A soft choking sound at the door jerks me from my reverie. Turning my body in the direction, I don’t know whether to cry, laugh, or go to battle. Probably a little of all three. Brett is standing there, mutely, arms crossed over his chest as his gaze falls along my naked body. He watches as the water slides sensually over every curve, every crevice—like two lovers stroking each other while in the throes of passion.
“Goddamn,” he murmurs throatily, hunger flashing in his eyes as they make their way back up to mine.
I’m stuck. Deer in a set of headlights stuck. I can’t even breathe, fearing if I do it’ll be that one thing that pushes him over the edge. I don’t think he’d take me against my will, but with the way he’s peering down at me right now—as if he could eat me alive—I’m not sure it’ll be against my will, and that’s what terrifies me. I’m unexplainably drawn to a man that looks at me with such hunger and need.
The vein in the side of his neck juts out, matching the veins running along his forearm, as he strains to stay where he is. I slowly start cowering in on myself, covering all my most private places, shielding them from his watchful gaze. But the moment my arm envelops my breasts, his gaze snaps up to mine.
“Remove your arm. Now.” There’s a grittiness to his voice that has me fighting a shudder and the need to release them for his viewing pleasure. It’s insane, I know, but there’s a heat unfolding inside me at his rough words and tantalizing gaze.
“Y-You need to get out,” I retort weakly. “How did you even get in here?”
He licks his lips, taking the bottom one between his teeth as a whisper-soft groan filters through the steam-filled air. My eyes dip to the seat of his trousers, as if drawn there by an invisible force, and I see the tent in his pants. A tingle of something unfamiliar races up my spine, and I fight a gasp as it jerks, like my gaze is a soft, sensual caress and it loves the feel of me.
“Eyes up here or I’ll join you in the shower, brat.” His voice is low, delicious, and causes goosebumps to pebble along my arms.
I’m almost tempted to allow him. He’s a dick, but the way he’s looking at me now … no guy has ever peered down at me with so much longing and need. I feel breathless. A need for more burns as bright as my need to send him away, knowing what he’s done to me. I’m screwed. I’m the epitome of every weak heroine falling on her knees to please the anti-hero in the story. And I can’t even be bothered with that right now. Because the way he’s peering at me lets me know he had nothing to do with this; he probably didn’t even know they were planning it.
But then, everything stops when I hear a girlish groan of frustration come from behind him. My eyes narrow in confusion, but it’s quickly replaced with some akin to anger when a small, delicate arm wraps around his waist, a girl with corkscrew curls coming into view.
My gaze flips between the both of them in rapid succession. That’s most definitely not the girl he was doting on earlier in the cafeteria.
First uncertainty, then disbelief, and lastly horror flashes in my eyes as I take the both of them in. Him gazing at me with enough lust to drown a boat full of sailors. Her scowling features pinched tight, like she smells something terrible.
That’s when it hits me, and I fight tears of anger over it all. My gaze runs between both of them, to his erection, then back up into his eyes. He must make the connection a moment later, because he opens his mouth to say something, only for me to turn away and dismiss him.
“Get out of here,” I say, cursing myself at how small my voice sounds. It’s not like I wanted to fuck him, anyway. Well, may—No! I most certainly don’t. I need to get that thought out of my head. He may have had nothing to do with this, but he’s still the asshole that thought I was an easy notch he could add to his bedpost.
No matter how confused I am, I can’t say the idea the erection he’s sporting was for me wasn’t a boost to my self-esteem. Because it was. I almost allowed idiotic thoughts to go to my head and decide for me.
Now, I know better. He and that girl were probably feeling each other up when he came across my open door, and that’s the reason he’s got sex for eyes. It’s because of her.
You didn’t want it, anyway; I remind myself, biting my bottom lip. But what if I … No.
“Brat …” Brett states, but I cut him off.
“Kingston, you have a girl on your arm that’d like your attention.” Then I make the mistake of peering back over my shoulder toward them, seeing confusion on her face and a red blush staining his cheeks. Embarrassment? No. Nothing embarrasses someone like Brett. “Please, just leave.” I turn back around.
“You heard her, baby,” the girl softly coos, no longer staring daggers my way. The sound of her voice is grating and whimsical, forcing a wince from me.
I hear shuffling. Whispered words. Someone snickers. But moments later, the door shuts behind them with a soft click. I don’t care if they trash the whole place, just as long as no one sees the tears budding up on the surface of my eyes fall.
I didn’t—don’t—want Brett. But I can’t deny the way he stared at my body didn’t call to something inside me. It was dirty, filthy, but triggered a bud of warmth to unfurl in my lower stomach. I may hate him, but my body didn’t dislike the fact he was gazing at me as if I were his last supper.
Then again, he was already in the mood because of the girl on his arm. All blonde hair, blue eyes, and a rocking body made for fucking. Pert tits that stuck out, large and in charge, on her chest.
She’s his type, all right. Brainless, fuckable, and someone that’s not me.
I need to put Brett and his cronies out of my head. Nothing good will ever come from them being there. My newly dyed body can attest to that.
CHAPTER 7
On my hands and knees.
This was never a position I thought I’d find myself in at this school. Especially, if it’s outside the bedroom.
But here I am, scrubbing away the vile magenta laced water from my hardwood floor. Not very well, I might add. This stuff is potent and very freaking stubborn; no matter how hard I scrub there’s this thin layer that just doesn’t want to come up.
“A mixture of laundry detergent, water, and baking soda will take that right up,” I hear from behind me. Twisting, I find the girl from earlier; the one that was hanging all over Brett like he was her air.
I scowl. “No one asked you.”
Who does this girl think she is? I don’t want her near me; I don’t even want to be in the same vicinity as her. Not with what already went down between her, Brett, and I. It’s embarrassing enough she has to see me on the floor, trying and failing, to clean up the mess whoever Dorran allowed to make.
“I think we got off on the wrong foot.” She sighs, and the sound makes me want to strangle her. How can a sigh sound so goddamn perfect?
“Beat feet, princess,” I fume in a low voice, putting more effort into my motions. “I don’t have time for your shit.”
I expect her to leave; to go on about her business as if I’m nothing more than a fly on the wall. However, she surprises me. Instead of taking off, she gets down on her hands and knees, grabs the rag from my hands, then pins me with a stare.
“The name isn’t princess. It’s Kamila Carrington, and if I’m going to help you, then you should at least have the courtesy of being nice.”
“I didn’t ask for your help,” I deadpan, shifting back onto my haunches.
She frowns, eyeing me. “No, you didn’t. But I can tell you need it.”
Sighing, my shoulders droop in defeat. I do need help, but my pride is a fickle bitch and won’t allow me to ask for it. It’s been just me since my mother died. I can’t rely on my father, because he’s Lord knows where.
“I can’t trust you’re not doing this as some sort of malicious prank for Brett.”
“Oh, yeah.” She winces, as if remembering, then surprises me even further when she leans forward and starts scrubbing at the floor. “I’m not usually like that. But this makes the second year
I’ve been here, and the first time he noticed me. Well, until he saw you in the shower, then he forgot all about me. So, fuck him, right?”
She smiles. I find it’s not a cruel, taunting grin like some other people around here perfect before the time they hit the second grade. It’s a soft-hearted one; almost like she’s afraid of how I’ll react but needs to put it out there, anyway. I have to say, it causes my heart to slow its rapid pace in my chest, and I find myself smiling tightly back toward her.
“Yeah. Fuck him.”
I disappear into my dorm, gathering all the things she told me to. After she mixes the chemicals together, we get started on cleaning this floor right. We work in compatible silence, each one taking a different side of the landing, then working our way to the middle. My muscles ache from scouring the floor so hard, sweat sliding down the side of my forehead to land on the floor I’m hunkered over.
I’m lost in the process, happily seeing Kamila was right in this mixture taking up the mess someone else made. And I have to say, it makes me pause, wondering how she could know this. She cryptically stated this was the first time Brett noticed her since she’s been here. Could it be she’s just like me, a transplant student that doesn’t belong?
The more I clean, the more that thought runs through my mind. I mean, she looks like she fits right in; blonde hair, banging body, and a golden glow you can only get from the sun's rays caressing your skin. But she could have gotten that appearance from her time being here, and not some genetically altered way like a tanning booth.
Mulling it all over in my head, I finally whisper, “The name is Ariyal Nikohls.”
“I know,” she replies with a secretive grin, then her eyes flash up to mine with a kindness I find completely refreshing.
Giving her a small smile, I get back to my duty. We’re almost finished when I feel a looming presence step up behind me. There was no hint of footsteps approaching, nothing. It was not there one moment, then bombarding me the next. I don’t even have to turn around to see who it is; the tingles dancing along my spine are enough of an indicator.
But then, I feel a large, strong hand slip inside the top of my night shorts, grabbing a handful of lace-clad ass. A gasp of shock flies from between my lips, and before I can think, I twist around, swinging my arm madly. It lands against the side of his cheek hard, causing him to stumble a few steps back. But instead of seeing a look of outrage pouring off him, I see a shit-eating grin tilting his lips as he rubs his jaw.
“You can’t just grab someone’s ass, fuck-face!” I rage out, jumping to my feet.
He shrugs, and fuck him right up his pee hole, he still looks gorgeous, even with the mark of my hand smarting his chiseled cheek. He looks so pleased with himself, which makes the burning anger go from a simmer in my stomach to a rolling boil. He’s been taking liberties with me ever since I stepped out of that car yesterday evening, and I won’t allow it.
“It’s a nice ass,” he retorts, leering. “Perfect. Plump. Just big enough to be more than a handful.”
Disgusting. “You fail to recall I gave you no such permission to touch me.”
“Well, you were pretty much offering it up to me.”
My jaw unhinges. I was cleaning the damn floor. A mess someone he hangs around with probably caused, and he thinks I was offering myself up to him. Yeah, that will never happen. Just like it wasn’t happening now.
My body may want him with a fierce, clenching need. But my body and mind are on two different wavelengths. They’ll never be on the same page. Not when it comes to Brett Kingston.
Fuming, I round on him, almost forgetting the girl he had on his arm no less than an hour ago is still scrubbing my floors. She’s even humming under her breath, for God’s sake.
“You may rule the people at this school, but that doesn’t mean you have any pull over me. Touch me again, and I’ll break your goddamn fingers.”
A door at the other end of the hallway opens, producing Chaz. He takes in the scene, peering down at Kamila, then at me, then Brett, before doing a double take to stare at his cheek. When he sees my hand mark on Brett’s face, a Cheshire grin pops up on his. My arms cross over my chest as I wait for a degrading retort to slip from between his luscious lips. Only, it never comes. What he does say has me craning my head to the side in confusion.
“You owe him fifteen.” His eyes meet Brett’s, and whatever he meant by that has Brett scowling.
It automatically makes me feel better, even if he looks hella hot no matter how he looks. As long as it means something terrible for Brett, then I’m all for it.
But I’m over this whole situation. I still have a floor to finish cleaning and dinner to get ready for.
“While this has been fun, Kamila and I really need to finish this up,” I state, turning back around to get down on my hands.
“Kamila?” Brett asks, confusion riddling his voice.
Is he for real right now? “The girl you took back to your place not an hour ago. Forget about her?” I hike a thumb in her direction. “You know, this one.”
He breaks his gaze away from mine to peer down at the girl next to me. I don’t miss his confusion morph into something unintelligible, and I don’t know why but that burns my ass. I get that he’s ‘the guy’ in this school, but if you’re going to have partners, then you need to at least remember their names.
I release a grunt of outrage before dismissing both of them all together. Kamila’s eyes flick to mine, and I don’t miss the hurt I see shining in her liquid gaze, but instead of giving them weight, I shoot a soft smile toward her.
Something tells me this girl, while gorgeous and amazing, isn’t one of the most popular girls in this school. In fact, I get the inkling she may be more of an outcast, like myself. Only, instead of trying my hardest to fit in, this girl tries her hardest to stand out, so she can hopefully get what she wants.
What she wanted was Brett, but if her words hold any weight, they did nothing when they went back to his dorm room. She said it was because of me, but I don’t see that happening. She’s beautiful, so much so it hurts to look at her. With her round, innocent eyes, corkscrew curls, and lithe body—she’s any man’s wet dream.
Too bad for her, she tried getting with a boy.
“Would you like to eat dinner with me, Kamila?” I ask, and that earns me a smile of relief.
“Sure. I-I’d like that.”
I nod. The guys stand behind us for some time, but we don’t make a move to acknowledge them. They’re probably just staring at our asses anyway, and I don’t want to see that and lose my cool. I’d rather get this finished, then pull Kamila into my dorm room so I can get ready for dinner.
After what feels like forever, I vaguely hear the guys disappear down the hall, then shortly later, knock on Dorran’s door. I don’t glance up. I don’t give them any of the attention they want. I keep my head down and scrub the last remnants of the mixture of dye and water off my floor, before swiping a towel over it to dry it up.
Maybe since this mixture was good enough, I can use it on my body, too. Probably not the greatest idea in the world, but at least I would no longer look like princess Poppy off Trolls. My hair will still have the pink highlights weaving throughout the strands, but they’re so minuscule you can hardly see them unless you’re under fluorescent lighting.
After packing our things away, I urge Kamila inside my dorm, then run upstairs with the leftover mixture and douse my skin. Only, it does nothing. So, after careful consideration, I use an old tried-and-true method of rubbing alcohol. I forgot all about it in my haste to get a shower and get it off me, but I am pleasantly surprised when I find it and some cotton balls under the sink. It takes it right off my skin without the added negative impact of taking the first layer off. Kind of like the mixture for the floor probably did.
Quickly dressing, I put my hair into a French braid at the base of my neck and make my way out of my room.
But when I get to the landing, about to call out to Kamila, I sto
p in my tracks, my lips tilting up on one side in a snarl.
“Can’t you take a goddamn hint, Kingston. I want nothing to do with you or your fucking friends.”
Brett, Chaz, and Dorran all stand in the entrance with a sullen looking Kamila standing right next to them. She doesn’t meet my eyes as I make my way across the landing, coming to the top of the stairs. It’s like she’s afraid I’ll smart off to her or worse, but that’s not really my style. She probably has a good reason for allowing them entry.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers. “They knocked and like an idiot, I didn’t think to check before opening the door.”
“Don’t be too hard on yourself, sweetheart,” Dorran coos, laughter evident in his voice. “Even if you did, you would have opened the door, anyway.”
Kamila frowns, but says nothing in return. She looks like a cowered dog, which only seems to light a fire inside me. I can’t stand when people think they’re so much better than someone else. So much so, they make those around them feel like they mean nothing. I know that’s the way the real-world works, but that doesn’t mean I have to allow it in what is to be my home for the next three years.
“Get the hell out of my room. Now.” I stomp down the steps, my shitkickers thumping harshly against the well-treated wood.
When I get to the bottom of the stairs, I cross my arms over my chest in warning. They need not make a habit out of coming into my room how they please. They can run RPA like they want, but my room isn’t RPA. It’s mine. If I want to keep it that way, I will shove my boot so far up their asses, they’ll be singing tenor for the foreseeable future.
Brett leers at me, taking in my outfit of ripped skinny jeans, a tight wife beater, and boots. It’s clear he doesn’t want to like what I have on, but he does. I can see it in his eyes, with the way he keeps running his gaze up and down my body. Need pours off him in waves; his body is physically taut, muscles bulging with restraint.
Little Plaything: A Dark High School Bully Romance (Reighton Preparatory Academy Book 1) Page 5