Wild Girl: A High School Bully Romance (Slateview High Book 2)

by Eva Ashwood

  I pushed the covers off and crept toward the window, but it was already halfway open by the time I got there. Misael climbed inside, a gust of cold air following him before he pushed the window pane back down.

  Wrapping my arms around myself in the large sleep-shirt I was wearing—one Kace had left behind after the Christmas holiday—I rubbed at the goose bumps on my skin as the room chilled.

  Then Misael stepped forward, tugging me into his embrace, and I forgot all about the cold.

  He didn’t speak, didn’t explain what had brought him here.

  He didn’t have to.

  It was the same thing that made me melt into his arms, kissing him with everything I had.

  The boys and I had all been together earlier in the evening, and I could still feel the marks of them on my body, but it hadn’t been enough.

  Nothing would be enough to stop the throbbing ache in my chest, the feeling of missing each of these boys already, even though I hadn’t even gone away yet.

  His hands came up to frame my face, holding it as he kissed me over and over, dipping his tongue into my mouth, tasting my lips, sliding against my own tongue in a dance that felt like pure heaven. Our lips moved together, refusing to break apart, connecting us so deeply it felt like we were falling into each other.

  I didn’t know how long we kissed like that, and I was barely even aware of my feet moving until my legs hit the back of the bed. When they did, Misael gently lowered me onto the mattress, draping his body over mine, his hips grinding softly against mine.

  My heart felt like it was cracking open, raw need piercing me like a blade, but our movements weren’t desperate.

  It was like we were fighting fate, proving to the world that we didn’t need to rush, that we had all the time in the world.

  That circumstances weren’t about to separate us.

  His hand slipped up under my night shirt, drifting over my hips, my stomach, my breasts. When he drew back a little to pull the shirt off over my head, I lifted my arms and arched my back to help him.

  The insulation in this tiny house was terrible, and the room had been cold even before Misael had opened the window. My nipples tightened into hard buds as the cool air hit them, and Misael drew back even further, gazing down at me like he was trying to capture this image in his memory, to preserve it for all time.

  With deliberate movements, he tugged my panties down over my hips, then stood near the edge of the bed to tug his own shirt off and shove down his pants. His cock was hard, shadowy in the dim light, and the sight of him naked before me made my heart thud with both contentment and longing.

  He let me stare, let me devour him with my eyes, let me run my gaze over every inch of him.

  Then he braced one hand by my head, hovering over me as he looked and touched his fill, mapping the contours of my body with his fingertips.

  “You were always beautiful, Cora,” he whispered. “Always so fuckin’ gorgeous. But now? Like this? You’re stunning.”

  I shifted underneath him, lifting my hips to bump against his, my arms resting on the mattress above my head.

  He trailed his hand along one arm, then laced the fingers of both hands with mine, pinning mine down.

  “You’re the most damn beautiful when you let yourself be who you are. You know that, right, Princess?”

  “Who am I?” I asked, my voice soft, my chest rising and falling heavily as my core throbbed. He was grinding his hips against mine, his cock sliding through my wet folds, brushing my clit with every stroke, pushing me closer to the edge with every movement.

  “You’re fierce.”

  He drew back, and when he pressed forward again, the head of his cock found my entrance.

  “You’re loyal.”

  He began to push slowly inside, giving my body time to adjust to him.

  “You’re sexy as sin.”

  My breath caught as he moved inch by torturous inch, filling me up, impaling me.

  “You’re so damn brave.”

  When he was finally buried all the way to the hilt, he stopped, breathing hard as he looked down at me. I wrapped my legs tightly around his waist, pinning him close, and he released my hands, resting his forearms on either side of my head, covering my body with his as our lips brushed together.

  “You had the guts to survive in this world, Cora.” He kissed my cheeks, my nose, my forehead. “And then you stopped just surviving, and you found a way to thrive.” He drew out and eased back in, making both of us shudder.

  “You made me thrive,” I whispered. “You and the others.”

  “I don’t know if we did, Coralee.” He swallowed, an unreadable expression passing over his face. “I think we were just the lucky fuckers who were around to see it.”

  I wanted to tell him he was wrong, that I’d become who I was, that I’d found strength inside of myself I never knew existed, because of the three of them. But he rocked his hips forward and back again, and the words fell away in a rush of sensation.

  He let his body settle over mine, his weight perfect and reassuring as he began to thrust in long, even strokes. His lips moved down to trail over my jaw, my neck, brushing the curve of my ear.

  “No matter what happens,” he murmured roughly. “Don’t forget who you are.”

  The feel of his breath on my skin made my core clench around him as pleasure spiked inside me. But something in his voice made me cling to him harder, made me squeeze my eyes shut as I wrapped my arms around his shoulders.

  It sounded like a goodbye.

  A real one.

  I buried my face against his chest, absorbing his spicy clove scent as he fucked me, staving off my orgasm as long as I could because I never wanted this to be over.

  But I couldn’t stop myself. I couldn’t freeze time.

  When he finally came on a choked grunt, I followed him into the abyss, convulsing around him as he bathed my insides with his cum.

  A cry of naked pleasure tore from my lips, but I couldn’t disguise the sob that came with it.

  And that sounded like a goodbye too.

  Twenty-Six

  Packing up my life the second time around was vastly different from the first.

  Having to narrow down a mansion’s worth of things into a couple of suitcases had caused heartbreak when it came to leaving things behind. Packing up everything I owned in this tiny little house, however, took less than half a day—and yet the process felt so much heavier than I’d thought it would.

  Mom all but insisted that I leave my “trashy” clothes behind, saying that my father would gladly replace them. A whole new wardrobe, for a completely new leaf turned over in our lives.

  I couldn’t do that though. I wouldn’t.

  There were memories in these clothes. The parties I’d gone to, the nights I’d spent with the Lost Boys—the woman I had become, the one I’d changed into since the day I first walked through the doors of Slateview High. Somehow, I couldn’t bear to part with them, no matter how many nicer, newer, more presentable clothes my father would undoubtedly buy me when I saw him next.

  Mom was more keen on leaving things behind.

  Though we were technically supposed to clear the house out and take everything, she didn’t feel like it was her job. Everything in the kitchen was left behind, as well as some of her “homely” clothes and, of course, gifts that she had received as a part of her affair.

  We didn’t speak about that particular aspect of our time away from the high society of Baltimore, but when I noticed that she was intentionally avoiding the subject, I couldn’t help but feel bitter. She had embraced a darker side of life, and now decided that because it was inconvenient to her, she would shed it and leave it behind as though it had never happened.

  Meanwhile, I was leaving behind three pieces of my heart, and although I kept promising myself I would see the Lost Boys as often as I could, panic rose in my chest every time I thought about leaving this squat little house.

  But when the time came, and we were
all packed up, there was no going back.

  Standing in the middle of my now bare room, I couldn’t help but look at the window that, just a few nights ago, Misael had crawled in through. I couldn’t help but think about that night, the way he’d held me, the way he’d made me feel—so safe and protected and cherished. I couldn’t help but remember Kace and Misael piled up on my bed with the two of us during Christmas break while my mom was gone on her winter time fling.

  The four of us had spent every moment we could together since I’d found out the news, but it never seemed like enough. We went to Bishop’s house, or to the warehouse, our hands and mouths all over each other as soon as we were behind closed doors—and sometimes even before then—but the insatiable need inside me only grew.

  My body was sore and wrung out, but even now, I craved them.

  With a sigh, I reached over to flick off the light one final time. I would carry those memories with me forever. But more importantly, I would make new ones.

  I wouldn’t let those moments be the last ones I ever had with the Lost Boys. My father, my mother, our high society world—none of those influences could do a damn thing to keep me away from them.

  We met my father standing at the bottom steps of the home I’d grown up in. A driver had picked him up from the prison, and he must’ve arrived just a few minutes before we did.

  As Mom and I ascended the stairs, my heart beat harder in my chest. It felt nothing like how I’d thought it would—how I’d once dreamed it would. It was familiar, and there was a level of comfort in being back. But the veneer of perfection had been worn away from its facade a long time ago. I saw it for what it was.

  Empty.

  Schooling my face, I didn’t let my emotions show. I stepped up to Dad and wrapped my arms around him, genuinely happy to be able to do that without a glass barrier between us. He wasn’t in prison anymore. He was a free man, and I was grateful we were all together again, for what it was worth.

  His arms wrapped around me too. Tightly. It was a kind of grip I hadn’t expected and had never experienced from him before. Maybe he had truly believed at one point that he’d never be able to hug me again.

  “It’s good to see you, Dad,” I said softly, looking up to him.

  The months he’d spent in prison were visible in the new lines on his face and the grey hairs peeking through what had once been rich, dark hair. They would be gone by the end of the week, covered by an expert stylist no doubt, but in the moment, they aged my father.

  “You as well, Cordelia,” he said, and looked as though he was about to say something else before he shook his head slightly.

  He pulled away from me and looked to my mom. The stance between them was awkward, like they weren’t certain how they should interact with each other despite the fact it had been only months since they’d last seen each other. Then again, mom hadn’t visited him in prison, and hadn’t called him either. This was not only the first time they’d seen each other, but the first time they’d spoken.

  I couldn’t help but wonder if a part of Dad was bitter about that fact.

  Eventually, Mom stepped into my father’s arms, giving him a pat on the back before she stepped away again.

  “I’m so relieved you’re out, dear,” she said, and I could tell that those words, at least, weren’t a lie.

  “As am I.” He beamed down at me. “I missed my girls. And my house. A good night’s sleep in a prison cell is harder to come by than a red diamond.” He laughed, though it sounded forced. My father had always been extremely charismatic, but now it didn’t sound natural, and he didn’t look like he quite believed his own expressions.

  Strange, how prison could change a man.

  The staff hadn’t been reinstated in the house yet—a fact that had me in a mood. I missed Ava terribly, and couldn’t help but wonder where she’d gotten herself to in the months that I was at Slateview. I wished I’d been able to keep in touch with her. She would have found the events at Slateview thrilling, and maybe would’ve listened to me during times when I couldn’t talk to my mom about things.

  Since there was no kitchen staff on hand, Dad ordered food, had it delivered, and we ate as a family for the first time in months, sitting together in the oppressively quiet dining hall. A few times, Dad attempted to start conversations with Mom, asking about how life was for us while he was in prison. Mom’s answers were brief, crisp, and clipped. After a few questions, my father simply gave up, not bothering to ask me about my experiences.

  We finished our meal in silence, and I’d never been so grateful to escape a room as I was at that moment.

  That night, I couldn’t sleep. Everything around me felt too big, too spacious. Even my own room felt like it was too big for one person to be sleeping in. Eventually, I got out of bed and rifled through my nearly bare closet, pulling out a sleep shirt I had worn often over Christmas break, when the boys had all slept with me in a tangle of limbs on the too-small bed.

  It had been washed since then, but I swore I could still smell their distinctive scents, and I curled up in a ball, burying my nose in the soft fabric.

  Only then did I drift off to sleep.

  Returning to school wasn’t nearly as challenging as starting school at Slateview had been.

  Dad and Mom made sure I had everything I would need, replacing all of my school uniforms and school supplies to make sure I would meet Highland Park Academy’s standards.

  They had a driver drop me off at school and pick me up, and although I wasn’t officially confined to the house the rest of the time, I was sure he wouldn’t drive me anywhere else if I asked him to.

  I walked through the halls on my first day back feeling like a stranger in my own skin. Kids I hadn’t seen in months, ones who had avoided me after my father’s arrest, smiled at me in the corridors. A few underclassmen came up to me to tell me in breathless voices that they’d always known he was innocent—but that their parents hadn’t allowed them to speak to me.

  I knew, for the most part, the claims were bullshit. I might’ve believed such a thing months ago, I knew better now. I smiled and nodded, slipping back into my role of dutiful daughter and well-behaved student, but my heart wasn’t in it at all. If friendship was so easily lost and gained, I didn’t want that kind of friendship.

  It was jarring almost, seeing people act as though nothing had happened and nothing had changed, as though my father hadn’t gone to prison after being accused of a serious crime.

  The boys still spoke to me. Daily.

  I got messages in the morning telling me they hoped I had a good day. They told me when they were on a job and when they were done. They never, ever failed to tell me goodnight.

  It was the only thing that kept my heart beating as I tried to readjust to my old life.

  But it was barely enough.

  By the end of my first week back, I felt exhausted, strung out, and emotionally drained.

  I arrived back at home on Friday afternoon to a cacophony in the house. Mom and Dad had rehired a bunch of staff—although Ava had never come back to us—and things were being moved and arranged in nearly every room.

  It was like my mom thought if she could just get the furniture back to the way it had been, everything else would fall into place too.

  Yeah. Good luck with that.

  I suppressed the thought as I made my way through the zoo of people. It was a relief, in a way, to have all these extra bodies in the house. The first few days, when it’d been just the three of us, had been almost unbearable.

  Tension hung like a fog in the air between myself, my mother, and my father. True to my word, I said nothing to my dad about Mom’s… extramarital activities while he was in jail. And my mom, true to herself, said nothing either.

  But there was a different dynamic between the two of them that either hadn’t been there before or that I’d been too blind to see before. She danced around him, never staying in the same room with him long, always finding ways to dodge his kisses, touches
, hugs. They had never been overly affectionate in public; that wasn’t the sort of relationship they’d ever had.

  Her outright rejection, however, had even my busy, distracted father shooting questioning glances at her.

  Part of me wondered if he suspected that she had had a lover, but I couldn’t imagine my father not addressing something so important if he did.

  Regardless, they played their parts well around others—and that was maybe the thing that frustrated me the most. They could act loving when others were watching, but when the need for performance was gone… so was the love.

  Strangely, it made me think back to Nathaniel and Josephine. Their love had seemed effortless. I had no doubt in my mind that how they behaved in front of others was how they were with each other all the time. A man who was pretending for the sake of appearances wouldn’t have spared the Lost Boys just because his wife had appealed to him.

  Fortunately, I managed to avoid both my mother and father as I made my way up the stairs, weaving around movers carrying furniture. I’d been retreating to my room more and more, anxious to avoid the weirdness that infiltrated the entire house.

  Will things ever get back to normal?

  What the hell is normal anyway?

  As I slipped into my bedroom and closed the door, I couldn’t help but think of my own strange, unconventional love life. My heart effectively held space for three boys—men, really. It was far from what my mom and father would expect for me, but it felt right.

  It felt real.

  The longer I was away from them, away from Slateview, the more clearly I saw what I truly wanted. Before all of this, I would have thought something like that was impossible. How could one woman truly be with three men? But I had faced heavier, harder things at this point. Sorting out my love life? A piece of cake.

  I knew what I wanted. And I wasn’t going to let any amount of distance separate us. We’d find a way.