Low: A Dark High School Bully Romance (Suffolk Academy Book 1)

by Lilah Walker

  “I’ll be leaving right now,” I tell him. I adjust my backpack on my shoulder and get ready to stand up. “I’m sure you don’t want to get in trouble.”

  His silence continues, but his stance becomes wider—stronger. Like he’s literally going to physically stop me…but he wouldn’t do that, would he? Not really?

  “Trouble is what I love,” Lowell says in a low voice. “What you don’t know is that I can have the cameras turned off with the flip of my cold, hard cash into the right hands. And don’t you think I was smart enough to do that?”

  My jaw drops, and his sharp, electric blue eyes hold me in my seat. He flashes them at me as if he could send bolts of electricity right into my heart and kill me.

  He hates me, and he wants me to suffer. He will not let me go home.

  “This is attempted kidnapping,” I mutter, even though I’m pretty sure he will let me go home at some point.

  I hope.

  He laughs out loud, throwing his head back in the air.

  “Attempted kidnapping?” he asks, as if I’m the one being absurd.

  But I’m the one thinking like a rational human being. He’s some kind of crazed jerk who’s been spoiled all of his life. Nobody has ever told him no at this school.

  If I want to get home anytime soon, though, it looks like I’ll need to follow along with him in whatever this is supposed to be. I drop my backpack to the floor and sit back in the chair. “Okay, fine, you want to work today? We’ll work.”

  “Hmm, making yourself comfortable, Goddess?” he asks, stepping closer to me again.

  He practically has his crotch in my face. I swallow hard and push myself back from it.

  “Are you scared of what I’m hiding right in front of your face?”

  I turn my body towards the table and place my elbows on it to cup my face in my hands. I should pull something from my bag to focus on—anything from my bag to focus on—but all I can think of is avoiding his gaze. His body.

  “Don’t act like you haven’t sucked dick in your life. I know you’ve given those big city motherfuckers some good head, you little slut,” he says, gripping the back of my chair.

  What the hell? How dare he say that? And how dare he call me a slut?

  I swirl back to him, aiming to stare him down, but my words are caught in my throat. I’m torn between being horrified and turned on, and I can’t even say why—it’s like everything has frozen, with me in the center of this private room with Lowell, and he’s talking to me like…like that. This is a different level from what he’s said to me before.

  And what’s worse is that I don’t know what to say; I only know that any way I defend myself will come back to bite me. If I lie, he’ll hear it. And if I don’t, he’ll use my words against me.

  The truth is, I haven’t even seen a dick in person. Sure, I played around with a couple of guys back home, especially my last boyfriend, but we never went any further than dry humping on my mom’s sofa while she was at work. I think they were too scared to pull it out, and I was too scared to figure out what to do with it. And with my last boyfriend, by the time he was really pressuring me, I’d decided I just wasn’t ready, so I didn’t let us get any further than heavy petting.

  And now I’m here, with Lowell, with him saying what he just said.

  The leather back of the chair squeaks in his hand, and he’s got me trapped here. I’m not sure if he’s going to rip the leather off or yank the chair out from under me.

  My head’s getting a little dizzy, although I’m sitting down. I hate when this happens. Most people feel this way on their feet. I can sit in a chair or even lay down and pass out when I get this nervous, when my words and my emotions are all catching up in my throat like this and making thinking impossible.

  Although I haven’t passed out in about two years, I still remember the feeling of losing consciousness. I had several dizzy spells that year, but my mother never took me to the doctor. She thought it was no big deal and told me to stop skipping breakfast. I did, and they went away. But now I feel a familiar weakness taking hold of my head.

  Please, don’t let me pass out in front of this jerk. Ignoring how close he is, I tilt over to hold my forehead in my hands to make the sensation go away.

  He made me feel this way when he threatened me in the hallway a month ago, so I tried not to get close enough to where he could put his hands on me again.

  “I want to know what you like, Goddess,” he whispers. “I want to know what makes you happy.”

  I won’t tell him one damn word. He’ll just take the information and use it against me.

  I’m not stupid.

  “Come on, Goddess. Don’t you like it when I call you that? Or would you rather I call you a slut…Goddess?”

  I don’t want him to call me anything at all.

  “Talk to me. You should feel special getting all of my attention like this.” He strokes my hair and says, “You are my goddess.”

  I feel a hint of electricity in his hand on my head. Despite his words, his hand is gentle. And I can’t help it—I’m leaning into his touch. My dizziness has turned into an overwhelming calmness, just from his touch. I don’t want that from him. Anybody else but from him, my tormentor, but I can’t deny it. This is the way my body is reacting to him.

  This is sadistic. This is wrong.

  “Are you going to tell me how much you like me calling you ‘Goddess’?”

  No way. There’s not a chance. Lowell is a bully, and no matter how my body is reacting, I know that. I refuse to tell him what he wants to hear.

  He continues to stroke my hair. Then, he pushes my hair back behind my ears. Dammit, why did I have to wear my hair down today?

  He pulls my head out of my hands.

  “Are you feeling sick?” he asks. I shake my head, finally, because I just can’t help responding to at least that simple question, and his voice was softer—for a moment.

  “Okay, then. You can’t tell me how much you like me calling you ‘Goddess’ right now.”

  He grabs both sides of my head, and before I can get free of his massive hands, he’s wobbling my head up and down, physically forcing me to nod at him as he looks at me with that cruel smirk of his.

  My brain feels like it’s spinning in my skull. I close my eyes, hoping that will dull the uneasiness in my head, holding back hot tears at the thought of fainting around this brute. I’m not made for this. I’m not. So, if he wants to harass me and shame me, he can go ahead. I want to live with my brain intact.

  “I like it…” I groan. “I like it when you call me Goddess,” I stammer out.

  “Okay. Next time, I’m going to see how much you like it.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  I raise my hand and offer to answer every question in class today. I receive a perfect score on the pop quiz about the passage we had to read for homework, and take notes like a pro during the lecture. I want my teachers to get over whatever they may have heard about that one exam, and understand I’m serious about being a good student. And you know what? I’m thinking this school may work out for me.

  But then I spot Lowell in the hallway on my way out of my last class. I never felt afraid when my mother left me. I never felt like my life could vanish right before my eyes at the hands of someone else. It didn’t even occur to me to feel fear over my safety or my identity.

  Fear has never really affected me. However, here at S.A., I am getting an education on fear from Lowell Bartlett. I bet my grandmother never knew she sent me here for this.

  The school day is over, Lowell drags me to his private study room again. Maybe he has an agreement with the devil he serves, so he can use it for his personal torture sessions instead of working on our project.

  Lowell forces me to sit down in the same chair at the same table where he made me accept my new name, ‘Goddess’. He asks the same question about whether or not I like it, and when I don’t answer, he grips both sides of my head and shakes it up and down. I’m a puppet and he�
�s a madman. He’s determined to give me a concussion, I think. My hands attempt to grasp his, but they’re trembling too much.

  My mouth falls open as I feel my breathing quicken. The room has begun to vibrate with the near silence between us, and the only sound is my hair swishing back and forth.

  Swallowing down my fear, I promise myself I won’t give in to whatever he’s trying to do to me. I bring up an enormous amount of willpower, attempting to steady my head in his hands rather than let him have full control. Gripping the arms of the chair, I fight to steady myself. I will not be his bobblehead for the day.

  Finally, he stops, though his hands remain on my head. My own hands continue to tremble as I push some stray strands of hair away from my face. He’s an evil sadist, it occurs to me. And I refuse to speak and allow him to hear the fear in my voice. If he thinks I’ll remain afraid of him, he’s wrong, but right now, I wouldn’t be able to hide it if I spoke up.

  Truly, I don’t trust myself. He has all of the control, and I just can’t allow him to know it.

  Lowell softens his stance, but he becomes impersonal. He touches my face and allows his fingers to rest on my hot cheeks. I can feel them trembling, just like my own.

  Is he afraid, too? Why?

  My thoughts are so muddled, I may have brain damage at this point. His hand slides along my jawline, then to the back of my neck.

  And that’s when he yanks me up out of the chair so fast that I gasp.

  He cups his hand over my nose and mouth as I struggle to break free, my hands fighting uselessly against his strong arms, and then he rubs the curve of my lips with his forefinger.

  So, this is the game we’re playing. I close my eyes against his compelling glare, but he parts my lips…and I can feel my breath escaping in little bursts of air that he’s the one controlling, with his hand still there and ready to cover my mouth and nose again.

  “Your mouth was made for me, Goddess,” he whispers into my mouth.

  Between his hands and his breath on me, I don’t know what to do, what he wants, or what I need to do if I want to escape him. Instinctively, my lips pucker to kiss him, expecting him to press his lips into mine, but he pulls away just an inch.

  “You want to kiss me,” he whispers. “What about giving me the answer I want to hear?”

  I groan from somewhere deep in my throat, feeling myself wilt against him. I’m helpless against his teasing, his voice. He actually finally has me hoping for a taste of his sensual lips, and all he can do is taunt me. I’m falling apart here, and Lowell doesn’t care.

  He grips his hands around my shoulders and squeezes me so hard that I think my spine will crack. Whimpering, I jar open my eyes and try to wiggle my way out of his muscular grasp, but it’s no use.

  “When are you going to learn?” he asks, leaning into my ear.

  I stop moving, and he loosens his grip on my back. He moves his leg against me, rubbing back and forth against my thighs and crotch until I feel a tingle between my legs. He pulls me in closer, and I cannot resist pressing myself into his groin.

  He’s hard, and his dick feels large as fuck, even under his slacks.

  I’m overwhelmed by desire, but why? He hasn’t even kissed me. Why is my body heating up like this?

  I hate Lowell, and he told me he hates with all of his heart. So, what the fuck is going here?

  Why do I want this motherfucker?

  I’m confused as all hell, but Lowell is not. He knows what he’s doing. He’s forceful, and knows his skills. Just the way his breath is teasing my skin and his hands are gripping me tells me everything I need to know about how natural this feels to him. I bet he does this with all of the girls he likes to torment.

  He picks me up in one quick swoop and lays me across the table, bringing his lips down on mine with a light brush before he pulls back again.

  Still no real kiss, but I’m struggling to catch my breath, and with the way he’s looking at me now, I don’t dare move from where he’s laid me out on this table.

  He pulls away again and rips my polo out of my skirt to reveal my bare stomach. He instead kisses me there, and starts stroking my breasts with his hands. I close my eyes, sinking into the feel of his soft kisses on my abdomen. The pain of a few minutes ago is gone, and it’s been so long since a guy has touched me like this. His hands on my breasts feel right, touching and exploring, and it doesn’t even occur to me to protest anymore.

  “Let’s just get rid of this thing,” he says, and then I feel him removing my polo entirely, taking it from my body in such a fast motion that it’s just a tangle of fabric around my arms, gone before I can even think about the fact of what we’re doing, or how Lowell is seeing my naked skin more clearly than any guy before him.

  I release a moan as he pulls my bra down so that he can cup one of my breasts in his hot mouth, and I begin to arch my back in excitement. Then his fingers begin to roll the flesh and nipple of my other breast and I moan again. Suddenly, he grasps my nipple between his fingers so hard that I feel like he’s going to squeeze it off.

  I scream out in pain, in a state of confusion.

  “Big city girl can take it. Stop it,” he murmurs into my breast, still pinching me, and then he’s biting down on my other nipple so hard that I’m scared he’ll draw blood.

  “That shit hurts!” I scream at him, pushing at him with my arms to get him to back off, but he’s got me pinned beneath him.

  “I know what will hurt so good,” he says as he moves his hand under my plaid, pleated skirt to tear off my underwear. Before I can even think, he’s thrown them on the floor.

  His touch moves to my wet pussy, and that’s when I realize how badly I really do want him.

  “You were waiting for me,” he whispers, his tongue exploring my breast and nipples as I moan helplessly.

  My legs quiver violently, and I’m done fighting. I want him to grind his fingers inside of me to the tempo of my vibrating clit. And his fingers are right there. He does exactly what I want, and it feels too good to be true. I must be under his spell, as I think I’m going to orgasm right in this private study room.

  My eyes are closed, my body lost in the sensations he’s pushing on me as I moan like I’m exactly the slut he called me when we last met. He rubs his finger in and out of my gyrating pussy as I thrust my hips harder against his hand.

  “Yes, oh yes, it feels so good,” I moan out loudly.

  “Tell me to call you Goddess,” he says, pulling his face away from my exposed breasts while still jamming his hand into my hot pussy. “Tell me you’re my Goddess.”

  I balk, panting with the pleasure he’s giving me even as my mind rebels. That’s one thing I do not want. I do not want to be owned by Lowell. I don’t want him to think he can call me what he wants, whenever he wants.

  He knows it, he knows what he’s putting me through…but he knows I need this orgasmic pleasure, too.

  It’s too late for me. I’ve lost my mind, and I can’t deny even to myself that I want this sadist inside of me. I want his hot body to bring me to ecstasy.

  I want to come, and I’m so close with just the pulsations of his hand.

  “You love the name Goddess?” he asks, suddenly pulling his hand away from my gyrating pussy.

  I open my eyes and grab his hand to thrust it back to my hot clit.

  “Nope, tell me what I want to hear,” he demands in a strict voice.

  “Yes, I love it…” I struggle to speak, pushing his hand to move against my thrusting. “Please…call me…Goddess.”

  “Thank you, Goddess,” he says, but he also backs away, wiping his hands on my skirt before taking a step back.

  He leaves me undone and frustrated. I want to come so badly that I grind my legs together without even thinking what I must look like to him, hoping that will bring it on, but I know I need his hand.

  Lowell gasps, putting his hand to his mouth. “You can’t come on your own. What kind of Goddess are you?”

  I turn my head away
from him to pull my bra back over my bare breasts.

  He licks his fingers loud enough for me to hear. “You taste as good as a slice of New York cheesecake. Maybe next time I’ll put my tongue in your sweet pussy.”

  Squeezing my eyes tightly shut, I whimper, though whether the sound is more from embarrassment or anticipation of coming with his tongue, I don’t know.

  Then, the click of his phone snaps me out of my fantasy.

  “Great. Now I have a pic to remember this for all time.”

  I jerk upright, staring at him in terrified shock. “What?” I ask in a high-pitched voice.

  “Get your ass off of the table,” he demands in a harsh tone. “Damn, you’ll do it anywhere. I knew you’d be like this the first time I saw you, Goddess. You have no self-respect.”

  My clouded gaze focuses on Lowell’s handsome face, now devoid of any desire for me. He glares down at me, not seeming at all aroused from seeing my half-naked body.

  His lust has vanished. My vision clears.

  He pushes me to find my clothes on the floor. I jump off of the table and discover my polo underneath it. I pull the shirt over my head and tuck it back into my skirt.

  “Where are my fucking panties?” I ask needlessly.

  And then I see them, ripped apart and on the floor in the corner behind us. I snatch them up and shove them into my backpack.

  Lowell laughs uncontrollably.

  The demon he is suggests that I try not to let my pussy juice slide down my legs when we walk out of here. I should have known he wouldn’t care about tearing up my clothes. He has no sense of honor, and it’s no surprise that he’s a beast.

  I pick up my backpack and begin walking away to the door with him still laughing behind me. I know right there, at that moment, that I hate him even more than I could have thought possible.

  He rushes to catch up with me. “Allow me to open the door for you, Goddess who wears no underwear,” he snickers.

  I give him a tight smile and walk out the door, but he stays right beside me as I stalk down the passage and out through the library.

  “You’re awful,” I say, looking around, hoping nobody’s still on the school grounds to see my bare ass if this idiot should try to flip up my skirt.