The Prom Queen's Sinner: Thornwood Small Town Forbidden Romance Book One

by J. E. Bradley

  “I…” She pauses and then looks down at my chest. “Aside from the fact that I started fucking his dad? He’s an asshole. There’ve been multiple times where I was worried he would rape me. When we actually did have sex I told him to stop and he didn’t…” She can’t look me in the eye.

  I can hardly believe my ears. Now I want to strangle two people, one of them being my own son. I don’t understand how she can expect me not to raise hell for her, how she expects me not to react to these things. But to keep her feeling safe, I know that she needs calm. I close my eyes and grind my teeth. Fucking kid.

  “Alright,” I open my eyes and swallow the massive lump of rage in my throat. “So what can I do about these things?”

  “Nothing,” she says, a bit too peachily.

  “Nothing?” I repeat, fury fringing my tone, tightening my muscles.

  “Also, Derrick assaulted me on Halloween night,” she murmurs, looking at the floor. “It’s the reason I texted you...he grabbed me and asked me to get back together with him. I said no, obviously, and he groped me.”

  There’s the cherry on top.

  “Anything else you want to tell me, Sav?”

  She shakes her head, glancing up, and then down again. It feels like a whole wall has been blown out from between us. Finally, there’s clarity. It’s so fucking clear I can see my reflection in her eyes, and although I’m simmering with rage and murderous thoughts, I’m glad she’s told me. Part of me blames myself for how Derrick has turned out. Maybe if I wasn’t sulking my ass off working twelve-hour days in the shop for years on end things would be different.

  “How long did you see Jade for?” She asks.

  I’m caught off guard and release her hair. I’d already loosened my grip before this, but her question has me frozen.

  “I’d been helping her in her yard for months before she suckered me into a date,” I say without blinking. “She came over the night I’d worked on your car. I’d been hard thinking of you all day, and then she came in and practically begged for my cock.”

  Savannah bites her lip and I can tell she’s frustrated.

  “I told you that I never wanted her. This was before you,” I explain, and reach a hand out to caress her gorgeous gleaming cheek.

  “I know,” she says, breathless. “I just didn’t know you thought about me while you were having sex with her.”

  I chuckle darkly and lean my forehead against hers.

  “You don’t want to know all the fantasies I’ve had about you.”

  “Try me,” she utters bravely.

  God, she is everything I want. Everything I need.

  “We’re not finished. I have more questions,” I say, petting her lips with one finger. “You’re going to be mine, mind, and body.”

  “Soul,” she adds, and leans up and kisses me, rocking my world with how seductive, sweet, and wet her mouth is. “Mind, body, and soul.”

  “What’s your favorite color?” I ask then, as I begin to unzip my pants. She lets her tongue glide along her lower lip as if just the thought of me undoing my pants makes her shiver with delight.

  “Yellow,” she says, and she hooks her fingers into the waistband of my jeans, tugging them down. “Like sunflowers. Yours?”

  “I don’t have a favorite color,” I snicker, then shrug. “Maybe red.”

  She laughs and I flip her around, and she rolls her body against mine. I gather her in my arms, her back to my chest, her ass rubbing against my length, and then I grip her breasts.

  “Have you ever wanted to fuck me in my ass?” She asks.

  “Yes.” Obviously.

  “Do you like how hard I fuck you? Or do you need me to be gentler?”

  “I like it all. Everything we’ve done so far,” she says, and becomes breathless as I knead and roll her breasts through the thick fabric.

  “Do you want me to call you daddy?” She pushes her ass back against me so that my cock is wedged between her cheeks; the knit garment a disgusting barrier between us.

  I can’t help but laugh.

  “No,” I say against her ear. “But I do like it when you call me Mr. Draper.”

  “Are you sure you don’t like it, daddy?” She jokes, bending over the couch and sliding her ass across my cock. She twists back to look at me, and I see that she’s already drunk on pleasure. On the delicious sensations that we both crave. “Come on daddy, don’t you want to fuck me?”

  I bite my tongue and take a deep breath before grabbing her hip with one hand and her dress with another. I push the hem up slowly, making sure I take my time to drag my hand against her spine as I do so. Pushing the dress up around her waist shows off the swell of her ass in sexy blue lace panties. I guess Daddy’s now included in the list of things I like to hear her say.

  “You want to know one of my fantasies?” I say, taking in the flare of her hips and the narrowing of her waist and thighs. “Among fucking you in your tight asshole, face-fucking you, fucking you in public, spanking you, sixty-nining, and letting you ride my face— I’d love to get you in that tiny cheer outfit.”

  I lower myself and hook her lace panties in my mouth, dragging them down, allowing myself to taste, smell, and feel her all the way down to her ankle. She throws her head back, long black hair cascading in shiny tousles.

  “I’ll need to learn quite a bit then,” she says, words cracking when I use my tongue to swirl at the crease of her ass. I let my fingers walk along her skin and nudge her legs apart with my knee. I use both of my hands to part her ass cheeks and lick, suck and soak her taut hole. She’s unable to breathe evenly, and I am hungry for every part of her. I want her gasping, shaking, writhing, and screaming because of the pleasure.

  “I’ll teach you, honey,” I whisper against her flesh.

  When I bend her over the couch fully she complies, draping her arms over the cushion. I use one finger to ease her asshole open, gently stretching and circling. She gasps.

  “You good?” I ask.

  “Y-yes,” she mumbles against the couch.

  The process of prepping her takes a while, and I’m dripping precum on her cheeks as I add another finger. I stroke her back and sides with my other hand, enjoying the delicious sight of her defenseless naked ass in the air. I groan when she begins to move her ass to the rhythm in which I pulse my two fingers inside her. This is all the assurance I need that she’s ready.

  “Mm,” I grunt, pushing my tip against her entrance.

  “Oh god.” She sucks in a breath and holds it, and I quickly shove my thumb into her pussy, and she lets the breath go. She parts her legs even further, and with my thumb lodged in her hot cunt, I roll my forefinger over her clit.

  “Mr. Draper…” she whimpers, and I smirk darkly.

  I shove the tip of my cock into her ass while massaging her clit, and she shoves her face against the dark leather cushion and trembles as I continue to sink, slowly, into her. There’s something so beautiful about her allowing me entry here, and I hope the sensations push her over the edge.

  “That’s it. You’re doing so well,” I say, using more pressure and force now on her clit. She makes little noises as I begin to pulse. With one hand on her pussy and my cock diving continuously into her ass, I use my other hand to reach down and pet her hair.

  I fuck her carefully until she becomes relaxed, and bounces back atop me, helping me to go deeper, crying out that she needs more. My cock can hardly take the pressure of the gripping ring of her ass. I moan as I thrust erratically into her, my fingers frantic on her clit.

  It’s not long before her orgasm rams through her, and mine follows shortly after. I stifle a groan low in my throat, my entire abdomen flexing, body reeling from the way her ass feels around me as I cum. When I pull out, I enjoy the vision of her loosened opening, and how my fluid drips out of her in slippery trails. This feels raw, purely lust-fueled. Does she know how much she means to me? I’m going to rent this girl a house. I’m going to give this girl the world if she lets me, and somehow, I’m
going to get revenge for the things her father did to her.

  Savannah rises and smiles at me, her hair a messy black halo around her head.

  “This place is amazing. Want to check out the bedroom?”

  Savannah

  I move all of my things into the small cabin by the ocean. Overcoming the guilt is one thing, and slowly but surely I’m able to enjoy myself and the freedom it brings. Wyatt stays with me on the nights and weekends, but there are days when we aren’t able to see one another. To get to school, I use a 2014 Toyota corolla that he’s leased. This car gives me access to coffees whenever I want them, the ability to surprise him with takeout, and it takes me to and from school and meetings.

  Months pass and I don’t hear from my dad.

  It’s almost too easy to slip into this life. To ignore Derrick in the halls as if he’s nothing. He acts like a jilted prince, gossiping about me to his friends. Although I hear the words, Wyatt’s presence in my life consumes me. I don’t care anymore. I do my school work, ASB meetings, cheer practices and weekend games, and all other moments I spend with him. It’s easier than anything I’ve ever done, and sometimes I worry that the ease I feel will bleed over into how I carry myself, and then everyone will know.

  They’d know that I’m practically living with a thirty-four-year-old man, taking his money, and being fucked almost nightly. They’d know that I like it-- that I get off on it, and that I’m not perfect, pristine Savannah Zukair.

  What they wouldn’t know? Is that I’m in love with him. Soul-crushingly, gloriously, death-defyingly smitten.

  They would never be able to understand the thoughtful way he grabs me a towel after I’ve showered, or buttons my pants for me after kissing the fabric over my pubic bone. They couldn’t possibly know the lengths that he’s gone to make me feel safe and comfortable, holding me at night as I rant about how horrible my dad has been, about the darkness inside me, about my fears of becoming overweight. They wouldn’t be able to comprehend the way I search for his body in the dark, my hands reaching for his solidity so that my nightmares dissipate and the only thing left is sweet warmth and strong arms surrounding me.

  Has anyone loved like this before? If they have, I’ve only heard about it in movies and romance novels. Never in real life.

  Prom is closing in on us, and for some reason, it feels less weighty than it had before. I tape the posters to the walls, marketing tickets, and on-theme reminders. This year, the ASB has chosen collectively that Prom will be Starry Night themed. General. Neutral. Bland. Maybe I’d care more if I still had the mask with Derrick to uphold.

  Now, my heart is bruised with the bittersweet realization that I don’t have to be prom queen to be worthy of love. Not even worthy of love, but of basic human decency. I’ve spent the majority of my life filling in the cookie-cutter molds that everyone has made for me, and the prom queen title hangs over me, curiously low. Inviting. Attainable.

  I shouldn’t care about it, but after years of striving after foolish gains, it’s a confusing place to be put into. Conflicted is one word for it. But the funny thing about being conflicted? It gives me a reason to fight. To purge the old and bring in the new, and settle myself in the perplexing in between.

  ***

  That night, I cook Wyatt fettuccine alfredo from a Pinterest recipe. I add zucchini and mushrooms and pour myself a glass of water as I wait for him to get to the cabin after a long day of working at the shop. The ocean thunders in the background.

  I glance down at the cheer outfit that I put on, smiling to myself mostly in anticipation of his reaction.

  My understanding of Wyatt has increased tenfold. Now I know that it was his lifelong dream to have his own auto shop, that he was, like Derrick, quarterback during his High School years, that his dad Leroy Draper only visits for birthdays, that his mom Kelly is a dietician in Los Angeles, that he was an only child, and that his middle name is Wells. I swirl the ice in my water and ponder his name: Wyatt Wells Draper.

  I cross my legs and clench slightly, closing my eyes to imagine him. He’s a thirty-four-year-old bachelor with a booming auto business, six foot three, has a naturally muscled physique, down-to-earth attitude, a sexy, mystery man persona, and hazel eyes that spear deep into the soul. What woman wouldn’t want him? My stomach flutters.

  Sometimes, I wonder why he wants me at all. What is it that I can give to him? I grip the glass in my hand and open my eyes, staring at the harsh stainless steel fridge in front of me as if it might eventually give me answers.

  There’s a creaking noise in the bedroom, and I jolt to attention, swallowing down the fear that has risen up like a tidal wave inside me. I remind myself that the home makes many noises because of its location, the wind, and as it is a newer home, it could be settling. Wyatt’s told me all of these things in passing, so I remind myself often when I hear things that are unexplainable.

  “What are you doing?” Wyatt asks, walking into the kitchen from the garage. I hadn’t even heard him coming because I’d been so hyper-focused on the bedroom.

  I glance at him and smile. Even in his dirty work clothes, he’s the sexiest man I’ve ever seen. I want to run my fingers through his dark brown hair, shove his handsome face down into my pussy and feel his tongue and lips on every part of my body.

  “Just...I was making you dinner,” I supply cheerfully.

  “In that?” He cocks one brow and I can already see the dark, dirty thoughts running through his head.

  “Yeah. If you don’t like it...I can take it off?” I say, turning in a circle for him.

  “No, no,” he lifts his jaw slightly and he allows his gaze to drag down over me as he sets his coat and keys aside. “Don’t fucking take it off.”

  My heart squeezes in my chest, excitement building in my belly. I reach for two plates and two sets of forks. I’ve been planning this all week, and I’m so ready to serve him in whatever way he wants.

  “Why don’t you go sit down?” I say, motioning toward the table. He complies wordlessly, but I can feel the desire radiating off his body.

  A clean white tablecloth hangs from the small chestnut table, two oval placemats set for our dinner. I bring out a bottle of whiskey and set it in front of him. I try to ignore the pressure of his eyes, the way they follow my every step. It’s almost like he’s the hunter and I’m the hunted, and every move I take he’s right there with me, analyzing me and undressing me in his mind.

  “Did you have a good day?” I ask, and he nods once, his gaze traveling up my legs.

  “Did you have a good day?” He responds, leaning back lazily in the chair.

  “Yeah, it was great. We finished prep for prom, tickets are done being sold, the final game of the season is next weekend...which means no more cheer,” I fill a short square glass with ice and bring it to him, filling it with the whiskey. He moves to take a sip but I grab it and take a sip first, leaning against the table with a sassy look, daring him to stop me. We have an unspoken agreement that he won’t protest if I drink wine occasionally, but this?

  “No underage drinking,” he grumbles through a smirk.

  “There are different rules in this house,” I retort smoothly, take one more sip, and then hand it to him. “When the hostess is of age to be fucked, she’s of age to drink.”

  Wyatt’s eyes flash and he stares at me in challenge, sending shockwaves through my limbs. His long tan fingers wrap around the glass and he downs it quickly.

  “Rules are rules,” he says, his brows knitting so that his expression is stormy. “You know what happens to girls who break them, don’t you Sav?”

  “I like breaking the rules,” I tell him, using a lighthearted tone. I grapple the bottle again and refill his drink. “You should know that by now.”

  “Mm,” he nods once and then glances at the stove. “So, are you playing wife?”

  My jaw drops and I snap it shut swiftly before turning away and nearly running for the pasta. God, what? My heart hammers in my chest, and I don’t know
what to think. Why would he say something like that? Was that a joke? Am I supposed to laugh? Did I totally ruin the moment by ignoring him? I hurry through the motions of transferring the pasta onto a large serving dish, my hands now shaking.

  “Savannah.”

  There it is. The way he says my name is so reverential, so demanding. It’s mixed with the hard edges of his voice as he tries to be soft; tantalizing on a level I can’t even get to. I’m so anxious because of the word wife that I don’t even realize he’s coming for me before his arms are wrapped around me from behind. He draws me close to his hard chest and kisses the side of my head, my neck, my shoulder.

  “I think I need some wine,” I tease.

  Wyatt holds me near to him for a moment before releasing me. He lets me bring the food to the table before I grab myself a bell-shaped glass and fill it with a bottle I’ve been working on, and then we both sit at the table.

  “You said that prom is next friday?” He asks, trying to get me to calm down. He does this a lot-- changes the subject so I can feel comfortable.

  “Yeah. I’m not going,” I say. “It really doesn’t sound fun to go watch a bunch of my classmates bump and grind on each other. Elaina is pissed but she’ll get over it.”

  “Hm.” He sighs, and leans forward, glancing down in careful observation of the meal I’ve prepared. “This looks good.”

  I flush. I’m not sure why, but anytime he says the word ‘good’ in association to me, my panties grow wet. Not knowing what to do, I look down at my manicured nails and hold back a sinful smile.

  We dive into the meal. Fettuccine alfredo is a dinner that I've always been afraid of eating, but it’s become a staple for us now. Each bite is a reminder that I am okay and that I’m allowed to fill my stomach with something other than carrots and lean chicken.