Defiant Princess: A Reverse Harem High School Bully Romance (Boys of Oak Park Prep Book 2)

by Callie Rose

  He didn’t react to the sound I’d made, just watched me steadily as I finally gathered myself together and dug into the first aid kit. I used a little washcloth to wipe away the blood on his face, going easier on the spots where he winced at the contact. He had some bruises and scrapes on his back and shoulders from rolling around on the ground, but I didn’t think he’d gotten hit anywhere else.

  Mason and he had both been going for the face.

  I pinched the bridge of his nose until the bleeding ebbed, keeping my attention on my task even as his hazel eyes tracked my every movement. When it finally stopped bleeding, I grabbed a small bandage from the kit and pressed it over the cut on the side of his face.

  As I worked, smoothing the bandage down, his hand mirrored mine, rising up to ghost gently over the side of my face, his fingertips running over the curve of my cheekbone, the line of my jaw, burning little paths of fire everywhere they touched.

  “You’re so beautiful, Talia.”

  The words were a pained whisper, and when my gaze finally jerked up to meet his, the look in his eyes made it hard to breathe.

  I pulled my head back, escaping the soft, too-sweet touch. “Don’t.”

  His eyelids flickered, but he dropped his hand. “I’m sorry.”

  I swallowed, pulling a disinfectant wipe from the kit. “It’s okay. I just need to—”

  “No.” The fingers that had brushed over my cheek now covered my hand, stopping my movement. “I’m sorry.”

  It hit me all of a sudden what he meant, all of what he meant, and against my will, tears welled in my eyes. I drew back again, trying to fight down the rising tide of emotion. “Don’t.”

  He shook his head, and when I glanced back at him, his hazel eyes burned with sorrow and determination.

  “I have to, Talia. You don’t have to accept it, and you can hate me forever if you want, but I have to tell you. I’m so fucking sorry.”

  Chapter 15

  No.

  This isn’t right.

  My plan was vengeance.

  My plan was to wreck the Princes, to burn their lives to the ground and walk away.

  No part of my plan had involved Elijah looking at me like this—like guilt was eating him from the inside out. Like he’d never seen anything more precious or beautiful in his life.

  I tugged my hand away, pulling it out from under his. His touch was too gentle, filled with the same emotion that churned behind his eyes, and I couldn’t take it. It hurt and soothed at the same time, making me itch to flee. To escape this confined space where the air seemed too thick to breathe.

  “It doesn’t matter, Elijah. It—”

  “Of course it matters, Tal. We hurt you.” He made a face, then grimaced in pain. “Fuck. You should’ve let Mason and me keep hitting each other. It’s the least we fucking deserve.”

  A fresh trickle of blood fell from his nose, and I grabbed another tissue to dab at it, shaking my head. “Maybe I don’t like seeing people get punched in the face.”

  “I dunno.” He chuckled softly. “That one you laid on Mason looked pretty solid.”

  I hated the reminder of that night, and I knew Elijah could see it on my face, see my expression shutter.

  When I tossed the bloodied tissue onto the coffee table with the rest of the first aid supplies, he caught my hand again, curling my fingers into a fist and wrapping his own around it.

  “He deserved it. And more,” he murmured.

  We both stared at our joined hands, suspended in the space between us, and every atom in my body felt the connection in that touch as his fingertips grazed over my skin.

  Then Elijah lifted my fist to his mouth and pressed soft kisses to each of my knuckles.

  “Why does it always have to be about who hits who?” I asked, and I wasn’t sure if I was asking him or the universe or myself. “Why does it always have to be about cruelty and revenge?”

  His deep hazel eyes flicked up to gaze into mine, his lips still brushing over my knuckles.

  “I don’t know. But we hurt you. We deserve to be hurt. It’s just the way the world works, I guess.”

  “Why doesn’t anything ever feel good? Why is it always about pain?”

  I couldn’t stop watching the press of his full lips as he worshipped my skin, dropping small kisses on the ridges of my knuckles. His own hand was bruised and red, smeared with a small streak of blood from the pain he had inflicted.

  “Does this hurt?” he asked softly, and I knew he was talking about more than just the physical contact.

  The tears that had been building in my eyes spilled over, and I nodded almost imperceptibly, gaze still locked on him. It did hurt to be touched by him so tenderly, but in a different, sweeter way than the other hurts I’d experienced recently.

  It… overwhelmed.

  “I’m sorry, Talia.” His expression tightened with guilt again, and he started to release my hand, but for some reason I couldn’t quite understand, I wrapped my fingers around his, preventing him from letting go. His grip tightened on mine a little, and he glanced up at me cautiously. “Can I try to make it not hurt?”

  I dipped my chin in another tiny nod, not even bothering to wipe away the tears that fell in twin tracks down my cheeks. I rarely cried, but it felt like a valve in my heart had been opened, and I didn’t know how to shut it again.

  Elijah opened my fist slowly, turning it over so he could plant kisses across the plane of my palm. When he moved up to my wrist, a small noise fell from my mouth, and he glanced up at me, his gaze questioning. But I didn’t stop him, and I didn’t pull away.

  Because this didn’t hurt.

  It felt good.

  And after every shitty thing that’d happened over the past year, the feel of Elijah’s lips on my skin was like sipping a glass of water after a thousand days in the desert.

  He pushed up the sleeve of my hoodie a little and worked his way higher, over my forearm. When he glanced up again, I didn’t hesitate. I pulled out of his grasp long enough to unzip the black jacket and shrug it off, and as soon as I tossed it aside, Elijah took my hand again. Now my entire arm was bare, and he didn’t waste the opportunity, trailing his mouth over the inside of my wrist and up my forearm, making goose bumps rise on my skin.

  When he scooted forward to the edge of the couch, I matched his movement, perching on the edge of the coffee table as our legs brushed against each other’s. His lips found my shoulder, then my neck, and now the fire in my skin was spreading deeper, so deep inside me that it warmed me from the inside out.

  He kissed along my jaw, and I tilted my head to give him better access, struggling to keep my eyes open. My eyelids drooped as sensation overwhelmed me, pulling me under like a drug.

  “Does that feel good?” he whispered, and I nodded without speaking.

  It felt better than good.

  It was like the antidote to everything bad in the world.

  And maybe it was a lie. Maybe it was another manipulation, another trick. Maybe all his words of apology had been empty and meaningless.

  But Elijah had given me pain.

  He owed me pleasure.

  His lips traced the other side of my jaw, the shell of my ear, the curve of my cheekbone. I squirmed in my seat, another low noise sounding in my throat, as my breath came faster. He didn’t seem to be in any hurry, as if he could do this—would do this—forever unless I told him to stop.

  I didn’t want him to stop though. I wanted…

  As his lips moved over my cheek, I turned my head suddenly, capturing his mouth with mine. He jerked in surprise then responded, kissing me back, opening his mouth when my tongue demanded entry and sliding his tongue over mine.

  I could taste a hint of coppery blood on his lips, but beneath that was a taste that was all Elijah—addicting and complex. I scooted even closer to him, and when I ran out of coffee table, he wrapped his arms around me, helping me crawl onto his lap.

  Our lips didn’t part, and as I settled on top of him, our bo
dies pressed flush together. I could feel him hardening beneath me, and the press of that hardness at the apex of my thighs was like a promise of something exquisitely sweet. So I moved against it, making him groan into my mouth, as my hands found their way into his hair. The light brown strands were already mussed from his fight earlier, but I ruined them even more, sliding my fingers between them and running my fingernails over his scalp.

  He shuddered beneath me, and I could feel his chest rising and falling fast against mine.

  I didn’t feel pain anymore.

  For this moment, there was just our breaths, our lips moving together, our hands grasping and stroking.

  There was just pleasure.

  I didn’t have to like Elijah, or even forgive him, to like this.

  We rocked against each other, chasing the good sensations even through the barriers of clothing between us, as we kissed like we were the first two people in the world to have discovered it.

  My clit throbbed every time he pressed his hips up into me, and the muscles of my core clenched around nothing. As if they were seeking something.

  Suddenly, Elijah shifted his grip on me, lifting and turning me before laying me down on my back across the cushions of the couch. He settled between my legs, and the weight of him there made me clamp my thighs around him. He broke our kiss and drew back to look down at me, his battered face softer than it had been before, less tense. The eye with the dark circle under it had swollen slightly—not so much that he couldn’t open it, but he still looked like a boxer on a bad day.

  His lips were red and swollen too, but that wasn’t from his fight.

  He gazed down at me like he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing, his hips working gently against mine, watching the expression on my face change as he altered the movement.

  “God, you’re so fucking beautiful, Tal.”

  He was beautiful too.

  In a wrecked way.

  In a damaged way.

  In a human way.

  Reaching up, I ran a finger over the puffy bruise on the side of his face. He winced at the contact, but instead of pulling away, he pressed harder into my touch, as though even as he gave me pleasure, he wanted to give himself pain.

  Then he kissed me again, so deep and consuming that I swore I felt us start to melt through the couch.

  “Can I make you feel good? Please?”

  The words were whispered against the skin of my neck as his fingers found the hem of my shirt, and when I nodded, he pulled my tank top off slowly. I lifted off the couch a little to help him, watching his face as he drank me in.

  There was more urgency in his movements when he ran his palms up my stomach, cupping my breasts through my bra, but he kept his touch light. When he reached behind me to unhook the strap, I arched my back to give him access—and when he tugged my bra down my arms and tossed it aside, I kept my back arched, demanding the pleasure he had promised.

  And he gave it.

  He dropped his head immediately, licking and nuzzling the skin of my breasts before drawing a nipple into his mouth and swirling his tongue around it.

  Shocks of pleasure zapped through my body like lightning, and I grabbed onto the sides of his head, pressing my whole body up into his, needing more of every single thing he was doing. He moved to the other side, and as he worked his tongue over that breast, his hands moved across my body, caressing my waist, ribs, and hips. Then he moved up again to kiss my lips, and our chests met skin to skin for the first time.

  It was perfect.

  His skin was smooth and warm, and when I ran my hands over the muscles of his back, I knew my fingers were stroking over the feathers of a fallen angel.

  He groaned, moving his body harder against mine, and I responded with an answering desperation, pulling him closer, grinding into him. When he finally pulled away, we were both breathing hard. He knelt above me, his hands sliding down over my stomach to rest on the button of my jeans.

  “Can I?”

  I nodded and watched with rapt attention as he fumbled slightly with the button before pulling my zipper down. His fingers hooked into the waistbands of my pants and panties all together, and he worked them down over my hips. I brought my legs up to help him, and we awkwardly managed to remove my shoes and then everything else.

  When I was completely naked before him, he gazed down at me, looking a little flabbergasted, a little nervous, and a lot turned on.

  We were both virgins.

  Or at least, we had been the night we’d played truth or dare at the lake house. That’d been months ago though, and a lot could change in that amount of time.

  “Are you…?” I murmured, and Elijah’s gaze flew up to meet mine.

  His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, and then he nodded. “Yeah. Still. You?”

  “Yeah.”

  He leaned back, seeming suddenly almost afraid. “Tal, we don’t have to—”

  “I want to.” I caught his wrist, pulling him back toward me.

  The other shoe might drop tomorrow. But tonight, I just wanted something that wasn’t pain, or anger, or vengeance.

  I wanted peace.

  He hesitated, leaning over me, not pulling away or coming closer for several long moments as he gazed down at me. Then he settled his body over mine again, and I could feel him everywhere. His hands framed my face, his fingers brushing my messy hair back as our noses almost touched.

  “I promise, Talia. I’ll take care of you. I will never hurt you again.” He kissed me like he was sealing a vow, and when he pulled away, the fear was gone from his face. “I’ll be right back.”

  He climbed off the couch, and I stayed where I was, draped over the cushions. I got a glimpse of the dark angel on his back as he disappeared around the corner toward his bedroom, and when he returned a moment later, he had a small plastic packet in his hand. He set it on the coffee table and kicked off his shoes, then shucked his pants and boxer briefs.

  His cock was hard, standing up at an angle, and a rush of arousal and nerves flooded me at the sight of it. It wasn’t like I didn’t know about sex, didn’t know what a hard-on was, but it was the first time I’d seen one so close. I reached up to touch it, running my fingers over the smooth, warm skin, and Elijah’s whole body jerked. A rough noise fell from his lips, and his breath picked up like he’d just sprinted a mile.

  When I pulled my hand away, worried I’d done something wrong, he let out a shaky laugh, his chest still rising and falling fast. “That felt… good.”

  He was nervous. Just like I was. And that somehow eased some of my nerves.

  I reached out again, grasping his hand this time, and tugged him back toward the couch. He knelt between my legs and reached for the condom on the table, tearing it open with his teeth before rolling it on. Then he ducked his head and pressed a kiss to the inside of my thigh. I jerked just like he had earlier, and I swore I could feel his lips tilt up in a smile.

  “Does it still feel good?” he asked, moving to the other side, hovering his lips over my skin.

  “Uh huh,” I gasped.

  My whole body was braced in anticipation of his touch, and this time when he kissed my inner thigh, he left his lips on me as he moved slowly upward.

  Then his tongue found my clit, and my back bowed off the couch. My hands lodged in his hair, and my hips moved of their own volition, the muscles of my lower belly clenching rhythmically.

  He licked up, down, and across before swirling the tip of his tongue in a fast pattern. My body shuddered as indescribable feelings ricocheted through me. I was building toward an orgasm, desperate for it, and when he finally lifted his head to gaze up at me, I grabbed his shoulders and pulled. He didn’t resist, crawling up my body until I felt the sheathed head of his cock nudge at my entrance.

  Keeping his weight braced on his arms, he pressed inside slowly, staring at my face as if searching for any sign of pain.

  But it didn’t hurt.

  I was a virgin, but my hymen was probably long
gone, broken in a fall or while dancing or something.

  Or maybe the universe just knew it didn’t owe me any more pain.

  It felt strange but good as he pressed deeper inside me, every inch a fulfillment of the promise I’d felt as I’d worked my core against his hardness earlier. My inner muscles squeezed around him, and he let out a strangled noise, pausing for a second before pushing in again, until our hips were pressed flush together and he was rooted fully inside me.

  He bit his lip, and the look on his face told me that even though he’d wanted pain, he’d found his pleasure too.

  “You okay?” he murmured.

  At my nod, a smile bloomed on his face. Then he covered my body with his, bringing us skin to skin everywhere, and kissed me. As our lips and tongues moved together, he pulled out and slid in again, and the friction of him driving inside me, the pressure of his pelvis against my clit, made liquid fire spread through my veins.

  As he thrust over and over, I ran my hands over his ass, his back, the taut muscles of his arms, pulling him closer, wanting more.

  I could feel the moment when my orgasm became inevitable, and it was the best feeling in the world—the moment when I was no longer chasing it but riding it, being lifted higher and higher by the sensations spreading through my body.

  Then the wave crested, and I flew apart.

  A ragged, inarticulate cry fell from my lips, and I clung to Elijah, fingernails digging into his back as I buried my face in the crook of his neck. His thrusts grew faster, harder, and a second later, he let himself go too, grinding our hips together hard as his cock jerked inside me.

  Our bodies went limp, fused together from head to toe, and the weight of him on top of me was like a security blanket, a shield, keeping the whole world out.

  I felt sated.

  Happy.

  Free and wild like the girl in that video had been—the one who’d seemed to be made of water and air, moving like a sprite in the darkness.