Dirty Wicked Prince (Court Legacy 1)

Like wood hitting metal.

Wells and Thatcher whipped around, me with them. Dorian pulled his bat off one of the pool’s handrails.

“I said out of the pool.” He almost sounded bored. His bat touched his brawny shoulder, his boys redirecting their attention to fulfilling a command.

“Stop it! Let me go!” I bucked, both boys with their hands on me and no escape. I was also a sucky-ass swimmer, so they got me with ease to the pool’s handrails.

To Dorian.

The dark prince shot a hand out, grabbing me with his big mitts. He pressed me up against his big chest, academy uniform be damned.

He smelled so good, raw like heated flesh and scented boy. His breath was also minty, his eyes surging ebony coals.

He forgot about his friends. He forgot about everything when he strong-armed me and forced me back to one of the pool room’s walls. He still had his bat in his hand, something he used to hook behind my neck and bring me closer to him.

I was hugged between two thick arms, his friends behind him. Thatcher and Wells had a fascination in their eyes. Like two boys wanting to play.

Wanting to play with you.

I had a dark thought in that moment, wondering if these boys would do something to me I didn’t want done.

Would Dorian let them?

He scanned my eyes like he not only would but would ringlead that shit.

And that heat in his eyes didn’t leave.

I’d seen this look before on him, like that day he’d spotted Principal Mayberry and me in the hallway together.

Like he hated. Like he hated me.

Pure.

All-consuming.

Hate.

He appeared as if he despised me, which made no fucking sense.

I didn’t know this boy.

Even still, his dark gaze shifted across me, the bat digging into my neck so bad I thought he’d snap it in two. He had my hands pinned against his chest, trapped between my breasts and his hard pecs.

That was how hard he squeezed me.

This wasn’t a lover’s hug. This was how an enemy broke another into submission. I wriggled, but he only tightened the hold.

“Go to Wolf,” he breathed over my mouth, hot while at the same time being cool. He still tasted like mint, but no gum. He turned toward his friends. “Leave.”

Thatcher tsked. Like actually tsked like a goddamn loon. He was a little boy not getting his candy. He frowned. “D—”

“I’ll kick every inch of your ass,” he shot. “Leave now. Go to Wolf.” He faced me again, his friends gathering their clothes, then ambling out of view in the distance. Dorian grinned. “Now what are we gonna do?”

I shot my head forward, but I’d give it to him.

He was quick.

He had the reflexes of an athlete, easily dodging the headbutt, but the attempt pissed him off. He chuckled manically as he grabbed my hands in one fist, then used his bat to spread my legs apart.