King of Hawthorne Prep

“I hate you.”

He laughs and withdraws his hand before stepping away. I clutch my book and stalk to class. Kingsley falls in line beside me, easily keeping pace with my stride.

“Now, was that so hard?” he asks.

I gnash my teeth, refusing to answer.

As we arrive at the classroom, he whispers, “Just to clarify, I wasn’t talking about the shirt. I meant my cock last night when you were busy sucking it, greedy for every inch I fed you.”

I trip over my feet as he strolls past with an evil grin before asking, “You coming or what?”

Chapter Twenty-One

By the time I trudge to my locker after fourth hour, I’m in desperate need of a break. Thankfully, the bell just rang, signaling the beginning of lunch. I can hide out in the furthest corner of the library and lick my wounds in private, all the while pretending for a few minutes that my life hasn’t become a total hell.

Mostly, I want to get away from Kingsley.

Every time I passed him in the hall, his gaze would capture mine and I’d find myself helpless to look away. There’s something powerful about him. Something I’m both inexplicably drawn to and repelled by. It makes little sense.

I thought for sure I’d get reprimanded for wearing the shirt under my blazer instead of the standard issue button-down. It’s not part of the school-sanctioned uniform and yet, not one teacher said a word about it. Not even Ms. Pettijohn. They would look at my chest before glancing away. This reaction has only solidified the realization that Kingsley Rothchild holds untold amounts of power at Hawthorne Prep.

Even though I have zero appetite, with no plans to eat my lunch, I grab the paper bag before slamming my locker shut and spinning away.

“Where are you off to, Hawthorne?”

The deep voice that cracks through the hallway has me stumbling to a halt. I gulp and squeeze my eyes tightly shut before whispering, “The library.”

Leave me alone.

Just for a minute.

“Sorry, that’s not part of the plan. You’re coming with me to the cafeteria.”

I swing around to face him before lifting my chin. “No.” My shoulders stiffen as I get ready to do battle. “I’m eating at the library.”

He arches a brow. “Wanna bet?”

Frustrated by the situation and the power he holds over me, I stomp my foot. “I want to eat in the library!”

“Unfortunately for you, I don’t give a shit. You’ll eat lunch with me today and every day after this until I say differently. Now, if you want to be done with our little arrangement, all you have to do is say the word.”

Grrrr.

My fingers curl, the nails leaving little crescent-shaped marks in my palm while slicing through the brown paper bag in my other hand.

When I remain silent, he snaps, “Make up your mind. I’m starving.”

I hate him.

I stomp to his side, glowering the entire time, but he seems unfazed by my behavior.

“You ready?”

“Yes,” I grunt between clenched teeth.

“Great.”

He saunters to his locker before opening it. I begrudgingly follow, dragging my feet until I reach his side as he shrugs out of his navy blazer before hanging it on a silver hook near the top of his locker. Lunch, I’ve discovered, is a less formal affair. Most students forgo their jackets, preferring to roll up their sleeves during the thirty minutes of respite we’re given. For obvious reasons, I won’t be partaking in that particular tradition today. Or any other day I’m forced to wear this stupid shirt.

He unfastens the buttons at his wrists before rolling the white material up his muscular forearms and revealing a smattering of dark hair against sun-kissed flesh. An unexpected burst of need explodes inside me and I force my attention away in hopes of dampening it.

“Throw your blazer in here.”

My gaze slices to him in surprise. He must be joking. There’s no way in hell I’m going to the cafeteria without it.

I shake my head. “No.”

“You must have misunderstood me, Hawthorne. It wasn’t a request.”

I search his face in desperation, already realizing he won’t budge from his stance. Kingsley doesn’t care if I’m humiliated. On second thought, he probably gets off on it. My heart sinks as I swallow down my rising horror.

Even though I know pleading won’t help the situation, I hear the choked whisper escape from my lips before I can stop it. “Please don’t make me take it off.”

In the time it takes to blink, his hands go to the sides of my head as he tips my face toward his. He’s so close that I can feel the warmth of his breath drift over my lips. It’s strangely intoxicating. But then again, everything about him is.

“The only thing I like more than hearing you beg prettily is when you’re on your knees, staring up at me like I’m your fucking king. Don’t worry, I plan on making you do it often, but removing your blazer for lunch is nonnegotiable.” His hands disappear as he quickly divests me of the uniform jacket before shoving it in his locker and slamming the door shut so there’s no chance for me to snatch it back.