King of Hawthorne Prep

by Jennifer Sucevic

  With the navy blazer, white shirt, and perfectly pressed tan pants, he’s prep school hot.

  I should hate him, not crave him. He’s forcing me to do things I don’t want to be doing.

  Liar! You love the way he touches you.

  I’m knocked out of those disturbing thoughts as people push past me. A few give me a bit of side eye as they continue on their way, but no one utters a peep.

  That’s Kingsley’s doing.

  In this realm, his word is law.

  It may have taken some time, but I understand that now.

  As if realizing that he’s being watched from a distance, Kingsley glances up. His gaze fastens onto mine as heat leaps to life in his eyes. In a few short days, I’ve learned to decipher his expressions. This one tells me he’s thinking about what we did earlier and if given half a chance, he’ll do it again.

  My breath gets trapped in my throat as I recall the way it made me feel.

  Like a sexual deviant.

  If I close my eyes, I can almost feel the insistent way his thumb caressed the tight ring of muscle before pushing inside. A hot punch of arousal hits me in the core and my panties dampen as if on command.

  It’s so wrong. Six short hours ago, I could have never imagined someone touching me so intimately and yet I allowed it to happen. Barely did I put up a fuss.

  What the hell had I been thinking?

  A dangerous pattern has emerged. Whenever Kingsley lays his hands on me, all rational thought leaks from my ears and I become nothing more than a walking hormone.

  Neither of us move. It’s as if we’re both frozen in time and place. His expression changes, eyes becoming shuttered. The window allowing me a rare glimpse inside has now been slammed shut. What bothers me most is that I have no idea if this is anything more than a game. Last week, his hatred had been palpable. And now...

  I don’t know.

  If I were smart, I would fortify and protect myself against his onslaught. It’s only been a few days and look at me...

  I can’t stop thinking about him.

  Craving him.

  All these turbulent thoughts swirl around my head as I push out a breath and force my feet to close the distance between us. His gaze stays pinned to mine as if he’s capable of picking through the thoughts in my brain. Instead of allowing him the access, I look away and pretend to busy myself by twisting the combination of my lock.

  When he remains silent, a shot of anxiety spikes inside me and I clear my throat. “What are you doing here?”

  “I’m going to take you home.”

  Spending more time alone with Kingsley isn’t smart. Already he’s messing with my head.

  Along with other parts of me.

  “Oh.” I wrack my brain for an excuse. “Don’t you have football?”

  He doesn’t miss a beat. “I’m skipping today.”

  It takes effort to remain calm as I shake my head and wave a hand. “You don’t have to do that. I was going to call—”

  “It’s nonnegotiable,” a flinty edge enters his voice as he cuts me off, “I’ll take you home.”

  Why does he have to make everything so difficult? He’s constantly pushing, forcing me to bend to his will. What I’ve learned in the limited interactions I’ve had with Kingsley is that arguing won’t do me any good. He always gets his way.

  “Fine,” I snap, grabbing my books from my locker before shoving them in my backpack with more force than necessary.

  His fingers tighten on my arm before he spins me around and forces my back against the lockers. “What’s with the attitude?”

  My eyes widen as I shake my head. “Are you being serious?”

  “As a heart attack.” He pushes into my space until his body is flush against mine and I have to crane my neck to hold his steely-eyed stare. “What the hell is your problem?”

  His minty breath drifts across my lips. It’s nothing short of drugging. All I want to do is inhale a big breath of him.

  Focus!

  “Nothing,” I whisper. “I don’t have a problem.”

  “Could have fooled me,” he growls, one hand rising to my throat. His fingers splay wide as they settle over my collarbone. It’s almost as if he’s pinning me to the locker, but the touch remains gentle. It’s always a fine line with him.

  “I’m the one who brought you to school today and I’ll be the one who takes you home.” His lips brush against mine, never quite touching them. Unable to help myself, I strain forward, desperate for the contact. “End of story.”

  I swallow, wishing he would kiss me so I could forget everything buzzing around in my brain. “Okay.”

  “Was that so difficult?”

  I huff out a slight laugh as the thick tension gathering in the air between us evaporates. “Do you really have to ask?”

  His gaze drops to my mouth before he bites his lip and backs away. I suck in a ragged breath before forcing it out again as I slam my locker door shut. When did I start having to remind myself to breathe?

  I hitch my backpack onto my shoulder as we walk through the corridor. When we pass by his locker, I ask, “Don’t you need your books?”

  “Nope.” He shoves his hands into the pockets of his pants.

  Even though we only have one class together, Kingsley’s schedule mirrors my own. There hasn’t been an evening that I don’t spend at least two hours studying for tests and completing assignments. In the past, I’ve always performed well in school, but it takes work. From what I’ve noticed in our literature class, Kingsley is a top student.

  So what am I supposed to take away from this?

  That he’s not only diabolical, but a freaking genius?

  Is this the kind of guy I’m dealing with?

  How am I supposed to outsmart or stay ahead of someone like that?

  It’s a daunting reminder that I need to keep my wits about me when dealing with him.

  As we push through the glass doors, I stare at him from the corner of my eye. In the last couple of days, I’ve learned a lot about Kingsley, but I’m no closer to figuring out what makes him tick.

  Who is the real Kingsley Rothchild?

  He catches me staring as we weave our way through the parking lot. “What’s going on in that head of yours?”

  I shrug, unwilling to share my innermost thoughts with him. He guards his secrets well. It would be in my best interest to do the same.

  Kingsley snakes his arm around my waist and hauls me close before nipping at my neck. “Are you thinking about what it felt like when I made you come?”

  I choke on my saliva and sputter. No, I wasn’t, but I sure as hell am now.

  “Cause I am.” He grins as heat fills his eyes. “I fucking love the sounds you make when you come.”

  Oh.

  My.

  God.

  As I glance around, praying that no one is eavesdropping on our conversation, my gaze collides with Sloane’s narrowed one.

  That’s all it takes for me to untangle myself from Kingsley before jerking my head toward the blonde. “Your girlfriend seems upset by your lack of attention.”

  His gaze flickers in her direction. Sloane’s expression turns flirtatious as she tilts her head and smiles before flipping her long hair over her shoulder. She finishes the show with a wave as her teeth sink into her lower lip.

  Maybe if I’m lucky, he’ll change his plans and head that way. Then I can call Austin for a ride. It’ll kill two birds with one stone. I’ll get away from Kingsley and Sloane will stop channeling all her hatred toward me.

  Except, the thought of Kingsley with that blond bitch makes the muscles in my belly spasm painfully. My footsteps stutter at the realization that I’m jealous.

  No, that can’t be it. This isn’t a relationship. He’s toying with me the same way a cat plays with a mouse.

  Instead of detouring toward Sloane, he jerks his chin in her direction. “Sucks to be her.”

  All the tension gathering inside me dissolves. I glance at the curvy
blonde. If the daggers Sloane is shooting my way are any indication, Kingsley’s lack of interest has only stoked her animosity. And yet, I’d rather deal with that than watch him give her a moment of his attention.

  Once we reach the Mustang, he clicks the locks. Color me surprised when he walks around to the passenger side and opens the door. My gaze flashes to his, but his expression remains inscrutable. Even though uncertainty swirls through me, I tamp down any softness trying to take root and slide onto the black leather seat while he saunters around the hood of the shiny red vehicle. Once settled beside me, he starts the engine. A few minutes later, we’re rolling through the gated entrance of Hawthorne Prep and turning onto the main road. My muscles loosen as we leave the school behind.

  From beneath the thick fringe of my lashes, I watch as he focuses on the ribbon of black pavement stretched out in front of him. This situation would be far less complicated if we never met at the beach or spent the day together on his boat. If he had never opened up and allowed me to glimpse a different side of him. If I hadn’t spent two months pining for him. Fantasizing about him.

  Then all I would know is the asshole from Hawthorne Prep. The one who forced me against the lockers on the first day of school in front of a crowd. The one who wrapped his fingers around my throat and squeezed until I thought I would pass out.

  That guy would be so much easier to hate. I could close myself off from him with ease. Instead, all of my thoughts and feelings are a tangle.

  I stare sightlessly at the passing scenery. When Kingsley parks the car, I blink out of my thoughts, surprised to find that we’re not in the subdivision. Instead, we’re in the middle of town at a little ice cream stand called the Dairy Barn.

  “What are we doing?”

  His lips quirk as if it should be obvious. “Getting ice cream.”

  “Ice cream?” This is unexpected. I would have preferred he drove me straight home. Spending more time together is dangerous. Especially when I’m trying to sort through and separate all the emotions he rouses inside me.

  “Sure.” He shrugs before winking. A teasing glint enters his eyes. “You gave me a treat earlier, I thought I’d return the favor.”

  “Kingsley.” Even though there’s no one to eavesdrop on our conversation, I shift on the leather and glance around. “Jeez.”

  “What?” His expression turns innocent as a wide grin overtakes his face. “Isn’t it the truth?”

  “I’m not going to discuss that with you right now.” Why does he take such perverse pleasure in embarrassing me?

  “I enjoyed a creamy dessert earlier, now you get yours.” He angles his body toward mine before his fingers drift over my cheek and into my hair. He twists the silky strands of my ponytail around his hand. The more hair he gathers, the higher my chin rises.

  It’s not painful, just possessive. The simple touch has need bursting to life inside me. The distance between us vanishes until his lips can hover over mine.

  “Although,” he whispers thickly, “I would much rather feed you something more substantial.” With his other hand, he traces the curve of my lips. “Your mouth was made for fucking. And I plan to make good use of it.”

  The mental image he paints shouldn’t arouse me. Memories from the other night tumble through my head. The way he pushed me to my knees and outlined my lips with the tip of his cock. How one firm hand stayed buried in my hair, directing my movements.

  Kiss the crown.

  A guttural sound escapes from me as our gazes stay locked. His finger falls away as he dips his mouth to caress my top lip with a deliberateness that is agonizing. The touch is tender, which is at odds with the forceful grip on my hair. He strokes my plump bottom one with the same amount of thoroughness before sucking it into his mouth. When he releases the flesh, I’m moments away from spontaneously combusting.

  He tugs the thick strands. When I gasp, his tongue darts out to trace over my lips, licking at them with languid strokes before finally taking my mouth. There is nothing frenzied or out of control about this kiss. It’s an exploratory mission of tasting and savoring, as if he is set on devouring me gradually, one heartbeat at a time.

  When he finally breaks away, I’m a quivering mess of hormones.

  “Ready for your treat?”

  God, yes. But not the one he has in mind.

  Wickedness glints in his eyes as if he’s all too aware of the effect he has on me. His grip disappears from my hair before he exits the vehicle. I press my thighs together to lessen the painful flood of arousal that has gathered in my core.

  “You coming?” he asks, voice brimming with humor.

  “Yup.” I wince and suck in a shaky breath before slowly releasing it, trying to calm the rioting emotions inside me, but it’s no use.

  Once I’m certain my knees won’t buckle, I follow Kingsley to the window of the Dairy Barn and glance at the chalkboard with all the flavors of ice cream. The young girl behind the window beams at him, going all soft in the eyes.

  I can hardly blame her for being instantly smitten.

  He’s gorgeous, muscular, and confident.

  It’s a potent combination.

  Catnip for the female sex.

  My mind tumbles back to the first time I saw him on the beach, the sun shining on his dark head, and how completely bowled over I was. The way his eyes sparkled with humor. Those full, sexy lips that begged to be kissed. And then there’s the rest of him. Broad shoulders, bulging biceps, hard pecs, and six-pack abs all leading to a tapered waist.

  What female in her right mind could resist him?

  “Summer?”

  The sound of his deep voice pierces the thick web of memories as they slyly wrap their way around me. “Yeah?”

  Heat ignites in his eyes until I’m scorched by the intensity burning in them. “I asked what you wanted to order.”

  “Oh, right.” I search the board, even though ice cream is the last thing on my mind. “A single scoop chocolate cone, please.”

  “I’ll have the same.” Kingsley’s attention never deviates from me as he digs through his pocket and produces a twenty.

  The cashier takes the bill before returning with his change. Not bothering to count it, he stuffs the money into the tip jar on the counter.

  My nerves intensify as I shift from one foot to the other. It’s a relief when the girl returns with our cones. Color stains her cheeks as Kingsley’s fingers brush against hers.

  Instead of returning to the car, he points to a bench at the far corner of the gravel parking lot. “Let’s sit over there.”

  I detour to the park bench shaded by a sprawling oak tree. The leaves are turning red and gold but have yet to fall. He stretches his long legs out in front of him, resting his elbows on the slats of the bench. I settle at the opposite end, needing to create distance between us.

  When he takes a leisure lick of his cone, more arousal bursts inside me and I shift, glancing away.

  “What’s wrong?” His voice drops, becoming husky. “Remind you of something?”

  I watch him from the corner of my eye as he does it again with exaggerated slowness.

  All this feels like is a game. One I don’t understand the rules for and can’t possibly win. At this point, I don’t even want to play. This has turned out to be way more than I bargained for.

  “Why are you toying with me?” No longer does the cone I’m clenching hold appeal.

  His face remains shuttered. “What makes you think I’m toying with you?”

  I give him an exasperated look that says oh please.

  When my ice cream continues to melt under the sweltering sun, I rise and dump it in the plastic bin near the squat white building. Kingsley’s gaze never falters as he continues to eat his cone. I wait, hoping he’ll get the hint that I’m ready to leave. When he remains seated, I reluctantly return to the bench. An unsettling silence falls over us as I find a loose thread at the hem of my plaid skirt to pick at.

  “I don’t understand you,” I whispe
r before pressing my lips together. The thought had been circling through my head, but I didn’t mean to voice it out loud.

  “What’s there to understand?” Even though his legs remain outstretched and his posture relaxed, this conversation feels anything but.

  “Do you always answer a question with a question?” When he smirks, I continue. “You’re nothing like the guy I met at the beach. It’s like you aren’t even the same person.” This is what haunts me most. It’s the only reason I can’t close myself off from him completely.

  A spark of emotion flashes in his eyes. It’s there and gone before I can decipher what it means.

  When he remains silent, frustration bubbles up inside me and I snap, “You know what? I actually liked that guy.”

  Tension vibrates from him before shimmering in the air between us. It’s almost suffocating in its intensity.

  “Don’t you get it? Everything was different at the beach.” Irritation explodes from his lips as if I should already know this. “We were different.”

  “That doesn’t make sense.” I shake my head, trying to wrap my mind around this strange conversation. “Why was it different?”

  “I didn’t know who you were.” A hint of wistfulness enters his voice. “You were a pretty girl I wanted to spend time with. And now...” his eyes clear as he presses his lips together.

  “And now?” My heartbeat picks up speed.

  “And now you’re not,” he says flatly.

  I creep closer on the bench. “That’s the thing. I am the same girl. Nothing about me has changed. You’re the one who’s different. All I want to know is who the real Kingsley Rothchild is.”

  His lips twist with bitterness. “Sometimes I don’t even know the answer to that.”

  My tongue darts out to moisten my lips as my brain continues to spin, trying to figure out a way to chip through the wall he’s thrown up between us. Is that even possible? “You’re dragging all this history into our relationship that doesn’t need to be there.”