by Angel Lawson
His perfect eyebrow arches, and he pushes the pencil behind his ear. “I told you we were expanding our distribution. Things escalated after we were forced to shut down so suddenly before the holidays. The other institutions were happy to have our services.”
I place my palms on the desk and lean forward. His eyes flick down my shirt. I don’t fucking care.
“Why? Why won’t you let her out of this?”
He snorts. “Out? Hope is one-hundred percent in. When are you going to realize this? She’s marrying into the family, which means she’s marrying into the business.”
“That’s insane.”
“That’s business. She knew what she was getting into.”
My head spins from the implications. Is Hope a willing participant, or she a victim of the Cohen brothers and their schemes? Unfortunately, Trip has a knack for reading me, for understanding my weaknesses. He says, “When someone snitched on us, and we were forced to remove our business at Sparrowood, there was a gaping hole in our income. Everyone had to chip in to make up the deficit. Your sister is just doing her part.”
He winks, and his implication is clear. “You’re saying she’s selling herself because you think I snitched on you?”
He leans forward, our faces inches apart. “I’m saying there’s always a cause and effect, sweetheart. If you stroke my cock, I’m going to come. If you shut down one stream of income, we’ll create another.” He dares to reach out and touch my chin. “If you hurt me, I’ll hurt you.”
I slap his hand away, trying to control the rage that rolls through me. “Don’t touch me.”
“I’ve heard that before.” He plucks the pencil from behind his ear and starts drawing again. He adds two circles inside the first. It takes a moment before I realize he’s drawing nipples on a pair of round, perky breasts. God.
“Don’t worry,” he says, as we both hear footsteps coming down the hall, “desperate situations make people creative, and we’re all looking into new ventures. I think your sister does her best thinking on her back, because what she’s come up with is a definite moneymaker.”
I hold out my hand, ready to smack that smug grin off his face. He glances at my hand. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”
If you hurt me, I’ll hurt you.
I drop my hand and turn on my heel, sitting in my regular seat just before Hawk and Gray walk into the room. Their eyes shift between me and Trip, clearly aware of the tension in the room.
Dorian walks in before anything can happen, easing behind the desk and effectively cutting off any sort of altercation.
I spend the rest of the hour with my history book open, ignoring the heat of multiple sets of eyes on the back of my head. The guys can think about tearing one another apart. I just wanted to figure out what Trip is doing so I can destroy him forever.
Rochelle, of course, has her own perspective on the situation.
“Trip, your sister, everyone related to the Cohens, you’ve got to get them out of your head. They’re making you crazy.”
“It’s a little hard when I’m constantly being confronted with their shady business. I mean, a kid offered me a wad of money to screw him at the swim meet.”
Her eyebrow raises. “How much money?”
I scowl. “Not the point.”
“The point is that you’ve decided that it’s your job to bring down the Cohen brothers. It’s not.”
Actually, I want to tell her, it is. It’s the main reason I’m at Sparrowood.
I set my jaw and look at the TV. Rochelle loves reality TV, and the one with all the contestants vying for the affection of a single man or woman is her favorite. Right now, the ceremony is going on and the guy is handing out flowers to the people that get to stay.
“All I mean,” she keeps going, “is that sometimes the best way to get over someone is to get under them.”
“Trip and I didn’t break up, Ro. I’m not getting 'over him'. Plus, I’m doing just fine with getting 'under' someone.” Or someones.
“No, but he abused you and I can tell it still bothers you.” She presses pause on the TV just as Josh is about to pick between two girls dressed up in ridiculous evening gowns. “You need to feel powerful. Take back what you lost that night.”
“He made it very clear that if I attempt to hurt him again, he’ll keep hurting me back. Right now, he’s using Hope. I can’t risk him going after you or Morgan or the guys.”
She shakes her head. “I’m not talking about revenge. I’m talking about redemption, or maybe just forgiving yourself for making a stupid fucking mistake. Figure out what he did that made you feel powerless and take it back.” She smirks. “Like how I don’t let them blackmail me anymore. I don’t care what they say about me or who they show those old photos to. Who cares if someone sees my tits?” She picks up the hem of her shirt and flashes me. My eyes pop wide.
“Ro!”
She palms them with her hands. “See? They’re just tits. You have them, I have them. God knows half the guys in the school have felt or jacked off to them. Why am I letting a few photos dictate who I am?”
I sit on the couch in our room, blanket wrapped around my legs, trying to understand Rochelle’s thought process. Sometimes I’m convinced she’s got it all wrong, but this? She may be on to something.
I’m still thinking about it the next day. The guys forgave me for what I did with Trip, and I’ve forgiven Hawk for his part in it, but I haven’t forgiven myself. Every time I see him I feel sick, disgusted with the fact I fell for his manipulations, but also because he’s handsome, titillating. I let my obsession over my sister cloud my judgement, but I learned a hard lesson about who I am and who I want to be.
I don’t want to be like Hope.
I want to be powerful. Strong. Confident and secure. I want to be smart and sexy, giving my body to those I love and not as a weapon for those I despise.
I’m mulling over the ramifications of that when I see Gray loitering in the hall after dinner. He leans his hip against the wall, long legs crossed, tie askew after a long day of classes and detention. His ears are plugged with headphones and he scrolls through his phone, searching for a song, a photo, a tweet. Who knows? I see the pretty set of his jaw, the angle of his perfect nose. He’s breathtaking, and when he looks up and our eyes meet, a slow sexy grin spreading across his pink lips, I know something in my heart.
He’s mine.
I told Gray I wanted him to take me somewhere private. Secure. Somewhere we can be alone.
“How private?”
“Very.”
He thought for a moment, grabbed my hand and walked me out the back door. He leads me across campus to a small stone house, tucked under the massive oak trees that line the perimeter. It’s old, maybe older than Sparrowood itself, and there’s a marker on the front that says Hillsdale Guest House. The master key slips in the lock and an instant later, we’re inside.
“Will this do?”
I survey the room. The house is old but the furnishings new. There’s a small living room with a leather couch and matching armchair. A big, stone fireplace sits against one wall. Doorways lead to other rooms; bedrooms, a bath, and kitchen, I assume.
I look at the leather chair and say, “Yes. I think it will.”
“I’m not going to resist spending time with you, Princess, but do you have any interest in telling me what we’re doing?”
“Forgiveness,” I say, walking toward him. “Or redemption? Maybe both.”
“Have I done something wrong?”
“No. I have, and it’s time I moved on. I need you to help me do that.”
“I’m always happy to be of assistance.”
Oh, he’s going to be happy. That’s part of my plan.
“Are you sure no one will come out here?”
“You said private, Princess.” He nods at the light by the door. “That comes on by timer at sunset. The curtains stay closed and no one’s been to visit since the last fundraising meeting a week ago.”
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“Do you watch all of this all the time?”
“I saw the master schedule on Phyllis’s desk in the office. I’ve been thinking for a while that you and I may need this place.” He closes the distance between us and brushes my hair off my cheek. “Tell me what we’re doing here.”
I rest my hands on his chest and drag them down his body, feeling the hard muscle under his shirt. I wrap his tie around my fist and drag him down. He doesn’t skip a beat, kissing me slow, then harder. I pull back, lips tingling, and look into his handsome face.
“I can’t stop thinking about what I did with Trip. How he made me feel, worthless and used.” He frowns and cinches his fingers around my waist. “I know you all have forgiven me for doing it, but I haven’t been able to let it go.”
“But you have an idea?”
“Rochelle suggested it. She said I should own my mistake. Own myself.” I bite down on my lip. “Trip took something from me that should be mine to give freely—to enjoy.” I hook two fingers over his waistband. “I want to take it back.”
Gray’s green eyes watch me carefully, assessing what I’m saying. He stands patiently, maybe a little confused, as I fumble with his buckle, pushing the leather loose.
My heart thunders, feeling like I did all those months facing my fears in the pool. Challenging myself to do something that held power over me.
I reach for the button, and he places a hand on top of mine. “Princess, are you saying you want to suck me off?”
“Is that okay?”
He grimaces. “You don’t have to prove anything to me—”
“I want to.” My fingers are still against his skin and I graze them across his lower belly, eliciting a shudder. “For me.”
“And you think this will help?”
I nod, not really sure why we’re having this conversation. Of all the guys, I didn’t think Gray would push back. He relents, nodding his approval and kissing me on the forehead. He removes his hands, and I unbutton his pants.
Gray’s hips are slim, and his pants drop, sliding to his ankles. He kicks off his shoes and steps out of the pants, holding on to me for balance. Black boxer briefs cling to his thighs, his cock hard and bulging. I run my hand over it, feeling him.
My belly flutters with anticipation—not anxiety. I push to my toes to kiss him on his jaw and he slips his hand behind my neck, kissing me in return.
“Sit?” I ask, looking behind him at the leather chair.
“Anywhere you want.”
He moves the fluffy decorative pillow and holds up his hand, placing it on the floor for my knees.
This boy? He’s a keeper.
I tug away the boxers, revealing his arousal. I’ve felt him before, but this is the first time I’ve really seen him. He may be the smallest of the guys, but he’s the biggest where it counts.
I hesitate, and he takes my hand.
“Is this okay?”
“Yes.”
He guides my fingers along his shaft, making it throb on contact.
The he kisses me, in a way that’s so familiar, so sweet that it brings me back to the moment. Back to this being about him. Us. Me.
I reach for him and feel the soft tip, then nudge him into the seat. He looks up at me with green eyes filled with wonder, jaw slack with desire. His hands grip the arms of the chair and he waits for me, letting me choose my own pace.
I don’t feel like an object when I lower myself to my knees. It’s not a power play, it’s an act of affection. I want to do this for Gray. I’m not being forced or manipulated. My mouth waters, looking at his cock. My panties dampen. The pillow provides a soft landing, and I run my fingers up his thighs, feeling the soft hair that leads to the warmth between his legs.
I bend and his fingers thread through my hair. His touch is gentle. When I taste him for the first time, he exhales like he’s waited a lifetime for this moment. When I take him in, he hums deep in his chest, and my stomach twists, hot with my own desire. Everything about the experience is the opposite, especially when he reaches the end of his rope, panting and jaw clenched.
“Baby, as much as I love the way you feel, please get up here,” he begs, green eyes boring into mine. I release him, and he pulls me off the ground and onto his lap.
He reaches under my skirt and tugs my panties aside, fingers brushing against the damp want between my legs. I straddle him, lowering myself on top of his hard, erect length.
I exhale once he’s inside me, adjusting to his size. He holds my eye and he cups the back of my neck, pulling my mouth to his.
His kisses steal my breath away, and I roll my hips, taking charge of our pace. As much as I loved tasting him, I love fucking him even more. I love looking into his eye, I love licking his mouth, I love tugging the hair at the nape of his neck.
Neither of us takes long, wound up from before. He grabs my face and kisses me hard as he comes, and my forehead drops to his shoulder as I shudder against him as he stretches deep inside.
We slow, breathing heavy. Gray holds me up because I’m a quivering mess.
“Wow,” I say, trying to find my words.
“All forgiven?”
“And then some.” I link my hands behind his neck.
“Because if not, I’m more than willing to give it another shot.”
I laugh, and he gives me one of those sexy grins. “Thank you for indulging me.”
“I don’t think that’s the right word for what just happened.” He kisses my neck and under my ear. “But let me tell you something, Eden,” I still when he calls me by my name. I’m not sure I’ve ever heard him say it. “You are beautiful and strong. Powerful and radiant. You’ve taken three street-kids who aren’t afraid of anything and brought us to our knees. You had nothing to prove tonight. Not a thing, but if it makes you stronger, I’m with you one-hundred percent.” He lifts my chin. “You are not your sister. You are not a pawn. You are fierce, and the only time I want you on your knees is if you want to be, got it?” He slips his hand between my legs, stoking the flames. “But also, if you want me on my knees I’m happy to take a turn. God, I miss how you taste.”
My cheeks heat at his forwardness—at his statement. Gray is a charmer, a schemer but, again, he’s mine, and I believe every word coming out of his kissable mouth, especially when he flips our positions, and I’m the one gripping the arms of the chair, barely able to hold myself upright.
This boy? I think, pushing my fingers through his hair.
He’s a keeper.
22
Eden
“You wanted to see me?”
Dorian sits behind the desk in his office, eyes trained on his laptop. They flick to where I’m standing in the doorway.
“Yes, thank you for coming down.”
He rummages through a stack of papers until he finds what he’s looking for and pulls it out. He hands it to me.
Habitat Build & Clean-up day!
Wednesday 9am-4pm
There’s a cheesy graphic of people shaking hands.
“What’s this?”
“I’ve been asked to bring a group to help out. I talked to the guys about it already, but I wanted to give you a heads-up.”
I feel a little apprehension at the idea of going back to Kingston and the park in particular. Returning alone is one thing, but with a group from the school, it feels strange. If anyone understands this particular conflict, it’s Dorian.
When I look at him, I see the set of his shoulders and ask, “This isn’t really a question, is it?”
“Ms. Banks wants you guys to go as part of your service hours.”
I toss the paper back on the desk. “Well, I’m sure the guys would be fine with skipping a day of school, even if it means showing up in their old territory with a bunch of Brats.”
He grimaces. “Yeah, they’ll have to straddle a line—part K-Boy, part Sparrowood student. There are still active K-Boys down there, but tides shift when you get sent away. Someone new will have stepped up.”
> “They’re going to have to adjust at some point, right?” I know Dorian hopes none of the guys will end up in Kingston and messing with that life. I’m not so sure they’re ready to give it up. Not entirely.
“That’s what I’m thinking—and they agreed to do it. I also wanted to tell you something else.” He crosses his arms over his chest. “Mrs. Banks requested we take Trip and some of the kids from his group.”
“What? Why?”
“Two reasons; first, to give them a little perspective and do some service work. Second, to keep an eye on them.”
There’s truth to both those things. If anyone needs to get their hands dirty with some real work, it’s Trip and his minions.
“Exactly what do you wear to a community clean-up day?” Rochelle asks, as we walk down the hall. “Do I need work gloves? Maybe some boots?” She grabs my arm. “Oh my god, I’m ordering boots.”
My roommate, god love her, can be a clueless idiot sometimes.
“It doesn’t matter what you wear, Ro, we’re cleaning up garbage and stuff.”
“It may not matter to you, but it does to me. I’m sure there will be photos posted all over the school social media letting the world know we’re not just rich kids but rich kids doing good. I want to look my best.”
We turn up the staircase that leads to the third floor. “I’m sure whatever you pick out will be fine.”
“Speaking of fine, did you see John Anderson today?”
That gets my attention. “John Anderson? With the glasses?”
“Yes.” She grips the railing. “He’s tutoring me in Spanish.”
I don’t know a lot about the people at this school, but John Anderson Pruitt is in two of my classes. He sits in the front row, he answers all the questions, and he stays away from the popular kids. Oh, and he seems the exact opposite of Rochelle’s type.
I step ahead of her and cut her off. “Are you planning on toying with that boy? Because he seems nice, innocent, and studious, and you’re…”
“None of those things? I know.” She leans against the wall. “He’s sweet and quiet, and I’m not even sure if he knows the rumors about me. He has some kind of 'no social media' policy because he thinks it’s destroying our society.”