Cruel Elite: A Dark High School Bully Romance (Princes of Ravenlake Academy Book 3)

by Nicole Fox

  Then, she strains against my hold on her wrists, arching her back so her breasts are in my face.

  But all I can think about is her lips as they whisper, “Fuck. Me. Now.”

  That alone is enough to make me want to spill all over her chest right now.

  But no. I can’t.

  Not when I’ve waited so long for this.

  I run my thumb over her lips, trying to savor the moment. She slides her hands around my thighs and squeezes, trying to pull me closer.

  She eyes my length and licks her lips, and I moan.

  Then, she grabs me with her soft, warm hand, and opens her mouth…

  My phone rings, waking me up from that fucked-up dream of Penny. It’s loud as fuck and even more annoying than usual. It takes a second to realize that it’s because my ringtone is different.

  I grab my phone and swipe up, knowing who it is without even looking at the screen. “Stop changing my ringtone, J.C.”

  “You do something to me that I can’t explain,” he croons into the phone, continuing the song he set as my ringtone. “Hold me closer and I feel no paaain.”

  “If you sing another line, I’m hanging up and deleting you from my contacts.”

  J.C. laughs, clearly pleased with himself. “You’re no fun. Everyone loves Dolly Parton.”

  “Not first thing in the morning.”

  And not when I was seconds away from getting to the good part of the hottest dream I can remember having.

  “Anyways, what do you want?”

  “It’s a funny story,” he assures me. “You’ll laugh.”

  As it turns out, it isn’t a very funny story. J.C. got drunk, hooked up with a girl in the woods, and then fell asleep. He woke up on the ground and can’t find his keys to unlock his car and get home.

  Point is, he needs a ride.

  “I’ll be there in twenty,” I grumble, throwing back the blankets and sliding my feet to the floor.

  “But you only live ten minutes away!”

  “Feel free to call Caleb if you’re impatient.”

  He sighs. We both know Caleb is impossible to wake, especially after a night with Haley.

  She is the first girl he doesn’t kiss and tell with, but we’ve all noticed a pattern of excessive tiredness after they spend the night together.

  I’m guessing they aren’t sitting up all night telling each other ghost stories.

  I consider jumping in the shower real quick—once I’m out of bed, it’s impossible for me to fall back asleep—but I decide to make better use of my time.

  My balls are still bursting. I have to get some relief.

  I grab the lotion from my bedside table and pump into my hand.

  And when I close my eyes, it’s Penny’s pink lips I imagine wrapped around my cock.

  Her cheeks bulge with my size, and her eyes water, but she moans for more. More. More.

  I pump faster, all of my self-control gone.

  I imagine curling my hand in the golden waves of her hair and pulling her fully onto my length again and again.

  It only takes a few thrusts for relief to come rushing out of me.

  As the surge of serotonin fades, disgust begins to creep in. The same way it always does when I imagine Penny.

  It’s a weakness, a high I can’t quit chasing no matter how much I hate her. And it only makes me hate her more.

  More frustrated than before I came, I clean up, slide into some jeans and a sweater, and grab my keys.

  J.C. better be grateful.

  Turns out, J.C. did call Caleb, and even though I still had to come and pick him up, Caleb is meeting us at a diner on South Main.

  “I didn’t sign up for breakfast.”

  “‘I didn’t sign up for breakfast,’” J.C. mimics, his voice high-pitched and whiny. He reclines the passenger seat and smiles. “Would you lighten up for five minutes? I’m buying you breakfast as a show of gratitude. Most people would be happy about that.”

  I grab my phone out of the cupholder and toss it to him. “If you really want to thank me, change my ringtone back to normal.”

  J.C. sighs and hums “Islands in the Stream” as he swipes around on my phone.

  “Who did you sleep with? Was she at least worth all this mess? You’re going to have to pay for a locksmith.”

  J.C. kisses his fingers like a chef. “Totally worth it. You’ve heard of Jennifer Oakley, I presume.”

  He says her name like she is a world-famous porn star rather than an averagely pretty brunette. She’s also one of Penny’s Dreadfuls, which docks a few points, in my opinion.

  J.C. must sense my lack of excitement, because he begins to defend himself. “I was drunk, but I remember it being wild. She isn’t the hottest thing going, obviously, but a lot of that can be made up for by what they’re willing to do to you, and Jennifer was willing to do a lot.” He whistles, long and low. “It was hot. One down, two to go.”

  I turn onto Main Street and end up behind an Oldsmobile going ten miles under the speed limit. “What does that mean?”

  “Until I make my way through their group. I’m a third of the way there.”

  I remember what Penny said last night about J.C. trying to sleep with her. My knuckles tighten on the steering wheel. “Whose group?”

  “Penny’s, obviously. Penny’s Dreadfuls. More like Head-fuls, though, am I right?!” He turns to me with a huge smile on his face. “Get it? Like getting head? As in a blowjob? Tell me you get it.”

  I get it, but I’m not laughing. Not just because it’s a horrific joke, even by J.C.’s standards.

  But mostly because I’m so mad I could fucking stab him right here and now.

  It’s a miracle I manage to stay on the road because my vision goes red. My teeth grit so hard I think they might ground to a powder.

  “Don’t touch her.”

  “Who?” J.C. glances at me nervously. “Penny? I thought you were done with her. You said you didn’t care about her, so I thought—”

  “Don’t fucking touch her!” I slam my foot on the gas and careen around the Oldsmobile in front of us.

  The driver honks their horn as I pass, offended by my speed, but I don’t know how else to get rid of the energy coursing under my skin.

  I feel like I’m going to catch flame.

  “God, Noah. Fine! Fine, okay. Whatever you want, all right?”

  I swerve back into the right lane in front of the Oldsmobile, though they are far behind me now, and I feel my blood pressure returning to normal.

  J.C. lets out a sigh of relief. “Goddamn, Noah. What the fuck?”

  I don’t bother answering.

  8

  Noah

  By the time we pull up in front of the diner, J.C. seems to have let my outburst go.

  Out of all of the Golden Boys, he is by far the most laid back. He doesn’t take offense to much, and he lives in the moment.

  Must be nice.

  Caleb is already sitting at a booth, black circles under his eyes and his hair mussed.

  J.C. ruffles it as we sit down, earning a punch in the arm from Caleb.

  “You couldn’t at least brush down your sex hair?” he asks, snickering as he grabs the coffee carafe on the table and pours himself a mug.

  “I ordered you coffee. Show me some respect.”

  J.C. gives a small bow of gratitude and promptly dumps four packets of sweetener into his cup.

  Then he launches into the details of what he can remember of his escapades with Jennifer—even though no one asked.

  If J.C. is to be believed, Jennifer all but hung upside down from a branch and sucked him off. Obviously, he’s exaggerating, but so long as he is satisfied, I’ll let him have it. I’m still cooling off after my outburst in the car.

  When he finally runs out of steam, he flips the conversation to Caleb. “What about you? How was your night, big fella?”

  “Nuh-uh,” Caleb grunts, shaking his head. “Not gonna happen.”

  J.C. pushes, but Caleb once a
gain refuses to say anything about his night with Haley.

  “The two of you claw at each other like animals in heat in front of us all the time, but you aren’t going to give any details? That’s low, man.”

  Caleb wags a finger at him. “After what you said last night about having a foursome with her, you’re lucky I’m talking to you at all.”

  J.C. presses folded hands to his chest, his lower lip pouted out dramatically. “And I do feel oh-so lucky, Caleb. You know how I treasure our talks.”

  It’s obvious Caleb is annoyed with him, but that’s the magic of J.C. No matter how much of an idiot he is or how many times he pisses you off, he can always make you laugh.

  Right on cue, Caleb cracks a smile and chucks his menu at J.C.’s head.

  The waitress, a middle-aged woman with pink curly hair and a smoker’s voice, takes our orders. They both get giant stacks of pancakes, but I opt for toast and eggs.

  My stomach is uneasy this morning. I can’t imagine adding sugar to the mix.

  When the food arrives, we eat in silence for a few minutes, letting the food soak up the leftover alcohol from the night before.

  Finally, J.C. slaps his hand on the table. “Best pancakes ever. These are the bomb.”

  “They’re burnt and taste like sausage,” Caleb says. “But I’m hungover enough that I don’t care.”

  J.C. looks around the diner and shakes his head. “I’m going to miss this place, aren’t you guys? Once school starts back up, we won’t have much time to come here anymore. And after graduation, we’re all out of here. Right? Do you all know where you’re going?”

  “No way. Stop it. We aren’t discussing graduation before we’ve even started the semester,” Caleb says. “You can’t talk to me about leaving until I’ve recovered from Spring Fling.”

  “Spring Fling.” J.C. wags his brows suggestively. “I can’t believe we’re seniors now. I’ve been dreaming about Spring Fling for years. It’s going to be fucking rad.”

  “Rad?” I snort.

  “He speaks!” J.C. claps me on the back. “I’m a bit offended the first thing you’ve said since we got here was to make fun of me, but I’ll take it as a sign you’ve forgiven me for what happened in the car.”

  “What happened in the car?” Caleb asks.

  J.C. shakes his head at him and then winks at me, like we have some big secret.

  I roll my eyes and brush his hand off of my shoulder. “I just think ‘rad’ is a bit of a tame descriptor, don’t you think? Spring Fling is going to be the biggest party of our lives.”

  In most towns across America, Spring Fling is the moniker for a standard high school dance. Tame, lame, boring as hell.

  But in Ravenlake, it’s the exact opposite.

  It’s the biggest blowout of the fucking year.

  All the members of the graduating class pool money to rent out a massive cabin in the woods for an entire weekend of drinking, drugs, and general debauchery.

  So yeah—more than “rad,” if you ask me.

  “Think about it,” J.C. says, leaning in and whispering. “All the girls have nothing to lose. They’re going to be out of Ravenlake after this year, so why not give in to their most base desires?”

  Caleb snorts. “And you think their ‘most base desires’ involve you in some way?”

  J.C. puffs out his chest. “Obviously. Why wouldn’t they?”

  They two of them start ragging on each other the way they always do.

  I let them have at it. My thoughts turn to something else.

  After this year, I’ll be out of Ravenlake. Away from everyone I grew up with.

  Including Penny.

  For some people, that would mean I should let this vendetta go and move on.

  For me, it means there’s nothing left to lose.

  Spring Fling is going to be Penny’s Armageddon.

  There are just so many options for how to humiliate her—in front of the entire graduating glass. Image after image flashes through my head.

  Penny participating in the Spring Fling wet t-shirt contest, her breasts visible through sheer white fabric.

  Strip poker. Ruthlessly stripping her of one layer at a time until she’s blushed and bare for all to see. For everyone to mock. For everyone to laugh at.

  I want to be the one to do that shit to her.

  It hasn’t even been an hour since I rubbed one out, but my cock is twitching.

  I try to push the thoughts from my mind. But thoughts of Penny spread-eagled beneath me or on her knees in front of me or with her hands around my shaft keep appearing.

  And I can’t stop them once they’ve started.

  “Hello?” J.C. waves a hand in front of my face. “Earth to Noah, you in there?”

  I blink away an image of Penny on all fours in front of me, her round ass in my hands, and look up at J.C.

  His face is much less appealing.

  “What?”

  “I asked who’s on your bang list?” Caleb says. “For Spring Fling. Just curious which swamp rat you’ll be balls deep in while I hang out with my cool, attractive girlfriend.”

  J.C. wrinkles his nose at Caleb’s obscene monogamy and turns to me. “Yeah, who’s on your list?”

  One face appears in my vision.

  One name at the top of my list.

  There is only one girl I have any desire for. Not just a desire to fuck.

  A desire to ruin. To destroy. To humiliate.

  But that’ll come later. I won’t reveal my plans just yet. Not even to my best friends.

  “No one,” I say with a shrug. “Or anyone. Either way.”

  Caleb smiles and claps me on the shoulder. “That’s the spirit. Keep your options open.”

  9

  Noah

  Caleb offers to take J.C. home, so I have an entire solo car ride across town to keep brooding on the fantasies cropping up in my mind.

  I’m not a sex-starved thirteen-year-old kid. I should not be this out of control.

  I thought our closeness last night was only getting Penny riled up, but now it’s obvious it had an effect on me, too.

  And I don’t like it. Not one bit.

  By the time I park and walk up the drive, I’ve decided to go upstairs and watch some porn—find someone else to fantasize about for a bit.

  I just need to cleanse the system.

  To purge Penny.

  Except, as soon as I walk through the front door, my mom calls my name from the living room.

  Her voice is hoarse, throat dry from her alcohol intake last night.

  When I turn the corner, she has a tall glass of orange juice in her hand.

  I’ll bet my left nut there’s vodka in it. Or champagne, at the very least least. Though her demons usually demand something stronger than just the bubbly stuff.

  “I didn’t notice you come home last night,” she says, running a hand through her bed-flattened curls. Her eyes are rimmed in smudgy black liner, though she must have cleaned up the mascara running down her cheeks at some point.

  I want to tell her she also must not have noticed me carry her up the stairs and tuck her into bed, but I don’t bother her with those facts.

  Not knowing how she got to bed at night isn’t exactly a new experience for my mother.

  Being sober enough to get into her bed on her own is the rarity these days.

  “I came home around midnight. You were asleep.”

  Technically true, though a white-washed version of the story.

  She chews on her lip and tips her head towards the fireplace. “A picture frame broke. Did you do that?”

  Most parents would ask a question like this as a ploy to see if their child would confess.

  My mom, however, is trying to remember if she broke it herself.

  It wouldn’t be the first time. In the height of her grief, before she came to depend on the bottle, she took to breaking china.

  Dad’s mom left him a cabinet full of dishes that had been passed down in the family. I�
�d already told them both from the time I was ten I would never have an interest in displaying the family heirlooms in any home I ever owned.

  So, after everything that happened two years ago, she shattered them.

  In the sink. On the patio out back. In the basement over dad’s empty safe.

  One at a time. Like breaking the plates was the same thing as destroying her grief. Her past. Our family trauma.

  She tried to clean up the evidence, no doubt because she was ashamed of her coping mechanism.

  But I always found the shards.

  And truth be told, I never judged her.

  I know how it feels to crave breaking fragile things, too.

  “It fell.”

  “And what happened to the picture?” she asks.

  I’d kicked the pieces under soot in the fireplace. Unless she got down on her hands and knees, she’ll never find them.

  I wonder if she remembers falling asleep holding the picture at all.

  I shrug and cross my arms. “No idea. I didn’t touch it.”

  Mom sighs and takes a long drink of her “orange juice.” She’s wearing a long, blush pink dressing robe and slippers, but I know she must have changed into them this morning after she woke up in her work clothes.

  She wants to keep up appearances for me, but I see everything.

  The only person she’s fooling is herself.

  “You seem stressed, Noah. Angry. And I just can’t help but feel like…” Her voice drifts off before she takes another drink and looks up at me, her brown eyes washed out by her dilated pupils. “Is this about your father?”

  I groan. I’ve had more than enough heart-to-hearts today. If you can count me telling J.C. to leave Penny the fuck alone as a heart-to-heart.

  Most people wouldn’t.

  But then again, most people aren’t me.

  My mom has enough shit to deal with that I don’t need to add mine to the pile. Besides, she can’t handle her own grief. How does she expect to help me?

  “Not everything is about him. I’m fine, just hungover.”

  At one time, I’d lie to my mom about my drinking.