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

by J. E. Bradley

  Savannah arrives early, still wearing her slim-fitting hot pink prom dress. There’s ruching along the sides, and although he already has curves, the dress accentuates them nicely. I want to run my fingers down her sides and palm her flat stomach before sliding lower, finding refuge in her after a shit day.

  “You’re back early?” I say, my voice tense.

  I haven’t drank. I’ve been sitting here lost in my thoughts, petting Nuke absentmindedly, not knowing what the hell to do. I could have gone back to work. Could have gone to the gym. Could have ordered takeout. Could have gone and beat Savannah’s father's face in, but here I am sitting here like a lost fucking pup waiting for her.

  God, the power she has over me is sickening. In a good way.

  “Elaina’s been talking to a new guy. They call him Mick. And Greta and Kaitlyn were dancing with their guys too. And...Derrick…”

  “Don’t tell me he tried to talk to you?” I ask, biting my tongue to hold back the physical urge to destroy something.

  “No.” She smiles then, mostly to herself. She leans against the kitchen island, staring out at the wild, blackened ocean outside. “He ignored me. But I lost my phone…”

  “What?” I snap. “How?

  “I have no idea where it went,” she says and sighs as she walks toward me. Nuke’s tail thumps against the floor as she comes to me with wide sparkling eyes. “I’m sure it’ll turn up tomorrow. No one can really get into it without the passcode.”

  Yeah, but if they did…

  I reach out and grip her chin firmly.

  “So…” I speak, my tone low and edging on hostile. “What does my pretty Savannah need then?”

  She lets her tongue dart out over her plump lower lip, and she holds back a smile.

  “I was named prom queen,” she breaks into a halfhearted laugh. “I went up on stage and everything. It’s just funny…”

  I listen patiently, watching her as she shows me a part of her innermost self.

  “I didn’t think I wanted it. But I feel like going up there, wearing the crown? It was like closing a chapter. Like I’d hauled my ass through years of hard work and depression to end up on the other end of it…” she searches for words. “Okay? Good? Alive? It just feels like I overcame something.”

  She tilts her head into my hand and I cup her cheek gently instead of gripping her chin.

  “I’m happy for you.”

  A tickle of sadness creeps in my chest, and I loathe the feeling. Partly because I know it’s because her success reminds me of all the reasons I don’t deserve her. She should have all of it. She should have every last drop of goodness because life has been cruel to her. But what if I’m not part of the equation? I’m an old fucker who likes having her with me, but she’s not always going to need my money or help. And when she doesn’t, where will that leave me? As a dirty old bastard? Alone again? I’m like a sore thumb sticking out of all the beautiful aspects of her life, not belonging. Never belonging.

  “Wyatt?” She gathers my face in her hands and forces me to look at her. “Are you okay? Did something happen?”

  “I’m good,” I tell her, and muscle her up into my arms so that her legs fall apart on either side of my lap and she can wrap her arms around me. Which she does too hastily. With too much care. Fuck, the girl told me she loves me and I haven’t even said it back. What kind of dickhead does that?

  She deserves someone her age, someone she can navigate life with who has hope and optimism at the forefront of his mind.

  “Come here,” I growl, and pick her up. I kiss her neck, her face, her lips as I carry her into the room. But we make it to the hall before she tumbles out of my arms and drags me down with her.

  Suddenly, she’s breathless. Heat rolling off her. I listen eagerly to her little gasps as she forces me onto my back. I rip up her dress and she tears away her panties. Then, her pussy is on my face. She cries out when I find her clit, immediately lavishing her, my lips meeting her sweet honeyed flesh, delight coursing through her as her thighs shake around my head.

  “Oh, Wyatt…” she rolls her hips against my face, rubbing her folds over my tongue, lips, and chin. She’s perched above me, working with all her might, chasing her orgasm, hands clenching the fabric twisted around her waist. I grapple her ass with my hands and slip a finger into her asshole as she rides my face, and I force her to go harder. To use my face harder. To claim her pleasure.

  I groan against the hot wet flesh slopping against my face and she tries to slow but I keep her going. She whimpers and presses her hands into my hair, clinging to me. I know she’s close. She’s trying to hold back so that she can come with me, but I’m not letting her do that today.

  She humps my face wildly, jostling as I grip her hips and tug her down on my tongue, pressuring her into coming. She gasps and moans and whimpers until her entire body shivers and her thighs tighten around my head, and I give good long strokes of pressure to her clit as I demand her orgasm. Yes. Come for me. She jerks slightly as another wave hits her and then she slumps forward, unable to hardly move.

  I carefully get out from beneath her and she looks at me, dazed and confused. I hold back a snicker and give her a smile that I hope she takes as loving.

  “Why did you do that?” She asks.

  “You deserve pleasure,” I say, and grab her around her middle and pull her upright. “That, and the night is still young.”

  Jade

  I watch because there’s something satisfying about someone not knowing you’re there in the shadows, soaking up their most private moments. I’ve never once felt guilty about it. Not with him… Wyatt Draper is a weakness I cannot afford to have. Truthfully, he’s taken up too much of my time. I want to be rid of him.

  As the blond kid was walking into Prom, I blocked him into a corner, telling him to take her phone. The passcode? Easy. It’s 3344. I’ve seen her enter it loads of times as I peer through the window over her shoulder as she perches herself like a weightless princess on the edge of the leather couch. So revoltingly prim.

  I don’t tell the boy who I am. I don’t need to. All he knows is that his interest is peaked. He already hates Savannah Zukair for scorning his fragile ego, so the suggestion is too enticing.

  Why am I doing it?

  For a while I watched them be happy. It was stomach-able until she told him that she loved him. That’s when I realized that his little slut of a girlfriend wasn’t going anywhere. Many times I’ve thought— perhaps I will wait until she’s gone. Then we’ll have our moment. Watching and waiting? It gives me lessons on what he wants. I know that he likes to dominate, to be rough, and then smolder with gentle devotion. I know he enjoys the gritty way he can fuck her like a toy and then worship her like a lamb on an altar, kissing and coddling her like the child she is.

  But I've learned enough. I’ve listened enough. I have enough video and audio footage to last me decades. Derrick has the first move, and I know he’ll play his part like the good little asshole he is. He’ll bring in the next wave of players and they’ll trigger the undoing.

  I don’t need her, and I don’t need him. Now, it’s time to topple the queen and kill her king.

  Savannah

  That morning is average. It’s brimming with normalcy.

  Until it’s not.

  “Savannah Zukair, please come to the guidance counselor’s office,” blares over the loudspeakers, and Elaina gives me a strange confused smile as I comply, leaving my friends to head to their first periods of the day.

  The glass square in the door allows me the first glimpse of what’s coming. Derrick’s gaze drifts up to me, and my stomach sinks like a rock into a river. From the rising hatred in his expression, I can tell that something is wrong. Off. Like I’m about to walk into a tornado with no way of keeping my feet on the ground.

  As I enter, the rest of them come into view. Derrick’s mom is seated beside him on a chair they must have dragged in, Mr. Pratt the counselor is standing behind his desk, and Elaina’
s dad, Sheriff Kendall, is also standing there, a massive figure with his fat fingers hooked on the loops of his pants. He’s even got a gun in his holster, and I swallow hard, hoping, praying that this isn’t about what I think it is. Then I see it. My phone, sleek and holding so many secrets, sitting on the desk.

  “Um...hello?” I say to them all, not attempting to sit.

  “Please sit down, Miss Zukair. This is very serious,” Mr. Pratt divulges.

  He points at a chair set across from them all so that we’re in somewhat of a circle, and I drop my bag against it, trying to gather my thoughts. There’s no way they could have seen the messages between Wyatt and I. No one knows my passcode. I changed it after I broke up with Derrick out of paranoia. I’m unsure as to what they know and how much of it. Still, the walls feel like they're closing in on me and it’s hard to take deep breaths.

  “What is this about?” I ask, trying to remain as calm as I possibly can. Luckily I’m good at pretending to be happy when I’m otherwise having a panic attack. No one could possibly know, could they? Perfect, happy Savannah doesn’t ever have any emotion other than barbie pink smiles.

  “It has come to the school’s attention by the way of your boyfriend Derrick Draper, that you have been having an intimate relationship with his father,” Mr. Pratt says, voice curt and full of flat solemnity. I look at him. Really look. There’s something there that tells of both disappointment and feigned caring in his mildly wrinkled face as if he’s pretending to be worried. But I know people. Everyone is only for themselves. It’s never about helping or healing.

  I hear Krista suck in a grievous breath, and I look for only a moment, noticing the streams of tears laying tracks through her makeup. My stomach tightens and I hold my breath. I couldn’t possibly imagine what she’s thinking right now.

  “Derrick is not my boyfriend,” I say, not giving him the satisfaction of even a glance. “And I’m not sure what he told you, but this is a lie. He’s angry I broke up with him.”

  Sheriff Kendall clears his throat and Mr. Pratt blinks a few times before leaning into his palms on his desk and zeroing in on me with an expression that speaks volumes of the gravity of the situation. He knows, and there’s no way I’m getting out of this with foolish little lies.

  “We have evidence of the opposite on your phone,” Mr. Pratt says, and then adds softly. “Listen, I know it’s hard...being in this position. It cannot be easy.”

  I lift my chin. Threads of fear begin to weave their way inside me, pricking through my skin and then pulling tight.

  “What position am I in, exactly?” I ask, trying to keep the anger out of my tone. But it’s there. I can’t hide the feelings burgeoning up inside me, the fear and doubt.

  “The one where you’re sleeping with my dad,” Derrick hisses across the circle, and Krista grabs his shoulder.

  “We don’t blame you, sweetie,” Krista smacks her lips together as more tears gather in her eyes. Her perfectly wavy blonde hair has been tousled, and her outfit disheveled. She leaves her hand on Derrick’s shoulder, casting me a pitying look.

  “As Wyatt Draper is the adult in this dynamic, we do not place the blame on you. Older men with these...predilections, can be quite manipulative and convincing,” Mr. Pratt explains, walking out from behind his desk and sitting on the edge of it as he pins me with his grave demeanor.

  “N-no,” I begin, feeling heat creep along my neck and face, panic settling into the marrow in my bones. “It’s not like that. I am completely consenting.”

  Silence. Elaina’s dad and Mr. Pratt exchange glances and sigh. They don’t believe me.

  “Savannah,” Mr. Kendall’s voice is harsher than Mr. Pratt’s, as if he might pressure me into thinking ‘correctly’ about this. As if suddenly after a stern talking to I’ll give up my front and tell the truth. “Come on. We know you. This is not who you are. You’re safe now...it’s okay to talk about it.”

  I shake my head, and I can’t stop. I don’t know what to say. I’m so eternally damned that my head won’t stop shaking.

  “No it’s…” I struggle for breath, trying to search for words, trying to think of something, anything, that will help them understand that this is truly my own doing. That I chose Wyatt of my own volition. “I’m in love with him. I promise you, it’s not the way you think it is. We’re in a normal relationship.”

  I grapple for any words I could say that might convince them. Their blank stares, tinged with pity and compassion, do not change. The silence is unbearable.

  “I find it hard to believe that texts saying…bad girls are punished, and I’m going to make you come for me whether you want it or not...are a part of any normal relationship,” Mr. Pratt says, revealing snippets of text conversations from weeks ago. How far back did he read?

  “You have no right to go through my phone. That is private property,” I snap, feeling utterly ashamed, my cheeks red with mortification. Then I glance at Derrick, steam nearly pouring out of my ears. “How’d you break into it? Hm? I changed the passcode. If I’m not mistaken, all of the evidence you’ve gathered is unlawfully obtained.”

  “Oh, Savannah,” Mr. Pratt clucks. “You’re smart. Too smart, in fact. This entire school looks up to you as the poster-girl of what it means to excel. Still, intelligence can only get you so far. The truth is, that this is a dire situation. Wyatt Draper put you into a compromising position, used you, and you no longer owe him loyalty. You’re safe.”

  “I don’t need to be intelligent to know that this is completely illegal,” I round on him and then look at Sheriff Kendall. “Also, I’m eighteen. I’m legally an adult and you won’t be able to go after him in court.”

  “Savannah…” Krista entreats. “Wyatt has a thing for underage girls. It’s a known fact in Thornwood. And maybe if this were a bigger city what you’re saying would fly, but not here. Wyatt is going to be held accountable for his actions.”

  I shake my head again, looking down and grabbing my scalp. “I know about that, and she was nineteen and he was only twenty-five at the time, so not underage. I know about everything. I don’t care. Look…” I peer up at them again. “I was the one who sought him out. After Derrick fucked me over god knows how many times, Wyatt was there for me.”

  “Yes…” Mr. Pratt nods. “He used your weakness, your loneliness, as a way of exploiting you. Your father said you haven’t lived at home in months. Now, from what I have gathered you’ve been living with Wyatt Draper since around Halloween. Is this correct?”

  My muscles become ice as I think about my dad. Fear is like a crippling vice, slowly closing down on me. My brain fogs up as I remember that he is a very real threat. But it’s not only the fear of his violence, it’s the fear of going back to everything I used to be. Trapped. Alone. Masked. A figurine for him to paint new layers of expectations onto. Not being allowed to go to the fridge when I want, or have control over my food. Being called countless derogatory names and always walking on eggshells. Having no material item that is simply mine that couldn’t be taken away. In that house, I had no control. It was expected that I listen, or I would suffer. That I be who he said and wanted me to be, or life would be a living hell. I had zero autonomy.

  “Please,” I whisper. “This is ridiculous. Wyatt is not using me or taking advantage of me. I’ve been living with him because I wanted to.”

  “You’ll look back on this when you’re thirty, maybe even younger, and realize exactly what is happening. What does your relationship consist of? An adult man doesn’t have anything in common with an eighteen-year-old girl,” Mr. Pratt says, and I think of the multitude of sexual encounters that have taken place between Wyatt and me. That have filled up the gaps in our ability to have conversations. My heart flutters with fear. He’s hammered down on something that both Wyatt and I are afraid of.

  “Because you are so smart, I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt. What do you think a healthy, happy relationship consists of? Then compare it to what you have with him,” Mr. Prat
t continues. “I think you’ll realize that there is a lot more wrong with what you’re doing than right.”

  But it’s not about right or wrong. It’s about what I want, isn’t it? That’s what Wyatt has always said. He’s provided me with a safe place to be myself, to eat and not think about gaining weight, to explore my sexuality, to begin to untangle the mess of who I am on the inside to who I’ve been forced to be externally. He’s always only been uplifting, caring, and helpful. He gave me choices, never made me feel like I had to stay, and always made sure I was comfortable and protected.

  “That’s completely untrue…” I utter on a bitter breath and then think about everything else. The time Wyatt punched a wall. The times his sexual appetite was blended with the desire to cause me pain. The way his cock grew rock hard when he’d slap my ass and leave red marks. The grittiness of his urges. Still, he put me first. He gave me the upper hand in all sexual encounters, one small word from me and he’d stop. I can’t ignore that I’ve always wondered if it was normal for him to want a High School girl. Why me? Is all of this some sick and twisted bullshit? Would I even know a healthy relationship from an unhealthy one, based on the way I was raised? Was I just so desperate for love that I threw myself into his arms, not recognizing the cold reality of him?

  “Savannah,” Mr. Pratt tries to get my attention again.

  Wyatt ignored all other women. He’s always been alone. He’s covered himself in endless work and depression. Shouldn’t he have a gorgeous wife at home, making him meals, doing life with him on the same timeline? I nearly choke on the thoughts that rush, unbidden, through my head. Again I think about how desperate for love I was...how desperate for anything other than the life I’d been living. I told Wyatt I loved him, and he’s never repeated the words. My heart feels like a smashed plum in my chest, bleeding out into my body. Pain saturating every cell.

  “Your dad will be here soon to pick you up, and then you can finally go home. The adults will take care of it, now. All you need to worry about is graduating,” Mr. Pratt says.