazing my chest as she sucks in a startled breath. I’ve learned it takes a lot to catch her off guard, and I relish the times I’m able to do so.
It doesn’t last long. First, her eyes narrow, her makeup accenting the purple hue of them in a way that makes it seem like she’s using a real-life Snapchat filter. Then that defiant chin tilt makes an appearance, followed closely by the I’m-not-impressed-by-your-shit-so-let’s-get-on-with-it-already flat purse to her lips.
“What do you want, Noble?” She sighs as if I’m putting her out. When will she learn this school runs on my timetable?
Off to the side, Tinsley stops, watching, waiting, worrying the strap of her book bag.
I cup Samantha’s jaw, running my thumb over her bottom lip and smearing the pale pink gloss coating it. “I heard our little princess’s carriage turned back into a pumpkin.”
“Aw, look at you using the cute fairy tale wordplay.” She tries to knock my hand away from her face, but I only curl my fingers around her nape and press the pad of my thumb to the center of her lip.
“Samantha, Samantha, Samantha.” I increase the pressure of my finger until her bottom lip pulls away from the upper. “When are you going to grasp that I’m the man of your dreams?”
“More like nightmares,” she counters.
“So you admit you do dream about me.” Using my grip on her, I tip her head to the side and bury my face in the exposed curve of her neck. She trembles as I run my nose along the vein protruding from her throat, the slight vibration of her body only distinguishable to me by touch. She fights me—and, as evidenced by this, herself—at every turn, but there’s no way to disguise how responsive she is. I’ve fantasized more than I probably should about how she’ll react when I finally get her under me.
“Was there a point to all this? Or did your morning coffee kick in, and you finally realized you forgot to do something to my locker, so you’re just going to mess with me instead?”
First Brad and Midas, now she’s the one pointing out my lack of action. What I’m about to offer might be insane—especially after what we did to the BP locker room last night—but knocking Samantha off balance with it will make it more than worth it.
“Careful, Princess.” I latch onto the skin behind her ear and suck, re-marking her as mine. “That’s no way to speak to your chariot.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?” Hands braced on my stomach, fingers flexing around the abdominals hidden beneath my clothes, her words lack their usual bite. The breathy quality they take on makes my dick hard, and I grind my hips against her lower belly.
“You need someone to take you to your old kingdom”—she stiffens, but it’s so slight I might have imagined it—“and I’m offering up my services.”
“Why?”
Damn this girl. Here I am trying to do something nice for her—don’t ask me why—and still she can’t just say thank you.
Unable to handle the fire burning in her violet depths, I shift my gaze from her face to my hand braced against the locker beside it. The skin around my knuckles blanches, and I press into the last bit of space separating us until we’re sharing carbon dioxide.
“Because I said so.” I silence her protest before it happens by stretching my thumb up like a staple across her glossy lips. “And one of these days, Princess…you’ll learn that what I say goes.”
There’s a permanent zipper imprint on my dick by the time the bell rings for lunch. Each death glare, scowl, and attitude-riddled hair flip from Samantha had me hardening another inch. I think having her know I was doing her a favor might have been more fun for me than any of the pranks we pulled this week.
Not willing to risk her wrongly defying me—again—I post up at her locker. Back to the metal, ankles crossed, hands loosely shoved into the pockets of my trousers, I smirk at each person that genuflects as they pass. It doesn’t matter how many people automatically fall in line with the status quo; I won’t be satisfied until Samantha does as well.
Students move through the halls like salmon swimming upstream, but like a beacon, I spot Samantha the second she rounds the corner, my teeth snapping together when I see her phone in her hand. She better fucking not be ordering an Uber.
Lost in what she’s doing, she doesn’t notice me standing here until I pluck her phone from her fingers and shove it into my pocket.
“You were serious?” The disbelief in her voice has me lifting my gaze and rubbing my jaw to hide my amusement at her wide-eyed shock. Knocking her off balance is quickly turning into my new favorite hobby.
“I don’t waste my time saying things I don’t mean.” Reaching into the pocket without her phone, I pull out the red key fob to my Ferrari and shuffle it over my fingers. “The real question is…are we doing this or not?”
Her mouth purses, once again drawing my attention to it, and her nose scrunches with an adorable little wrinkle. Adorable? What the fuck is wrong with me? She glances first to Tinsley at her side then back to me, her indecision clear as day.
Other than moving the fob across my knuckles, I don’t move. I want her to come with me—to me—on her own. The mindfuck of knowing she chose me will be enough to worm my way deeper into her subconscious.
“Fine.” She sighs more than speaks the word. “I’m going to regret this,” she mutters then holds out a hand to Tinsley for her phone. “If I’m not back in an hour, call this number and tell them where I went”—her eyes find and hold mine—“and who I went with.”
I lay a hand over my heart, fingers splayed. “You don’t trust me, Princess?”
She rolls her eyes and hip-checks me away from her locker. “Do I have moron written across my face?” She drags a finger across the smooth skin of her forehead while pulling a leather jacket out and slamming the metal door closed with a clang.
“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Tinsley asks, eyes shiny with worry, the corner of her lip swollen from her teeth biting into it.
Having started walking away without waiting for me to follow, Samantha doesn’t stop but spins to speak to her friend while walking backward. “It’s not,” she confirms, adding to my personal enjoyment. “And if it were anyone but Tess prompting this, I wouldn’t even consider it.”
Tinsley doesn’t look convinced but nods anyway. “Just be careful.”
Samantha assures her she always is, but what I find most interesting about the whole exchange is that she holds this friend of hers in higher regard than her precious Royals. Based on their reputation around town and beyond, one would think they would take precedence for any of their faithful followers.
Yet another thing that makes Samantha St. James an enigma.
She makes it to the F8 before I do and shrugs out of her uniform jacket. “If you wanted car sex, all you had to do was ask.”
I round the hood and beep the locks open. “You’re delusional.” The tilt to the bucket seat of the Ferrari causes the hem of her skirt to flip up, and my eyes instantly lock onto the extra two inches of exposed toned thigh.
She catches me leering but doesn’t call me out on it. Interesting. Even more so is the fact that she doesn’t take advantage of it. If it were Arabella or any of the other bobbleheads at this school, she would be lifting the hem the rest of the way to entice me into action.
Long silver hair obstructs my view as she leans forward and starts to rummage through her bag. I’m not quite sure what possesses me, but I reach out and tuck the strands behind her ear so I can see her face.
There’s a whistling as she sucks in a breath; it’s something I’ve noticed she does a lot around me.
The pink tip of her tongue peeks out to wet her lips, and I follow its path. The moment charges between us, but unlike earlier, she’s not meeting my eyes, focusing on the space over my sh
oulder instead.
She fidgets, her body trembling slightly. Good. I want her off balance.
It isn’t until she lifts her necktie over her head that my hand gets knocked off her. The black silk coils into a pile on her lap, bringing my attention back to the space between her legs.
“You sure you don’t want me to fuck you? You keep taking clothes off.”
Samantha moves away, twisting her torso and pressing back against the passenger side door. Mouth pinched, neck and heaving cleavage flushed pink, she glares at me with contempt rolling off her in waves. Whenever she’s like this, my dick gets hard, which is pretty much all the time.
“Listen…” She flops a hand forward, palm facing up. “The only reason—and I mean the only reason—I’m in your car is because I need a ride, and”—she adds so much sarcasm to the word I’m shocked we’re not drowning in it—“I clearly did something to piss off the man upstairs given you became my only option.”
The laughter I’ve been restraining all morning finally breaks free, echoing inside the confined space. This chick…
“Aww…” I reach out and cuff her under the chin with a bent finger. “What about your Prince Charming?” Her eyes flare, lashes brushing her brows at the nickname for Wesley. “No white horse or black motorcycle to ride in on and save the day?”
Her arm snaps up, slapping mine away with a smack of skin on skin.
“You still don’t get it.” From her lap, she picks up one of those fingerless leather gloves she wore at the party and starts to work it onto her hand. “I don’t need a man to save me.”
“Yet here you are.” I wave my hands over the dash like a game show host presenting the grand prize.
“You’re not saving me.” She scoffs. “All you are is a very fancy Uber. Now”—her mouth presses into a flat line—“are you going to use your subpar driving skills to take me to BP, or am I putting my mission on hold until you give me my phone back?”
