“That’s unnecessary. I can hold my bag.” Kamila makes a sound in the back of her throat but says nothing. Instead, she hands our driver her bag, then walks down the street to the one and only Gucci store. Well, before she makes a right turn in front of a store, I don’t recognize.
Hurrying toward the car, I toss my purchase inside before making my way after her. She’s about halfway down the block before I can catch up with her, but once I do, I really wish I hadn’t. We’re not going to Gucci like she said we were, we’re going to DeMika Amor—Chaz’s family business. At least the one in Reighton.
Shit.
“I don’t want to go in there,” I huff out, stopping right in the middle of the sidewalk.
She peers back over her shoulder, grasping the metal doorknob in her hand. “It’s not like he’s here or anything. Remember?”
“It’s the principle of it, Kamila. If I go in there, it’s like I’m allowing Chaz in. I can’t do it.”
“That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard,” she says, bursting into a fit of laughter, the door shaking in her grip as she almost doubles over in her hilarity.
“No, it’s really not,” I scoff.
“Suit yourself, but they have some very edgy stuff in here I believe you’d like.”
She’s tempting me, and I don’t enjoy being tempted. That’s why I always, always lash out at the guys when they’re around. Even if they’re silent and not saying a word to me, I always have something to say to them and it’s never pretty.
I try to think of the worst thing ever, knowing there’s no way it could be inside. “I’m a leather and ripped denim kind of girl.”
She smirks, knowing my game. “Then you’re in luck because the Mikaels have an entire section devoted to creamy leather garments and ripped denim jeans.”
Crap.
“I’m not really a name brand person,” I try once more, but when she gives me that secretive smile of hers, I know I’m in for it.
“DeMika Amor is no ordinary brand. They’re family owned, which equates in them not being name brand. They’re high end fashion. So, try again.”
I have nothing to attest to that.
Like, nothing.
Groaning, I release a huff of exasperation and follow her inside, albeit grudgingly. The moment we step inside, women flock from all directions to service us, their words not mine.
“How can I help you, Ms. Carrington and Ms. …”
“Nikohls,” I supply, watching as their faces, one by one, draw up in confusion. “I am Laura Charles’ stepdaughter.” Ugh, how I hate having to explain that, but it seems I’ve had to do that at every store Kamila and I have been in today. Names get you far in this town, and with the way people jump to do my bidding, I say the ‘Charles’ name is huge.
“Ms. Nikohls,” a girl with the tag labeled ‘manager’ with ‘Tiffany’ right under it steps forward. She eyes my appearance up and down, a large smile ghosting over her lips. “I think we have just the thing for you, dear.”
I open my mouth to dissuade her, but it’s no use. Tiffany grabs my arm, then weaves hers through mine as she pulls me further into the store. I glance back at Kamila, seeing her just as overtaken as I am, but she seems in her element. Instead of fumbling around, she’s demanding to see catalogs, and even asks about next season or something like that.
Pulling my eyes away from her, they trail over racks and racks of finely stitched garments. They’re all beautiful in their own right, but they just do not seem like the type of thing I would wear. I’m a poor girl from the ghetto; I’m not used to this fancy-schmancy material they have here. Give me two pieces of cotton sewn together any day of the week and I’ll wear the shit out of it.
“Something tells me you’re one of our edgier clients,” Tiffany muses, pushing open a door that leads into a different part of the store.
Just as soon as we step through, my jaw hits the floor. Racks, upon racks and racks of leather greet my eyes. It has more of a punk rock feel, rather than an elegance I could never pull off.
“Am I in heaven?” I crane my neck, seeing dresses, shirts, pants, skirts—oh, my God, there are boots! “Boots!” My eyes light up in glee as I all but race over to them, dragging Tiffany along with me.
I may not be into clothes as much as the next girl, but if there are boots involved, I’m lost to everyone until I come out the other side.
“Yes! The heir of DeMika specifically designed these boots—in fact, this entire room is the future, he says. We cannot put them out on the sales floor, of course, but he keeps them in the back for our more …” She stares me up and down, smiling genuinely. “Eccentric clientele.”
“Chaz designed these?” It takes me off guard. I pull my hand back, pinning Tiffany to the spot with my gaze.
“Yes, he did. He has such a terrific eye, just like his mother.” Chaz designs clothes?
My mind whirls with possibilities as I scan the surrounding room. There’s white leather, black leather, brown leather, blue leather—any color of leather you can think of. It’s all gorgeous, with a sophistication that rivals any other designer I’ve seen. But can I put my feelings aside for the guy that bullies me to wear some of his designs?
I want to answer no; just walk out of here and drag Kamila out by the hair of her head. But my intrigue continues to grow until I peruse the room with interest. This is my style exactly; down to a tee. Everything in here is grungy, edgy, while still giving off the vibe of elegance and sophistication.
However, my eyes catch on something hidden away in the corner. My lips threaten to part, a sigh lodging in my throat, as I make my way over. My fingers dance along the creamy leather skirt, noting its perfect stitching. It’s an onyx color with interspace lace webbing. It looks like something you’d find from Hot Topic, but with the quality of high-end fashion.
“Can I try this on?”
Tiffany nods, smiling. “You sure can! Let me see if I can find a shirt to go with it.”
I smile toward her, then find the skirt in my size, taking it off the rack. I peruse the boots, finding a lovely studded, three-inch heel with Swarovski crystals weaving in and out of the sterling silver studs. It’s gorgeous, mesmerizing.
Tiffany returns, and by the devilish gleam in her eyes, I take it she’s found what she was looking for. Forcing me toward the dressing rooms, she holds up a piece of leather and shoves it into my chest. She wants me to put on a vest with it? I shoot a look of confusion her way, but she merely smiles and urges me more.
Stepping inside, I hang up the garments and start undressing. I take in the flimsy little panty and bra set that Laura had packed for me, noting the cups barely cover my nipples as its lacy fabric clings to my skin. The panties are almost too small in the front, barely hiding my pussy from someone's watchful gaze. It’s not the type of lingerie a stepmother is supposed to purchase for her stepdaughter, but I found, quickly, that everything Laura does isn’t normal.
I release a sigh. Taking the skirt off the hanger, I shimmy into it, noting its exquisite texture. It’s light, airy, while still holds that feel of fine leather. After zipping the back, I take myself in, a smile gracing my lips. It fits perfectly. I twist and turn, noting it makes my ass seem bigger, plumper.
“Oh, Mr. Mikaels, I didn’t expect to see you in today,” Tiffany exclaims from outside my door. “You explained as much over the phone.”
My eyes round in their sockets.
“It’s okay, Tiffany,” Chaz’s voice sounds much too close to the dressing room for my liking. “Is a Ms. Nikohls here by some chance? I saw Ms. Carrington out front.”
Tiffany squeaks. “Yes, she’s in …”
I search for my shirt, but before I can find it, the door swings open, revealing Chaz in all his brooding splendor. My eyes instantly land on his, watching as his gaze heats along my skin. His throat bobs when he spies I’m shirtless and my bra is more of a tease to the eyes, instead of a garment for comfort and support.
A strange tingle r
aces through me as he continues to eat me alive with his penetrating gaze. I swallow hard, watching as he tries to control himself, but it seems he’s barely hanging on by a threat. His eyes darken to an almost black, pairing beautifully with his ocean blue hair.
I don’t know why I didn’t put two and two together before now. But Chaz seems just as edgy as I am, except his form of rebellion is his hair and tattoos.
“If you don’t want me to fuck you against the wall, I suggest you put a shirt on.” His tone is rough, low, and gravelly. It hits its mark between my thighs.
I can’t think. Can’t breathe. Can’t move. My throat dries at the sight of him practically vibrating in his shoes. I should hate him; hate everything about him for what he’s been doing to me. But my body is winning out. My brain has checked out, leaving me to the gorgeous, menacing nature of the man in front of me.
My wetness trickles down the inside of my thighs, thinking about his threat. About the feel of his body against mine; how his fingers would feel trailing over every exposed piece of flesh. My body readies for his, even though I know I can’t go there. At least, I don’t think … No, I can’t.
Our eyes meet, his burning with lust and desire and mine lost. My chest rises and falls with hurried breaths, but it’s not from fear, it’s from arousal. Even though I hate him, I’ve never wanted someone more. Just the feel of his stare licking across my flesh, sensually, has me nearing the point of no return.
Then, his eyes slam into mine. His Adam's apple rises and falls as he swallows hard. I know I must have waited too long to answer, because within seconds he’s pushing his way inside and slamming the door behind him. His body forces me back into the wall, covering me completely. My gasps release into the centimeters of space separating our lips; his eyes trekking along the contours of my face, neck, and chest.
His eyes meet mine once more, silently screaming a warning his brain can’t compute to his lips. Then his jaw clenches, his hands trail up my sides and comes to a stop on both sides of my face, weaving his fingers through the strands of my hair.
Then, he kisses me, and it’s pure perfection.
CHAPTER 12
His touch sears my skin.
His kiss flays my lips.
When he breaks our kiss, I peer up at him with bewilderment and lust making laps around my head. His heated eyes scan my face, chest, and arms. Arms I didn’t know, until now, I’d thrown around his neck to pull him closer.
“I’ve been thinking about these lips for months,” he growls low in his throat, leaning forward to nip at my bottom lip. “They don’t disappoint.”
The lustful haze dissipates, but not enough for me to release him. I know this is wrong. I’m not supposed to be doing this with any of them. I should push him away. They have taunted me, allowed people to terrorize me for months. I shouldn’t want him, Brett, or even Dorran.
For fuck sakes, Brett is nothing but a horny asshole trying to get into my pants. What if this is just another ruse? What if Chaz is trying to do the same thing?
Nothing good will ever come from me kissing Chaz, feeling him, and getting lost in the way his hands can’t seem to get enough of me.
But I can’t deny the feeling blooming in my core. My mind may not want them, but my body’s already thrown in the white flag.
Before I can push him away, his lips crush mine once more, hard and demanding. My hands ball his shirt in my fists, but instead of pushing him away, I pull him closer. The lustful haze sweeps through me again. It’s been too long since I’ve felt a guy’s lips pressed against mine; since I felt the need roll off them in waves of unadulterated pleasure.
Instead of outrage, a whimper of need rises in my throat. Chaz swallows it with a growl, like a man hungry and desperate. I feel the reverberations all the way down to my toes, making them curl inside my boots. He takes my bottom lip between his, sucking at first then biting. I cry out softly into his waiting, ravenous mouth at the hint of pain that ensues.
“You.” He nips, sucks, and tangles his tongue with mine. “Are.” His fingers weave into my hair on both sides, holding my head in place as he presses his body flush against mine to where I can barely breathe. “Perfection.”
My nails claw at the back of his neck, our tongues tangling and dueling with each other. He pushes into me harder, his ministrations growing rougher by the second. I feel like a moth that’s flying too close to a spider’s web; I know it’s dangerous but can do nothing to stop its allure from provoking me forward.
His hands release my hair, trailing down the side of my neck, I shiver as he continues to consume me whole, coming to rest his hands on the cups of my bra. Pulling them down, I gasp into his greedy mouth at the feel of cool air circling my breasts and hardening my nipples into stiff points.
He breaks the kiss, trailing his lips along my cheek, jawline, then down my neck, sucking and biting as his hands knead my breasts. He’s everywhere, without being anywhere all at once.
Heat, darkness, and lust surge through me. Damn, the way he makes my body sing is indescribable. I’ve had no one make me feel this way before; this raw, natural chemistry.
His warm breath skates along my sensitive ear, making a full body shiver race through me. “Is this pretty, little cunt wet for me?” I swallow, hard. My chest heaves up and down with quickening pants of oxygen.
My mother, she always told me that hate and lust are a thin line; if you’re not careful, you can cross it without even knowing you have. I didn’t really understand what she was saying until now.
I saw it.
Point blank.
It was like a blazing stop sign flashing bright, colorful lights into the dark recesses of my mind. But nothing I can do would stop it from coming. I’ve toed that line since coming here, and now, Chaz is making me step over it, with no disregard for myself.
I love the way he feels but hate that he’s the one making me feel it.
I love his smells but hate that it’s him teasing my senses.
Chaz’s tongue invades my mouth, plunging in fast, hurried strokes. It has that itch racing toward the surface, begging to be scratched. It has me thinking what he can do with it elsewhere, and I’m shamefully wet just from imagining it.
I hate that he can do this to me. Capture my body with his pleasure and steal it for his own. But at the same time, I love every second of it. His taste. His touch. Even the way he meticulously moves my body to better serve his.
That’s when I feel it. His fingers slide underneath my skirt to skate along the lace of my panties, coming to rest over my bundle of nerves. I freeze. My mind is racing—should I push him away, or let him? There’s nothing but thin lace separating his fingers from my flesh, and I’m practically vibrating with need against the dressing room wall.
But this is wrong, right?
I can’t allow him to do this.
Can I?
“Mmm, you dirty fucking girl,” he groans, rubbing along my lace-covered slit. “Maybe I should make you beg for it, hm?”
Pleasure cascades through me. I gyrate against his fingers, so close but not close enough to get me where I need. The words are on the tip of my tongue, tasting like ash in my mouth from the fire burning down everything around us.
“I …” He rubs a little harder, making me groan and lean my head back against the wall. “I …”
My back arches away from the wall as he takes my nipple into his wet, hot mouth, sucking. His tongue flicks against the tip, teasing it into a painfully stiff point. My mind is screaming no, but my body is nearly on the floor in tatters as it weeps for Chaz’s tongue. It’s exactly what he wants. He moves his fingers just a fraction, adding enough pressure to make me wail as he sucks harder.
“Oh, fuck,” I choke, pushing my hips into his waiting hand.
He slides his hand under the fabric, and his fingers sink into my pussy with ease. I’m so wet that he goes deep with little pressure at all, pulling another moan from me as he kisses me again. His mouth ravages mine. His tongue, lip
s, and movements are almost too much to keep up with. Fuck.
Pleasure shocks me, hard and fast, and I can feel the need to come rise inside of me.
“Just one word, brat,” he whispers against my lips.
It’s another shock to my system, but a shock that fights to break through the lustful cloud fogging my mind. Brat? I hate being called that. I’m nowhere near brat material, and they all know it. However, it’s not enough, because his fingers pick up pace, gliding through my wetness with ease and precision. He toys with my aching clit as he drops kiss after devastating kiss to my chest, neck, and collarbone.
I’m so close. So, so, close. I can practically taste the sweet, sweet climax on the horizon, and I want it. I want it more than I’ve wanted anything in my life.
“You will fucking beg me for it, or I’ll keep you right here, on the edge, until you do,” Chaz growls, peering down at his hand. He watches as his fingers delve through my wet folds. “Fuck, you look gorgeous in my skirt, love.”
I shudder. The name heats my blood to a simmering boil.
But just as his body presses against mine, it’s gone just as fast, leaving me panting and aching for release. It’s then I notice someone knocks on the door, then a voice that causes my mind to clear of all desire.
“Are you done getting it in yet, bro,” Brett calls out, humor tinging his voice. “We have shit to do.”
My mouth falls open in obvious disbelief. They’ve been out there the whole time, hearing me come apart under Chaz’s fingers. Did they do this as some sort of a joke? I peer up at Chaz, seeing a guilty expression lingering in his gaze. It takes a few moments for me to push past the lust thrumming through my body, but once I do, I see this for what it really is.
Just another ploy to get me to bed one of them. I’m so fucking stupid.
Tears dance behind my eyes, but I refuse to allow them to fall. Instead, I revert to who I truly am. A bitch. Now, I’m a bitch with her feelings hurt, and it sucks.
Little Plaything: A Dark High School Bully Romance (Reighton Preparatory Academy Book 1) Page 8