Beautifully Yours: A High School Bully Romance (Voclain Academy Book Three) Read online

  Why did she come here tonight? I set the glass back on the countertop sloppily, letting the liquid spill over my fingers.

  Screw her for walking into my space, my night out with my friends.

  Screw her for that mindfuck in the locker room.

  It’s time for payback.

  It’s time that she remembers how she always screamed for me.

  I stand up out of the chair, and my exit’s messy, ramming my shoulder into the screeching lady.

  I beeline straight for Harlow, and when I’m so close I can almost smell her, I reach out and put a hand on her shoulder. I want her to watch me as I fuck her. I want to see the fight, the moment when she thinks about saying no and then doesn’t, because she wants my cock inside her, reminding us both what it feels like to be royally fucked.

  I spin her toward me, harder than I mean to, and when she’s turned and staring at me, I am moments away from slamming my lips into hers and then backing her into the wall and claiming what is mine in front of all these strangers.

  But I stop. This face isn’t right. It’s some poor imitation with black eyebrows and filler lips in the shape of an O.

  “You’re not…” I begin, but the imitation smiles at me, and that smile promises lascivious designs.

  “I’m whatever you want me to be,” she says.

  My cock deflates like a punctured balloon.

  I don’t answer her. I turn and walk out of the damned bar.

  10

  Ian

  I just want to get the fuck out of here and be left alone. I did my part tonight and played the shiny, gilded quarterback of Voclain Academy.

  Bringer of the state championship title two years running.

  Captain of one of the top three Division II teams in the continental United States.

  Propagator of thousands in donations and attender of (almost) all pep rallies.

  Now, it’s time to go home and leave the stench of school pride and fake smiles behind. That is, if I can manage to leave this thing without being hunted down and hounded by the fangirls. It’s like they think if they twirl their hair and pretend to know anything about the game, I’ll be impressed. Maybe I’ll take them to homecoming or put their picture in the campus newspaper, solidifying their social status at the Academy.

  It makes me sick.

  I have done everything demanded of me tonight, the interviews with the local papers set up by Coach, the meeting with the Board of Supervisors about how I think the new season will turn out—like I know, the donor meet-and-greet where Mrs. Ridgley tried to corner me in the coat closet. I’ve given everything that is expected of me, and then some, because I am on thin ice after all, thanks to Finn’s bullshit.

  I gave them what they really care about.

  Maintaining the image.

  Promising to bring home the win.

  Making sure Mommy and Daddy donate enough to renovate the entire eastern wing of campus.

  I played that part with a smile on my face. Okay, fine, it wasn’t a smile—more like a pretty grimace—but whatever. At least I didn’t hit someone or claw my own eyes out or scream when I heard for the thousandth time, “What are your plans for the new season, son?”

  Now, I want to rip this royal blue jersey off my head and throw it at someone’s face, and because I can’t do that without needing to hire a damn image consultant afterward, I’ll settle for a shower and being left the fuck alone.

  I walk along the long cement wall outside the back of the auditorium, attempting to disappear into the shadows. I don’t want to be seen, and I don’t want to have to see her. So far, I’ve accomplished both of those goals. Sure, she was somewhere in the crowd, mandatory school events and all, but I’ve got my Harlow blinders on tonight.

  Maybe if I don’t see her, I will forget her, and I won’t remember what she said and how much it fucking hurts—and it shouldn’t hurt because I am not that guy, the one that goes all emo after a breakup because he’s a pussy.

  Maybe…

  “Ian.” My name carries to me like smoke, and I don’t want to turn around and feel the heat. I don’t want to believe it. Surely, it’s just a dream.

  When I freeze and spin slowly on my heel though, she is there, haunting me.

  Napalm explodes inside my brain, and it is chaotic and violent and absolutely ugly. Why the fuck is she in front of me? Everything is red and on fire.

  I don’t want her here, talking to me.

  Fuck her for even saying my name.

  The words come with a rush of air from my nostrils like I am a dragon.

  “What do you want, little girl?” I seethe.

  I don’t know where that came from, because she’s only a few months younger than me, but right now with hair the color of lightning in the dark and her heart-shaped face paled to a porcelain mask with her arms crossed over her chest like a shield, she looks fragile and small and utterly breakable.

  I want to break her.

  Harlow flinches, and in that movement, that tiny, what should be insignificant twitch of muscles, I am pushed over the edge. I take two long steps, ready to—kiss her? Kill her? Maybe both—and I’m not even within two feet of her face when she stares up at me, wide-eyed.

  Like I’m the one who’s surprised her and trespassed into her territory. Un-fucking-believable.

  She blinks up at me, and her arms squeeze around her middle even tighter, her fingers balled into fists. Her mouth opens like she’s going to say something, but she closes it quickly, shakes her head like she’s having her own internal debate, and bolts.

  She. Freaking. Bolts.

  I stand there a moment, debating what to do, but damnit, she started it, and she can’t say more than my name before she runs away. Who does that?

  Run away, mouse, I think, because there’s no hiding, not anymore.

  She must not have much of a plan because she doesn’t even go back toward campus, where there are people to protect her from her predator. Instead, she just does this dumbass beeline straight into the trees on the outskirts of campus like she’s less scared of whatever lives in those woods than me.

  She should be.

  Fuck, now I’m angry and I’m running.

  My feet hit the ground as the shadow of summer clings to my skin. It’s humid and on the bad side of hot, and I do not want to be doing this, but she picked this fight, so let’s get it over with.

  I follow her through the trees, which isn’t hard since she has an absolutely terrible sense of direction and basically turns back so she runs perpendicular to the building.

  It’s night, and it’s dark as shit in these woods, where the light from the outdoor lamps on campus barely reaches. Her blonde hair is a beacon, floating behind her like white silk as she darts away from me. The light of the moon filters past the canopy of trees and catches her just right like it is her own spotlight and the earth is her stage. It’s an unwelcome thought because now…

  I’m angry.

  I’m running.

  And I’m turned on.

  Still, I chase her. Fury seeps through my veins, curling my fingers and settling heavy in my toes.

  Fuck her for doing this to me.

  Fuck her for ending what we had and then coming back just to apparently torture me.

  Fuck her!

  This damned forest smells crisp and clean like it just rained, but there’s the burn of the last of my benevolence being eradicated from the earth. My heart bumbles inside my chest, but it’s not because I’m now sprinting after her, around trees and over prickly brambles. It is anger and irritation that fuels the black organ.

  She makes it to the tree line, and it hits me all of a sudden that she’s weirdly fast tonight and surprisingly light on her feet, like even her clumsy body knows if she trips, then she’s a goner. She leaps over a fallen log like she’s an Olympic hurdler. I guess her fear of me makes her into a damn acrobat too.

  But I am the quarterback of the football team after all, and I devour five miles every morning li
ke it’s my breakfast, so I’m still gaining on her.

  I can hear her breathing even over the crunch of the leaves beneath her shoes and the swish of her jeans, sucking in air greedily as she pushes herself even harder. The old me would be worried and wondering why the fuck she’s on the verge of hyperventilating, but the new me refuses to ask that question.

  Let her be scared.

  It’ll keep her away from me. It’ll protect us both.

  She veers around a maple tree, the low-hanging limbs catching her hair and tugging her backward as she pushes herself forward. She’s like four feet away from me now, if that, and I am getting tired of this game. It’s down to the last few seconds in the final quarter, and it’s time to bring home the win.

  My fingers wrap around the loose fabric of her shirt, and I send us both careening into a massive tree. Her breath escapes her with the hit, and I feel the collision all the way down to my permanently fucked up ACL. I clench my teeth together to stifle my groan.

  I don’t know what I expected, but now that she is turned around and facing me, our bodies inches apart, she hangs her head in resignation like she’s almost relieved it’s over and that she’s lost. I shift toward her, pinning her there between the bark of the tree and my body, but she doesn’t answer. She doesn’t say a word. She just closes her eyes and gulps for air. My hand curls underneath her jaw and tips her head up to look at me, her blue eyes a watering hole in the dark.

  I lean in close, my hot breath fanning out across her sweat-slick face.

  “What was that about?” I demand.

  “I… I…” she begins before shutting down.

  She has the audacity to look at me like she’s the one hurting, like I’ve ripped out her heart and set it on fire, her eyes so wide, her pupils ringed with white all the way around. Her bottom lip trembles, plump and wet, and I can almost taste the promised brine from her tears on my tongue.

  “You don’t get to do this,” I snarl, my teeth clacking together with the last word.

  She squeezes her eyes shut, and my hand cinches tighter around her jaw until she pops them back open. One tear falls down her cheek, slow and steady until it slips past her neck.

  I want to take a bite out of her and feel the flesh and blood coat my tongue. I want to consume us both until there’s nothing left.

  “I’m sorry,” she blurts, and it sounds like a wail. “This was a mistake.”

  “Sorry?” My grip tightens, and she winces but doesn’t pull away.

  “This was a mistake,” I repeat.

  I can’t believe I am hearing the words come out of her mouth, like an apology is going to make this all okay.

  I evaporate the air between us, pressing forward until there’s just the soft swell of her breasts against my chest and the feel of her legs pinned by mine. My cock is painfully hard my boxers, and I know she can feel it there, heavy against her belly.

  Betraying fucker that it is.

  “Don’t spew that shit on me, sweetness,” I say the words like a whispered endearment. “I sure as fuck don’t believe it. You came looking for me tonight for a reason. What the fuck was it?”

  She says nothing as another solitary tear falls, despite her best efforts, and slips down her cheek to disappear between her lips. I could lean in a little farther and steal it for myself. Her mouth is soft, inviting, and slightly wet in the darkness. She swallows hard like she’s doing her damnedest to control herself. All I can think is how I want to bury myself inside her and feel her squeeze around me when she comes. The thought pisses me off even more.

  Fuck!

  I keep one hand flat against the bark of the tree as my other hand lowers, down the column of her throat and across the line of her clavicle exposed by the thin shirt she’s wearing. She gasps, just a short inhalation, but it feels like she’s trying to suck out my soul.

  She probably already did because I’m feeling downright soulless at the moment.

  She arches her back a little, her jeans-clad hips brushing against mine. My cock wants it to be an invitation. It wants to rip free of my jeans and hers.

  I watch her as my hand continues down lower, falling over her skin slowly. My fingers dance across the fabric of her shirt, over the pearlescent buttons that threaten to give way under the strain of her breath. I can feel her heart thumping away in her chest as my hand moves over, away from the center of her chest and toward her breast. Her mouth parts, her tongue darting out across to wet her bottom lip. I want to reach out, tug it between my teeth, and clamp down.

  She lets out a little whimper as my thumb rolls across the swell of her flesh until I find her pebbled nipple beneath her thin bra.

  “Oh,” she whispers as I take her nipple between my thumb and index finger and squeeze.

  Her mouth drops open a little further, and I want kiss her, but I don’t want to do just that. I want to fuck her against this tree until there’s nothing left of either one of us.

  She’s practically hyperventilating as her body responds to me. I can taste the strawberry of her lip gloss lingering in the air between us. She still smells like I remember, sugar and cinnamon and apples, and it’s too much.

  My thumb reluctantly leaves her nipple and strokes over her rib cage, down past the lip of her jeans and around the curve of her ass. My palm kneads into her flesh before I pull her hips flush against mine. A whimper escapes her breath as my dick throbs between us.

  I grind against her, and her fingers curl into the fabric of my shirt, drawing me in close.

  “Tell me why you are here,” I say to her as I roll my hips, “and I will give you what you want. One last chance, and I’ll fuck you, Harlow.”

  She whimpers but doesn’t say anything, clenching her bottom lip between her teeth.

  I don’t do this. I’ve never done this. I don’t chase.

  The things I want are delivered to me in pretty packages.

  I slip my hand back around, letting my fingers skim across the half an inch of exposed flesh above her waistband. Goosebumps follow my trail.

  I unhook the button to her jeans and slide down her zipper, and she doesn’t say a word. She’s still got her lip trapped between her teeth, a glassy stare transfixed on my shoulder.

  I cup her, and she moans, and God, it would be so easy to just undo my pants, free my cock, and bury myself inside her, but not yet. Not until she says it. Not until I have answers.

  I pull my hand up and over the swell, across the thin cotton fabric of her panties. My finger dips inside, and I bury my head against her hair to hide when I clench my lip between my teeth to stifle my groan.

  She’s soaked.

  “Oh, fuck,” she says as I leisurely slip a finger inside of her. I thrust in and out slowly as she quivers around that single digit.

  “Tell me,” I demand, and it’s soft and low because if I say it any louder, I’m going to break.

  I thrust into her one more time.

  Say it, Harlow! Just say it!

  She keeps her damned mouth shut.

  I remove my hand. I don’t look back as I walk away.

  11

  Harlow

  I sit at my desk, staring at my open microbiology textbook. I’ve got a notepad next to it and an assortment of highlighters—yellow, pink, blue, and green—and a new pack of black ballpoint pens, but I haven’t written a single word on the notepad or even picked up a highlighter. The words stare back from the page in front of me, blurring the longer I peer at them.

  I should study. I have a test on Monday, but I can’t find the motivation. I’m pretty sure I used every ounce I had to open the book.

  “Get dressed,” Molly says from my doorway.

  I about fall out of my chair. How long has she been standing there?

  “Get dressed,” she repeats, waving her hand at pajama-clad me.

  I blink at her. Molly is never this bossy.

  Raven appears in the doorjamb next to her and raises an eyebrow at me. “You heard her, bitch,” she says with a tsk. “The
re’s only one cure for the breakup blues, and it’s a proprietary formula of ice cream, manicures, and fresh man meat.”

  I blink again because I don’t want fresh man meat. I want Ian and his steely eyes and dark hair and brooding angst that he carries on his shoulders like a permanent jacket. I want his laugh when his parents aren’t watching and the way he grins when he’s just made a horrible joke that will undoubtedly make me laugh.

  I just want him, all of him, and I can’t have him.

  A snap of fingers in front of my face pulls me away from my thoughts.

  “Snap out of it,” Molly tells me. She circles her finger around my head. “And stop going to wherever it is in there that you keep going.”

  I bite my bottom lip and consider their proposal. Ice cream sounds good. My stomach rumbles in approval.

  “What flavor is it?” I ask as Raven walks to my closet and starts rummaging.

  “Girl.” She peeks her head out of my closet and back at me. “All of them. Any of ‘em. It’ll be like a taste test for all the ice cream flavors.” She raises an eyebrow at me. “So does that mean you’re in, chickadee?”

  I nod and push my chair back from my desk and stand there in my cotton boy shorts and sleep top. Raven whistles, and I get the feeling it’s not in appreciation.

  When was the last time I brushed my hair? Maybe Friday before the pep rally, and that was because the Academy has rules about personal appearance and demerits for breaking them.

  When I was with Ian, I didn’t have to worry about a demerit.

  Raven’s voice breaks me out of it this time. “Shower, then my place because,” she waves her hand at me, “none of this will do.”

  “Twenty minutes,” Molly tells me in a total mom voice as they leave my room, “or we will come back and kidnap you.”

  “Love ya!” Raven calls, blowing me a kiss as they leave.

  I carry myself to the bathroom I share with Molly, strip out of my clothes, and turn on the water until it’s on the right side of scalding. I climb inside, and the burn feels good as it pelts my skin. When I’m done, I dress in a t-shirt and a pair of jean shorts, which really is an improvement over the last forty-eight hours.