Queen of Hawthorne Prep

As if I could.

As if I’d want to.

My hands rise from the back of his neck, plowing their way through his thick hair before dragging his head down until his mouth is a breath away. My tongue darts out to trace over his lips. “Just as long as you don’t forget the same.”

A feral smile slides across his face. It’s filled with darkness and all the carnal pleasure he’s introduced me to. “I’ll cry it from the fucking rooftops if that’s what you want.”

I have no doubt he would.

The excitement he’s able to incite so effortlessly now riots deep in my core.

The two-minute warning bell rings, knocking me from the seductive web he so easily wove around me. It takes effort to dispel the sexual energy careening through my body and clouding my better judgment. Needing a bit of distance to clear my mind, I gently push him away. His attention never wavers as he reluctantly retreats, allowing me to escape his hold.

With a shaky breath, I grab my book from my locker and hug it close to my chest. “We should probably go.”

“What’s the matter?” He smirks knowingly. “Not looking to incur the wrath of Pettijohn bright and early on a Monday morning?”

Even the thought is enough to send a slight shudder of dread sliding through me. “God, no.”

In an effort to escape the older teacher’s unwanted attention, I do my best to fly under the radar and avoid her eagle-eyed scrutiny. That means making it to class on time, handing in every assignment promptly, and paying attention during lectures. So far, it’s been working.

For the most part.

As we fall into line, walking to first hour, he leans toward me until his warm breath can feather against the outer shell of my ear. “You’ve got me all hot and bothered, girl. Don’t be surprised if I find you during the day and fuck you senseless.”

The breath I had unconsciously been holding hisses from my lungs as another wave of excitement crashes over me. I clench my thighs together to stifle the surge of arousal roaring through my blood.

I should smack him in the arm and tell him to go to hell. But how can I when the thought of him doing exactly that makes my knees weak and my pulse skitter? The attraction that rages between us could easily burn out of control and yet, I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Chapter Four

With a few seconds to spare, we step over the threshold of the classroom and slide into our assigned seats. I settle at my desk as Kingsley drops onto a chair two rows over.

He gives me one last simmering look before twisting around. I shift as need floods through me. I have a sneaking suspicion that I’ll be walking around in a heightened state of arousal for the rest of the day.

Unless Kingsley makes good on his threat.

I’m distracted from those thoughts when Sloane saunters into the room with Aubrey, her trusty sidekick. Her blue gaze immediately fastens on to Kingsley before she flicks it in my direction. The hatred that blazes from her is almost like a physical punch to the gut. Since day one, she’s had it out for me. And in the month I’ve been here, it’s only gotten worse.

With a flip of her long blond hair, she dismisses me as if I don’t exist.

“Hi, Kingsley.” She loiters near his desk, trailing her fingers along his arm before settling on the seat in front of him.

One.

Two.

Three.

Fou—

She spins around and thrusts out her breasts in one smooth motion. The rounded curve strains against the white fabric of her shirt. Any moment, buttons will fly. My ears prick, attempting to eavesdrop on their conversation. I hate myself for the jealousy that spikes unwantedly through my veins.

“Hey,” he responds, disinterest weaving its way through his deep voice as his gaze slides to mine.

Fury flashes across the other girl’s face when she realizes his interest has been snagged elsewhere. Even though the pink-slicked smile never falters, the iciness filling her eyes is enough to freeze me on the spot.

Deep down, I know she’s not a threat to my relationship with Kingsley. Sloane Carmichael is nothing more than a mean girl who thrives on intimidation. She gets off on threatening to socially crucify those beneath her. I can only imagine how much it infuriates her to know that she can’t touch me without pissing off Kingsley.

As Ms. Pettijohn clears her throat, ready to get this show on the road, a girl with long auburn-colored hair hesitantly steps into the classroom. Her unusual blue-green eyes flicker over the sea of bored expressions. Uncertainty flashes across her pretty face before it’s shuttered away behind a mask of indifference.

“Ms. Donahue, I presume?”

The girl dips her head. “Yes, ma’am.”

Ms. Pettijohn points to the unoccupied desk across from mine. “You may take a seat right there. I’ll get you a literature book after class.”