Fiend (Briarcliff Secret Society Series Book 3)

by Ketley Allison

  I open my eyes, seeing his face for the first time since he started touching me, his brown sugar gaze, his tightened lips. His short breaths.

  “You did that to me,” I whisper.

  “Not in the way I hoped.” His thumb circles my nipple, then he flicks it. I flinch in the best way, tingles traveling from my breasts to my core. “I told myself I fucked you out of Noble duty. Made you come the same way I make tons of other chicks come. But your body fit against mine in a way I didn’t expect. Your moans made me hard during a time I wasn’t predicting. And those lips…” Chase leans forward and traces his tongue across my lower lip, my nose brushing against his cheek as I tilt toward him for more. “What comes out of your perfect, prissy mouth pissed me off and turned me on. And your pussy?”

  Chase uses his other hand to spread my thighs, and when he meets my underwear, I feel his grin on my lips.

  I’m already wet for him. Swollen and throbbing with need.

  “It tasted sweet, and I kept wanting to suck my fingers to keep tasting you, long after I’d fucked you.”

  My breaths barely fill my lungs. I’m hot and struggling all over—to be strong, to be timid, to have him despite being warned away from him—but his hands lead the dance. I’m bending and twisting in tandem to his seductive choreography, and I can’t stop.

  “You don’t want to do this,” I say against his lips, putting space between us when he tries to win me over with one of his world-tilting kisses. “You’re hurt, despite avoiding the worst of it. You’re still bruised.”

  “Then I guess you’ll have to be on top.”

  My core flutters open like butterfly wings as he sneaks past my underwear and dips into my folds, curving his fingers in orgasmic perfection.

  “I … oh.” I curse, then push his shoulders, sending him smacking against the headboard.

  He growls, “What the—”

  But my movements are faster, and he quickly shuts up, choosing interest over yelling as I scramble with opening his belt, then his pants, practically panting over what I’m about to reveal.

  “My sweet possum,” he purrs.

  “Shut up.”

  It takes both of my hands to cup his entire shaft, and I twist, massage, and play with his balls until he throws back his head and groans.

  When a bead of wetness shines on his tip, I bend and lap up the salt.

  His chin falls forward. “Fuuuuuck.”

  I flick his tip with my tongue, my eyes trained on his. “If we’re going to do this, this is how I want you.”

  “Fine. Yes. Anything. Just don’t stop. Don’t you dare…”

  I grin, then shift on the bed until I can better take him in my mouth.

  Chase has never allowed this type of closeness—eating me out and fucking me with ease, but never wanting me to see him vulnerable and exposed.

  But this is my moment. My time to make him mine in the same way he’s made me his.

  Am I forcing his hand at his weakest point? Maybe. But with the way he supplicates, grinding his hips and fisting my hair … I doubt he’ll regret it later.

  Especially when I…

  “Oh. My. Fucking. Hell.” Chase’s mouth falls open as I suction my lips around him, then take him deeper, and deeper, and deeper still, until he hits the back of my throat.

  His breaths grow harsh, and I rear up before I gag, but I think I got my point across.

  “Where in the hell did you learn that trick?” he asks, his voice hoarse with lust.

  “I’ve been waiting to try it out,” I say, lining him up to my mouth again. “Only with you.”

  One side of his mouth tilts. “Do it again.”

  I do.

  When Chase is clinging for control, when sweat dots his forehead, and he clenches his fists with restraint, I grab a condom from his nightstand, slide my underwear off, and, keeping the rest of my clothes on, straddle him while I suit him up.

  I don’t make us wait. I can’t, as I’m about to orgasm simply from losing my underwear and hitting air.

  He slides inside me easily, perfectly.

  Chase’s hands grip my waist, and I smile at his attempt at control, but this is my ride. I throw his hands off, and lift my own to tangle in my hair, arching my back so my unbuttoned blouse spreads further. “Watch. Just watch me.”

  He does.

  With every circle and bounce, Chase keeps his hands to himself, though it pains him sincerely. I ride him exactly the way my body demands, clenching around his dick and making sure my clit is rubbed and pleasured with the same satisfying strokes I’m giving to him.

  “I’m gonna come,” I whisper.

  Chase’s expression is tight, his jaw locked. “F … I can’t … I can’t fucking hold on…”

  I bend down, pressing my lips onto his. “Don’t.”

  It’s here he loses control, gripping my ass, spreading my cheeks, and thrusting so hard and deep, my eyes pop wide.

  The orgasm hits me at the perfect angle, and I groan into his mouth, flashes of red and white sparks spreading across the backs of my eyelids and bursting fireworks down to my core. Chase rides the gunpowder fire with me, and we cling to each other’s clothes until every firework, every second of our spark, burns down into languid smoke.

  12

  The rest of the week goes by with innocuous boredom, which can only mean one thing.

  Something sinister waits along the fringes of this pretend normalcy.

  But as the days wear on, I manage to ignore the uneasy goosebumps pimpling my flesh, gaining enough distraction from the everyday people in my life, when they’re not wearing their cloaks.

  Emma and I go about our dorm room business as we usually do, with short bursts of conversation, mostly over our morning cup of coffee, before departing to our various classes.

  Not much can be done regarding our infiltration into the Virtues until I pass the trials, and each initiate’s tests are tailored to the queen’s preferences. Added to that, I’m a senior, and most indoctrinations occur in ninth grade.

  A shudder caresses my shoulders at the memory of what I witnessed in the Nobles’ hidden ritual room in the Wolf’s Den. Grown women and young boys…

  I shake my head, dislodging the image. But it serves as a necessary reminder that while the Virtues are more outwardly vicious, the Nobles’ quiet acts are just as dangerous.

  Chase is the hardest to ignore, even though he avoided the academy for two days, nursing his injuries—or so he told his friends. We left a lot unsaid after I departed his room that night, on what we are, or how far we’re willing to bend the rules. But I used the thought of Chase to keep me company while I couldn’t see him, the glimmering remembrance of being on top of him, kissing and clinging to him. It’s a gravity I’m more than willing to fall into, so different from the sinking, sickly feeling of being sucked into the dark abyss of the Virtues.

  And when I finally ran into Chase in real life on Thursday, the hot scrape of his attention over my body and the light, almost invisible graze of his fingers on the back of my hand as we passed each other in the hallway, told me he’d been thinking of me, too.

  That happy Thursday ending is why, on Friday morning, when Ivy bursts into my dorm room, I’m convinced my sinister intuition has come to fruition.

  “We need to talk,” Ivy gasps, out of breath, like she’d sprinted up the three flights of stairs rather than take the elevator.

  I freeze with a carton of cream half-tipped over my coffee. “Is there news of my final trial?”

  “Not that. I mean—no.” She smacks her palms on the counter, and I jump, splashing cream. “Winter Formal.”

  “I—huh?”

  “I know what you’re going to say. With all this secret society stuff, what’s the point of a school dance?”

  “Since you figured out my question, you’ll have my answer, too.” I finish sloshing cream into my mug, then turn to her.

  “Yeah, but this is our senior year.” Ivy says it like she’s whispering a prophecy
. “And so far, it’s sucked.”

  I cast my gaze to the ceiling and sigh, but I catch Ivy’s sunburst smile along the way.

  “Think about it,” she says. “You and me in some gorgeous dresses, sipping spiked punch and dancing under the lights, forgetting about our problems for just one night. One night. That’s all I ask.”

  I lift my mug to my lips to disguise the wavering curve of a smile. “There’s no telling what the Virtues have in store for me, Ivy. It might not be smart to flaunt my freedom.”

  “You should go.”

  Both Ivy and I swivel at the sound of Emma’s voice as she exits her room.

  “Are you serious?” I ask. “But it’s so public. So exposed. So … normal.”

  Emma shrugs. “It’s a good way to put face-time in and signal to the Virtues that you’re participating in school activities and making an effort to support Briarcliff.”

  My upper lip curls. “Really? But they’re evil. Without morals. Callous and cruel. Why would they ever be interested in a dance?”

  “You forget,” Emma says, heading to the coffee machine, “The Nobles and Virtues were created from Briarcliff. They may not be recognized extensions of the school and more of an underlying cancer, but they show respect where it’s due. All the other Nobles and Virtues will be there.”

  Chase.

  His name hits my tongue one second before I speak it, and I hide behind my mug again.

  Chase will be there. We’ll keep our feelings private, but our thoughts can be unprovoked. Perhaps I’ll catch him across the dance floor, parting the crowd and holding out his hand for a dance…

  I cringe at the daydream, my teeth clanking against the ceramic. There’s no way we can do any of that. And there’s never been a time I’ve hit any dance floor sober. It was always a sweaty, tangled mess, with rushed highs and pulses of music—my eyes shut and blind to my surroundings.

  Setting down my mug, I say, “It’s not a good idea. I’m sorry, Ivy.”

  “Please?” Ivy bounces on the balls of her feet. “It’ll be harmless. I swear.”

  I send a wary look Emma’s way. “Uh-huh. And what usually happens after someone makes that kind of promise?”

  “Goddammit, Callie, I’m the princess.”

  I jolt at Ivy’s rare curse.

  “I’ll ask the queen’s permission. Order the other Virtues to stand down. We deserve this.” Ivy’s gaze includes Emma. “All of us.”

  Emma barks out with laughter. “You two have fun.”

  “If I’m going,” I say, crossing my arms, “you are, too.”

  Emma doesn’t bother to answer as she fixes her cup of coffee, turns around, and goes back to her room.

  “There’s safety in numbers!” I call after her.

  She glares at me over the rim of her mug before shutting her door.

  “Well. She didn’t say no. I think that was positive,” Ivy says to me. “Don’t you?”

  My last class of the day is calculus, and I sit through Professor Dawson’s lecture with half-glazed vision, math always being my toughest subject. I’d resolved myself to doing better and achieving the grades I used to, but it’s becoming remarkably harder when I get so little sleep, my thoughts churning day in and day out.

  Unlike me, Dawson is working hard today, calling on students at random, so after a final, firm blink, I straighten in my seat and stare at the whiteboard as he writes out another problem.

  “Miss Ryan?”

  Crap. My instincts were spot-on, but I’ve only skimmed the numbers on the board.

  “Um. Yes, Professor?”

  Dawson glances over his shoulder, still writing the equation. “It wasn’t me who called on you, Miss Ryan, but proving your utter inattention in my class is always lovely. Look toward the door.”

  Everyone turns to look at me, including Chase, Falyn, and Emma. Cheeks hot, I pretend not to feel their stares as I glance at the classroom door.

  Miss Maisy, the guidance counselor, stands there wringing her hands. “You’re needed in the headmaster’s office, dear.”

  Brows pushing low, I stand and walk toward her, but Miss Maisy stops me with a flutter of her fingers. “Bring your stuff as well. You won’t be coming back to class.”

  My stomach pitches, a natural reaction at being called to the principal’s office, but the depth of nausea is on a whole other level when that principal is also one of the echelons in a secret society.

  Emma goes back to scrawling in her notebook, feigning disinterest, but the redness on the tip of her ear tells me she’s piqued. Falyn leans back with folded arms and a smarmy expression.

  And Chase … Chase eyes me the entire time I pack up my things, and unable to help myself, I throw quick glances at him throughout, attempting to decipher any clue as to why I’m being singled out in the middle of class.

  It’s not for comfort. That’s what I tell myself as I keep meeting his eyes, searching for softness in his features. For safety and warmth.

  Nothing but burnished bronze meets me at the end of my path.

  I throw my backpack on and clutch my calculus textbook to my chest as I cross the aisles of desks and follow Miss Maisy out of class.

  “Be sure to grab notes from someone, if you feel like passing final exams,” Professor Dawson calls before Miss Maisy shuts the door.

  “Come, dear,” she says, her eyes kind but her expression blank.

  “Am I in trouble?” I ask as I follow her down the cavernous hallway.

  “I don’t know, honey.” Her heels hit the parquet tiles at a brisk clip, and I rush to keep up with her.

  “Is this related to my meetings with you?” I ask with tentative fear.

  I thought I’d been doing so well with her, easing everyone’s—including my dad’s—minds about my ability to handle the Briarcliff courseload and not fly off the handle like so many were worried about.

  “Not at all, dear.”

  We reach the main foyer, where Miss Maisy pauses and sweeps out her hand. “I trust you can get to his office?”

  I don’t miss the underlying you’ve been there a few times before in her tone.

  “Sure,” I say, hitching my bag up higher and heading into the west wing.

  The hallway of trophies and faculty paintings is silent and yawning as I turn into it, the arched ceilings creating a dome of entrapment I always seem to feel whenever I tread into this side of the school.

  Headmaster Marron’s heavy wooden door is closed when I come up to it, and after another glance at the hidden iron crest in one of the displays—the forging of a raven, with the Nobles’ and Virtues’ maxim in curved script underneath—I knock lightly.

  “Come in.”

  I jolt at the tone. That’s not Marron’s voice. Nor is it male.

  My hand hovers over the doorknob, confusion blotting over the foreboding weight in my chest after being called out of class.

  It finally hits me—why kids are pulled from their classrooms in the middle of the day. Is this about Dad or Lynda’s pregnancy? Is anyone hurt? Is there a policewoman on the other side?

  Breaths hitching, I twist the knob, desperate to get to the part where I’m blindsided, when terrible news is etched into the air, carved down my throat, and pouring blood into my chest, over with before I lose all capability to breathe.

  I throw the door open, but my knuckles are white against the frame.

  “What is it?” I gasp out. “Is it the baby?”

  But I’m met with shadows.

  The thick, velvet curtains behind Marron’s wide desk are pulled shut, their golden tapestries swinging as if they were recently used. His various knick-knacks and bookshelves are darkly illuminated, a single lamp shining within the gloom.

  It’s disconcerting, meeting such interior gloom while the winter sun shines bright against the skeletal trees and dying grass outside.

  “Take a seat, Initiate.”

  A shiver barrels down my spine at the voice, recognizable and pristine.

  “Sa
b—I mean, Mrs. Harrington,” I breathe out as I round one of the visitor’s chairs and sit.

  “You may call me your queen.”

  Her form is carved out in the shadows, lamplight and darkness playing across her features as she reclines in Marron’s seat.

  The loudest sound is my bag thumping to the floor.

  Despite my bones going rigid, I say, “Is there something wrong, my queen?”

  The question sits on my teeth like sour candy, too sweet and too cloying to be good for me.

  “There might be,” Sabine muses. “Considering how you are enduring voicing my title like you would swallowing a rat’s tail.”

  Double crap. I press my palms into my legs, forcing poise into my posture and my voice. “I mean no offense. It takes some getting used to, this…”

  “Indeed. Most students exceptional enough to receive our invitation would do anything, say anything, to be in your position. Yet here you are, wondering if my power over you is merely a joke.”

  “I don’t mean to come across that way.” Ivy’s words come to the forefront. Your honesty makes her trust you. I clear my throat. “But I’m confused. I was called out of class and thought something was wrong, with either my enrollment at Briarcliff or my family. I’m surprised to be meeting you in Marron’s office.”

  Sabine pauses for a beat, and a shiver skitters over my skin, as if her view of me is so much clearer than what I see of her. “You’ll come to learn, dear girl, that I enjoy throwing my girls off-balance during an interrogation.”

  I latch onto the word. “Interrogation?”

  Sabine cants her head. “Are you honestly surprised, Calla Lily?”

  Inclining my head in the other direction, I ask, “I don’t think I’m reaching when I say the last time you saw me, I was more open with you than I’ve been since—” I stop myself, but the maneuver is useless when I see Sabine’s teeth flash in the dark.

  “Your mother.” Sabine leans forward, her elbows poking against the desk’s wood. “To be a good mother is a great responsibility. To be a good daughter, even more so. You no longer have yours, and I no longer have mine. We’re on similar paths. More kindred than you’ll ever come to realize.”