Queen of Hawthorne Prep

With my attention focused solely on him, I don’t immediately realize there’s a girl nestled on his lap. My breath becomes wedged in my throat when she tosses her head back. Long blond hair cascades around her shoulders as it catches the firelight.

Sloane.

Of course it would be her.

Bitterness gathers inside me, which makes no sense. My feelings for this boy should have been extinguished. It’s disconcerting to realize that they aren’t. That it’s possible for him to lash out and hurt me.

Even though the evening has plunged into the low sixties, a thin T-shirt clings to Sloane’s curvy breasts as her long, sun-kissed legs peak out from tiny shorts. As if to drive the knife in deeper, she burrows against the wide expanse of his chest before slipping her arms around his neck.

The pain that explodes in my heart feels as excruciating as a gunshot wound. I know precisely what it’s like to be so close to him that you feel as if you are one. If I squeeze my eyes tight, the scent of his woodsy cologne would wrap around me, shielding me from the world.

Only now, he’s the one I need protection from.

That thought is enough to snap me out of the trance that had fallen over me. It’s carefully that I retreat from the railing. When the connection between us is finally severed and the party below disappears, I step inside the bedroom, shuttering myself away. After locking the balcony door, I sag against it and wonder how I’ll ever survive this.

Chapter Sixteen

My eyelids fly open as a heavy weight settles on top of me. With a gasp, I stare into narrowed eyes that are inches from my own. It’s enough to send the breath rushing from my lungs.

Kingsley.

My palms flatten against the sinewy strength of his naked chest as I attempt to push him away. No matter how hard I shove, he doesn’t budge. Kingsley outweighs me by a solid hundred pounds. It’s like trying to move a brick wall. Frustration bubbles up at my own powerlessness, and I ball my hands, pummeling his chest, wanting to inflict as much damage on to him as he so easily does to me.

His lips curve into a smirk at my feeble attack. In the blink of an eye, he shackles my wrists with his fingers and drags them above my head before pinning them near the tufted headboard.

“Get off!” I growl, attempting to buck him from my body, even though I know deep down that it’s not possible.

“What’s wrong, baby girl?” He lowers his face to mine until he can nip at the curve of my jawline. His mouth grazes my cheekbone before settling at my ear. “You don’t want me anymore?”

“No!” There’s a hitch in my voice I’m unable to disguise.

“Liar.” Even though I can’t see the curve of his lips, smugness weaves its way through his voice.

“Why are you here?”

“Isn’t that obvious?” There’s a pause. “You belong to me and I’m taking what’s mine.”

A thick shudder works its way through my body. Whether it’s from fear or longing, I don’t know and I’m too chickenshit to find out. Deep down, I’m frightened of the truth. Then I’ll have no choice but to admit that I still want him. “Go fuck Sloane,” I hiss.

He laughs and the deep timbre of it grates against my core, unintentionally setting off a million little sparks. “That sounds suspiciously like jealousy.”

“Don’t flatter yourself.” He’s right, damn him. Not only do I hate myself for not being able to hide it better, but him for needing to point it out.

“Is that so?” Challenge fills his voice and only then do I realize my misstep. “Maybe I should prove what a little liar you are.”

I press my lips together, refusing to get drawn into his insidious games. He’s proven time and time again that I’m no match for him. Kingsley always wins at all costs. He won’t be satisfied until he completely obliterates me. In my weakened state, it won’t take much.

When I remain silent, he yanks my wrists together. His fingers are long enough to secure both with one hand to free up the other. The knowledge of what is sure to come is enough to renew my struggles.

In a matter of weeks, his touch has become an addiction. One stroke of his lips or fingers across my flesh and I lose all sense of reason. It’s demoralizing to realize that as much as I want to hate him for everything that has happened between us, between our families, I’m not there yet.

Will I ever be?

Calloused fingers shove at the soft cotton T-shirt I wore to bed. The fabric slides up my belly, ribcage, and over my chest until I’m exposed to his searching gaze. A steady stream of moonlight floods into the space, illuminating our bodies in a silvery glow.