Kings of Mercia Academy 1-4: The Complete Bully Romance

by Sofia Daniel

  Blake pumped his hips in time with Edward’s thrusts, and I squeezed my hand around his thick, pulsing erection, enjoying the way he moaned and shuddered under my touch. For several moments, grunts and groans and slurping moans filled the air, and I breathed hard through my nostrils.

  “Ummm…” My lips closed around Edward.

  This was so insane. Me, pleasuring the entire triumvirate after everything that had happened between us the previous two terms. I’d moved from hating them to desiring them in my first term, then my lust had turned to loathing. Now, I wasn’t sure. Each of them had gotten under my skin, but did they mean to make me earn my forgiveness, or were they setting me up for another fall?

  Henry’s tongue slid down to my exposed clit and sucked it between his lips, shoving aside my every thought. Spasms rocked my core as my climax hit with the force of a tidal wave. For a moment, my vision blacked out, and my knees buckled, but Henry’s strong hands on my hips kept me upright. Blood rushed through my ears, and my nerve endings roared with the intensity of my orgasm.

  Both boys quickened their thrusts, and soon, Edward let out a low moan and filled my mouth with warm, bitter fluid. After swallowing, I turned my head to Blake and engulfed his length into my mouth.

  “F-fuck!” he moaned with a climax as his semen hit the back of my throat.

  Before I could swallow, Henry pulled me down astride his lap and plunged his tongue into my mouth, kissing and slurping up Blake’s cum. Our tongues tangled, and I reached down between our pressed-together bodies and pumped his hot, thick erection. My nerve endings still tingled from the aftershocks of my climax, and I squeezed my eyes shut, enjoying the sensations of Henry’s tongue in my mouth.

  His length thickened and pulsed. Then he broke away, and with a shout, pumped ropes and ropes of cum up his hard, quivering six pack, and over his bulging pecs.

  After catching my breath, I asked, “Did I pass your inspection?”

  Henry blinked himself back to awareness and smirked. “Unfortunately, you failed. Now, you’ll have to suffer through weeks of remedial classes.”

  I grinned back. “Let’s see if I do better next time.”

  “It might take the entire term to see improvements.” Blake ran his fingers down my back.

  “And of course, multiple interim inspections.” Edward kissed my sweaty cheek.

  “Of course.” I rested my head on Henry’s shoulder and let out a happy sigh. If this was the triumvirate’s idea of revenge, I was totally game.

  Henry’s mood lifted from that session, and he’d only need to give me a side-long look in public to make me flush. For the next few nights, the triumvirate held remedial lessons in Edward’s study, each ending with shuddering climaxes. Although none of the boys had brought up their requests to have me fix their reputations, their little games kept them distracted from previous grievances.

  One evening, the head table was back on the podium and dressed with different settings. Coates, three of his friends from the rugby team, and all the doppelgängers were in attendance, but the seat in the middle of the table was empty. Edward stiffened for a fraction of a second but continued walking, muttering something under his breath about speaking to the staff. We followed him to a table in the middle of the room.

  The servers, led by a middle-aged woman with hair tied into a bun, came to set our table with the special tablecloth, and Edward whispered to the supervisor. “I thought I told you there was to be no more head table.”

  “You did, Mister Edward.” She smoothed down the tablecloth and stepped back to let her colleagues lay the table. “But those students set the table up on their own.”

  “To what end?” he asked.

  “I’m not sure, sir.” She took a crystal water jug from an approaching server, laid it in the middle of the table, and scampered away.

  The meal continued as normal. We started with a tuna Niçoise salad, followed by beef bourguignon. Coates, Wendy, and Patricia cast us knowing glances throughout the main course. I turned to Edward and asked, “Has anything happened?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Those three are acting unusually triumphant,” I replied.

  He gave me a minute shrug. “They’ve taken control of the head table. I suppose some people delight in petty victories.”

  The twist in my gut told me they were planning something else that would turn the tide of their one-sided struggle for dominance over Elder House.

  Just before the servers brought out dessert, a blonde figure sauntered through the doors. She wasn’t tall, but what she lacked in height, she made up with a voluptuous body. A hush fell across the dining room as she climbed up to the podium and took the seat next to Coates.

  Henry squinted. “Is that—”

  “Unfortunately,” replied Blake.

  Edward sighed. “Another intolerable situation.”

  I chewed the inside of my cheek. “What’s going on?”

  “Take a closer look at that new girl,” muttered Blake.

  There was something artificial about her face. Her nose was too straight, lips obviously filled, and the rest of her body seemed too thin to support the weight of those massive boobs. The only familiar things about her were the malevolent, hazel eyes that stared straight at me.

  My stomach dropped, and I blurted out loud, “Charlotte?”

  She grinned, revealing over-whitened teeth. “One and the same. And from this moment on, I’m the new Queen of Mercia Academy.”

  The dining room erupted into cheers.

  Chapter 8

  So far, Charlotte’s self-styled reign consisted of greeting well-wishers from Edward’s usual seat at the head table, and it continued the next day at breakfast. She stood behind the table with her newly bleached hair styled in a bizarre side ponytail that accentuated the strangeness of her new features.

  I sat at one of the tables in the middle of the dining room, between Edward and Henry, staring at her from the corner of my eye. “Has she had something done to her eyes? They look different.”

  “She’s wearing mascara,” replied Blake. “Remember that time in our second year when she used Wendy’s?”

  Henry huffed a laugh. “And her eyes swelled?”

  Edward cut his kippers with the precision of a surgeon. “What I don’t understand is how she was able to return to the academy with her family in so much financial trouble.”

  I narrowed my eyes at Charlotte. Hadn’t she boasted about having met an older man at the Valentine’s party? I hadn’t taken much notice of it until a fancy package had arrived for her last term. Maybe her bragging wasn’t just empty boasts, and she had found herself a sugar daddy.

  Charlotte raised a crystal glass and ran her finger over its rim until it sang. When all eyes in the room focussed on her, she cleared her throat. “As the new Queen of Mercia Academy, I say that all students will be equal. There will be no bullying based on physical appearance and no exclusive social events.”

  The dining room erupted into cheers. Coates, the rugby player, slammed his palm on the table, rattling the china cups in their saucers. He beamed up at her as though she was some kind of sun goddess. Maybe to someone who had recently made inroads with the doppelgängers, she was. A few of the rugby players in the back of the room stood and clapped.

  “What the hell is she doing?” I whispered.

  Edward’s lips tightened. “According to the staff, she arrived early with a few boys to move the chairs and tables into place and then laid the table herself.”

  I eyed the delicate bone china teapot and matching cups on her table. “She must have gotten those from home.”

  “I don’t get why everyone’s following her,” muttered Blake.

  “Look at Coates,” I said. “I’ll bet he’s wanted Charlotte for ages.”

  “Ah…” Blake rubbed his chin. “But Charlotte’s had her eye on one person for the past few years.”

  Henry hunched in his seat and squirmed. “I never led her on.”

 
I shot Blake a filthy look. Perhaps he had forgotten that I’d overheard him making promises to Charlotte about a potential relationship with Henry. It still baffled me that he would do such a thing to a friend. “But someone else did.”

  Blake turned to watch the rest of Charlotte’s speech.

  She spread her arms wide. “For far too long, everyone in this school has taken direction from a small group of individuals who have held themselves up as exemplary students worthy of leadership.” A few grumbles broke out across the room, and she paused for effect. When the students fell silent, she continued. “These false idols have fallen to the pyres of scandal, proving themselves just as fallible as anyone else!”

  A group of people sitting a few tables away gave her a round of enthusiastic applause. When no one else joined in, they stopped.

  “I say the time has come when we look to ourselves for leadership, and I will show you the way.” She raised one fist in the air.

  A snort escaped my nostrils. She was happy enough to follow the triumvirate when she thought there was a chance with Henry.

  Charlotte placed her hands on her hips. “Did you have something to say, Hobson?”

  I rose to my feet. “Actually, I do. You were affected by the scandals, too. What happened to the salary of twelve-thousand pounds your father claimed from the government for secretarial duties performed in Westminster while you were here at school?”

  Red blotches appeared on her cheeks. “What would a failed gold digger know about politics?”

  “Why don’t you tell me how a girl whose father is facing prison for stealing government money got the cash for cosmetic surgery?”

  “Get out, you trollop!” Charlotte pointed at the door.

  Spreading my arms wide, I said, “When someone has to resort to insults, they’ve already lost the argument. Be careful who you call a trollop. People might start remembering your cinematic debut from the last school trip.”

  A few snickers broke out across the dining room, but not enough to make Charlotte run out in shame. I lowered myself to my seat and turned back to my eggs Florentine, ignoring the barrage of insults Charlotte rained down on our table. At least this marked the end of her coronation speech.

  The following Saturday after classes, Henry and I took a limo down to London to visit his parents. I buried my nose in a copy of Don Quixote for the journey, and Henry played games on his smartphone. Without Edward or Blake to act as a buffer, neither of us had much to say to each other. I still bore a grudge from his failure to clear my name for the kidnapping, and he blamed me for his current state of disgrace and disinheritance.

  We reached Piccadilly Circus, which was bustling with people enjoying the Spring bank holiday. But instead of stopping outside the main entrance of the store, the car turned down another street.

  “Where are we going?” I asked.

  “The underground entrance.”

  I sucked my bottom lip. “Did your parents tell you to use it?”

  He turned his face toward the window. “Sales have only just started picking up since they announced Jonas as the heir. The whole country knows my face from those pictures of Blake and me together.”

  My spine curled into the limo’s plush, leather seat. “I didn’t put them on the internet.”

  “Rudolph Trommel did. I know,” he replied without casting me a glance. His tone of voice conveyed the unspoken accusation. If I hadn’t worked with the Saturday Correspondent, he wouldn’t be in this awful position.

  Guilt weighed in my stomach and wallowed around like a sick pig. I leaned back in my seat and placed the open book on my lap. My methods had been extreme, but because of Mr. Frost’s confession, Jackie managed to get the police to expunge my record, something Henry could have arranged privately with his parents but hadn’t.

  At the corner of a busy road lined with stores stood a multi-story parking lot emblazoned with the Bourneville crest. The limo drove through its low entrance and turned right, following signs to the basement. It drove down and around the internal ramps until it reached the bottom level, where a roller shutter stood at a wall.

  “What’s this?” I asked.

  “A passageway that leads to the store,” muttered Henry.

  I pursed my lips. By coming with him and pretending to be his girlfriend, I was doing a damned sight more for him than he had for me when his own actions had thrown me into disgrace. I would have said as much, but I didn’t want an argument so close to meeting his parents.

  The car drove down a darkened passageway that stretched about two blocks, ending in an underground parking lot that looked more like the garage section of Bruce Wayne’s bat cave. Luxury cars stretched out several feet, some of them vintage. I glanced down at my silk blouse and wool skirt. Given their wealth, his parents were probably as grand as royalty.

  I cast my gaze at Henry’s slacks and polo shirt. “Do I look alright?”

  “Relax. They’ll love you.” He opened the door and stepped out. Unlike Edward, he didn’t turn around to offer his hand.

  I rolled my eyes and stepped out of the limo. He could be a spoiled, selfish brat at times. Henry stood at the door and stared into what looked like a retina scanner. At the same time, he pressed one of this thumbs onto a fingerprint scanner and spoke a long code of numbers, letters, and words. Eventually, the door clicked open, and we both stepped into a brightly lit corridor with another door at its end.

  “This is a lot of security.” I glanced at a camera hanging from the corner of the wall like a bat.

  “It’s the family entrance for when the store is closed,” he replied.

  We passed through a maze of hallways sectioned by security doors that either required a fingerprint, a retina scan, or a short intercom conversation with the security staff. I wondered if the White House had this level of security. Then we reached an elevator that took us straight to the fifth floor.

  It opened up into what I could only describe as a drawing room, but it was the size of our common room in Elder House. Gold leaf paper covered a wall decorated with pillars of black marble. In each section between the pillars hung oil paintings of women in formal wear. One of them had the same nose and golden hair as Henry.

  Within the room, about a dozen maroon sofas, edged with gold thread were arranged around walnut low tables, and the whole ensemble was lit by a combination of crystal table lamps and matching chandeliers.

  My fingers flew over my mouth to cover a gasp. Because of Mom’s marriages, I was no stranger to opulence, but this had a stately flair I’d never seen outside of magazines.

  Henry finally took my hand and led me around the edge of the room to another door, which opened into a hallway. “It’s over here.”

  “Is this your family’s apartment?” I asked.

  “That room is mostly for entertaining. Mother and Father stay here whenever they’re in London.”

  At the end of the hallway, he rang a bell. The hand holding mine let go, and his hand snaked around my waist and brought me close.

  I glanced up at Henry, wondering why he felt the need to put on the show behind closed doors, but he leaned down and gave me a peck on the lips. “Did I mention earlier that you look exceptionally pretty today?”

  My throat thickened. “You didn’t.”

  A moment later, the door opened, and a middle-aged woman clad in a charcoal-colored pantsuit appeared. She wore her pale, blonde hair off her face, making her features a little severe. After casting me a curious glance, she glared up at Henry.

  Butterflies twitched in my stomach. Wasn’t anyone going to make introductions?

  “Aunt Idette.” Henry stepped forward.

  She raised her palm. “Don’t you Auntie me,” she snapped in a slight German accent. “What a mess you have created for your parents. It is bad enough that you stage your own kidnapping but you are frisking with boys, now?”

  “This is Emilia Hobson,” said Henry in a voice accustomed to being scolded. “My girlfriend.”

  “Mor
e likely someone you paid to fool your poor family.”

  “Actually, she’s not.” The woman in the portrait with golden hair the exact shade of Henry’s walked into the room. She wore a pastel pink Chanel suit with black piping and gold buttons. Unlike Henry’s verdant green eyes, hers were an icy blue. “Emilia Hobson is the girl he framed, aren’t you, dear?”

  A large man stepped into the room after her with a similar frame as Henry’s but a little softer around the middle. “Emilia, welcome to our home.” Only the tiniest hint of a German accent laced his voice. “I am Oscar, the father of young Henry, and this is my wife, Clara, and my cousin Idette, the International Director of Operations.”

  “I’m pleased to meet you.” My gaze darted to Henry, whose nostrils flared at the sight of his father.

  Mr. Bourneville held out his elbow. “Come, dinner is getting cold.”

  I took the father’s arm and glanced at Henry over his shoulder. His mother grabbed his arm, and murmured something at him in a language that sounded like German, but could have been a dialect. Henry shook his head and kept a stony expression.

  The next room we entered was a dining room with a table that seated eight but was set for five. Compared to the drawing room, it was very casual. The only things that stood out were the huge gold mirrors that hung above semicircular console tables and the matching candelabras in front of them. Two paintings, each of Mr. and Mrs. Bourneville, hung beside the mirror opposite the head of the table.

  Henry’s father seated me to his left, with Mrs. Bourneville opposite me, and Henry at my side. Henry reached under the table and held my hand. Within seconds, staff entered the room with plates of food.

  “How long have you and Henry been together,” asked Mrs. Bourneville.

  “Ever since the kidnapping, I suppose.” I sipped from the crystal water glass. “Nine days in that room was enough time for us to get to know each other.”