Little Plaything: A Dark High School Bully Romance (Reighton Preparatory Academy Book 1) Read online

  But this guy, he fills out his uniform to perfection. A navy blazer stretches across his broad shoulders in a tantalizing way that draws me in. He’s tall. Even from here, I can see he dwarfs me in size, which is perfect. I dislike a guy that makes me feel like I’m the one that needs to protect him.

  Blond hair gently blows in the wind as he slowly makes his way toward us. The top just a tad longer than the sides. It’s the haircut of a guy that dabbles in darkness and depravity, but his outer appearance screams of sophistication, wealth, and upper class. The guy has a swagger befitting royalty, resting one hand just inside the front pocket of his trousers. His gait is strong and sure as he eats the distance between us with determined steps.

  Once he does, coming to a stop in front of all three of us, I can’t help ravaging him with my eyes. He looks even better up close. It’s a good thing I have on my shades, or else this guy would know I’ve looked at his dick at least three times since he’s been standing here.

  “Hello, Charles family. Welcome to Reighton Preparatory Academy.” His voice is like silk and chocolate, utterly delicious. Even if he lumped me into my stepmother’s disgusting family, but that’s something I could probably forgive him for. “My name is Brett Kingston, and it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

  Brett holds his hand out for a polite handshake, grasping my father’s first, then Laura’s, and then he holds his hand out in front of me. I give him a shy smile and take his hand in mine. Butterflies flirt around inside my stomach as a warm heat zings up my arm the moment his hand touches mine.

  But then, his grip changes. Instead of a mere formality, it feels like our hands are making love, reminiscing in the sensation of each other. My breath catches in my throat, watching as his throat bobs with effort, a tiny tear of sweat slides from his sideburn, then down to run along the column of his throat. I can see that while his face is a full smile, his aquamarines are not. In fact, they shine as bright as the sun mid-day, and they’re full of devilish, sensual intent.

  There’s an erotic darkness resting just inside his swirling depths; a darkness that can only mean one thing.

  Trouble.

  CHAPTER 2

  “They constructed the main facility in 1892. Since then, my family has added many other buildings to the campus.” He laughs haughtily. “A few years ago, we even added dorms for the students that will call this place home until they graduate. They no longer have to commute from the nearest city.”

  The only thing I keep hearing, instead of the delicious lull of his voice is: I’m rich. My family owns everything. Blah, blah, blah, blah blah. We are better than you, richer than you, and can own you if we decide. So different from the guy I met a few minutes ago.

  In other words, this version is a major douche. One, I find easily I can’t stand. He may be sexy, but it takes a lot more than that to get my engine running. He’s full of himself, and he doesn’t care to let people know it.

  See, that’s what is wrong with the younger generation today. They have no idea what it means to work for their next meal. Instead, they’re given everything, and when it comes time to make out on their own, they have no idea what they’re doing. And yes, I do realize I’m part of the generation, I just choose not to acknowledge it.

  This guy, though? He’s the epitome of wrongness. I can practically smell the entitlement waiving off him in waves of Creed Aventus. While it smells utterly divine, that doesn’t mean it’s right.

  And wouldn’t you know, those are the guys I hate to love. Or, maybe, it’s love to hate? Not really sure at the moment, I guess it just depends on the scenario.

  I hate them, because they are ostentatious and believe the sun and moon both rise and set for them. Love them, because they also know how to use their pull. Knowing this guy, he probably uses himself numerous times when it comes to the female populace.

  “When I made the call to the headmaster, he said his most prized pupil would guide our tour. Mr. Kingston must be at the top of your class,” Laura tries to start a conversation, probably not clueing into the fact I changed my opinion over the guy the second he started talking.

  “Not like I care,” I say back, then inwardly cheer in triumph when I spy Brett’s lips thinning.

  “Yes, Mrs. Charles, I am at the top of our class,” Brett talks around me. It earns him a scowl in return, which he soaks up, smiling the entire time.

  I wish he wasn’t so breathtaking when he did that, it would make hating him so much easier. I also can’t get the feeling of our hands touching out of my head. It’s like a disease grabbing onto anything it comes in contact with.

  “You could probably tutor my daughter here, considering she’s entering the term late.” My eyes snap to Xavier, narrowing into thin slits of fury. It’s not like I’ve been absent the entire freaking semester. I’m only two weeks late.

  “I will be fine, dad. No need in worrying about me now.”

  As we come to a stop in front of the main building, Brett turns toward the three of us. His gaze is penetrating—a flame that licks all over my body. “I’m sure between my friends and I, she will be just fine. Dorran, Chaz, and I will assist her with anything she may need academically while here at Reighton. If we cannot, I will direct her more personal matters toward my female friends.”

  Terrific. That’s all I need. People lingering when I don’t even want to be around them. All I want is space; privacy to lick my proverbial wounds before figuring a way out of here. If these people surround me, there won’t be a chance in hell of getting away.

  And his female friends? That’s a polite nickname for the girls he probably fucks on the regular. So, yeah, I think I’ll stay away from that pit of darkness.

  There’s also something nagging me about the friends he named off. I can’t put my finger on it, but I have a feeling those guys would like nothing more than to see me crash and burn, just like the asshat standing in front of me. Even if his first impression was delicious, that doesn’t mean that any interaction we have later on will be the same. In fact, he could twist on a dime, then that would leave me frantically trying to scramble around and right the jagged puzzle pieces. The same can be said for his friends, too. Like gravitates toward like, right?

  “No need,” I pep up, crossing my arms over my chest. A hint of a smile forms on my lips when his eyes drop to my cleavage before rising to my eyes once more. “I’m sure I can get around on my own just fine. If New Jersey taught me anything, it’s being independent.” I can’t suppress the scathing look I shoot toward Xavier.

  A beep sounds out between us, startling me. Before I can ask what it is, Brett takes this phone looking thing out of his pocket. He slides his fingers across the screen and reads the contents. We all stand in silence, watching him. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say my father and stepmother are waiting with bated breath. Probably hoping to get out of here as fast as possible, so they can start playing house together.

  “It says the headmaster is ready to see you, Mr. and Mrs. Charles.” Again, it’s not fucking Mr. Charles it’s Mr. Nikohls!

  Xavier steps toward me, holding out his hand, as if beckoning me to move ahead of him. When I do, Brett places a large, strong palm on my shoulder to stop me. “She can stay with me if you like, sir. I can show her around the campus a little more while you discuss things with the headmaster.”

  A sense of doom drops to the pit of my stomach. There’s no way my father can leave me with him. I saw the want and felt the desire emanating from his eyes when he first laid eyes on me. He had that slightly interested look about him that no one except me seemed to pick up. Just from that one look, I knew exactly what Bret Kingston thought of me.

  According to him, I’m nothing more than a girl to get between his sheets.

  “Okay, thank you, Mr. Kingston,” Xavier says, shooting a blinding smile toward the both of us. Inside he probably thinks I made my first friend, but I know otherwise. He’s an enemy that wants to steal my virtue. Well, if there was any virtue to steal, I’m sure
Brett would want it.

  “Oh, please, call me Brett,” he replies, shooing them away with a smile. His sucking up knows no bounds I see.

  Rolling my eyes, I plaster a smile of acceptance on my face. Soon, my father and stepmother disappear through the large front doors of the main building. Just as soon as the doors close, a switch flips inside Brett. His body seems to grow as he puffs up, readying himself.

  “If you want to belong at this place, you must fall in line just like everyone else,” he seethes, the difference in him is astounding, albeit a little useless. I don’t respond kindly to threats. Plus, why the hell is he mad right now?

  “Oh, really?” I force a laugh. “Who says I want to belong to a place like this?”

  He looks down at me with intrigue, twisting his manly features. “A person with class, sophistication, and poise. You’ll do well to remember it is I who can make or break people in this school.” He steps forward, almost pressing his chest against mine. “And what I want, I get.”

  I smile up at him innocently. “Does it look like I give a shit? The first chance I get, I’m gone. So, no use in coming at me all buffy and swollen.”

  Brett’s face grows three shades of red as he steps even closer, his size dwarfing mine. “If you had any sense in that tangled mess you call a head, you would see there is no way out of here. You would also see that I am better off a friend than foe.”

  Not to be the one to back down to anyone, I step into him until my chest rubs against the top of his sternum. My nipples pebble instantly, turning into rock hard peaks of pleasure. Impressive heat unfolds in my lower stomach, but I force those feelings down, and instead, focus on the burning need to prove this pretty boy wrong.

  “Your threats don’t scare me, pretty boy,” I say through clenched teeth.

  Not here five minutes and already some asshole thinks he can tell me what to do, who to fuck, and what I’ll be doing. Dream on.

  Brett brings his face so close to mine, I can smell the mint flavor of his toothpaste. His warm breath rushes over my face, and even I can see he’s having a hard time holding himself back. “I give you until the end of the semester, brat. You’ll come on your own, or wish you had.”

  “You are so fucking full of yourself.” I release a bark of laughter. “If you’re trying to slip an in, that’s not the way you need to come at me.”

  He smirks. “Who said anything about me coming to you? By the time I’m through with you, you’ll either be crying in your room or begging to hang off my cock. Hm, maybe a little of both. I do love surprises.”

  Ever since boys started noticing me, I’ve never had someone come at me this hard before. He met me all of two point five seconds ago, and already he believes I’ll fall in line—which coincidently coincides with his cock. That will not happen. I’m not attracted to conceited people.

  About the time I decide to tell him to go fuck himself, two huge bodies come around the corner to my left. They’re huddled together, talking amongst themselves. But when they get close to us, they break apart just like Brett and I do.

  My eyes scan both of them, taking in their slouched forms. They almost look like twins when it comes to their stature—broad, strong shoulders, built with muscle on top of muscle. They each give off the vibe of a full contact sport, whether rugby or football, I can’t really decipher which.

  The one on the left has chin length, chestnut brown hair tied into a man bun at the crown of his head. He’s all sharp, angular features—his jaw looking like it can cut stone. He’s wearing the same uniform Brett is minus the blazer and tie. The top two buttons are undone, giving me a glimpse of sun-kissed skin underneath. He looks appetizing.

  The guy on the right has shaggy hair to his ears, and I’m astounded to see it’s the color of the ocean. It’s aquamarine color pairing beautifully with his steel-gray eyes. Thick arms lock over his chest, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up to his elbows, and a tattoo rests just on the back of his arm that reads dulce periculum. Danger is sweet?

  “Who’s the fresh meat?” Ocean boy states, licking his lips with a feral smile.

  “Cool it, Chaz,” Brett deadpans. “This is the new girl.”

  “That means something to me, how? Just because she’s new doesn’t mean she’s new to fucking.” Oh, gross!

  If that’s Chaz, then the other guy has to be Dorran. Those are the two names Brett said earlier, and I doubt he made them up out of the blue. There was a purpose to his words, almost a warning.

  I look between the both of them, then spy Dorran leaning back against the wall with his foot hiked under his ass. He half-heartedly glances between the both of them, a lazy expression of disinterest lining his features. It’s like he seriously can’t be bothered with any of their shit.

  When his eyes come to rest on me, though, I barely contain the quiver of pleasure I feel when they roam over my body. They alight, for the barest of moments, with interest, before he removes his gaze and reaches into his pocket. He takes out a pack of cigarettes, thumping them against the back of his hand. I stand, transfixed, as he takes one and puts it between his full lips before lighting it. Goddamn, I wish I was that cigarette right now.

  “She’s our little brat,” I hear Brett say, which has my attention break from Dorran, but not before I see a ghost of a smile tilt his lips up at the corner. “If I see anyone talking, touching, or even giving her an ounce of attention, they will have me to deal with.”

  “Excuse me,” I seethe heatedly. “I didn’t do a goddamn thing to you, asshole. There’s no reason for you to be such a dick.”

  His attention, while before on Chaz, now slants toward me. His entire body tenses, eyes dragging over me with an accessing gaze. Then, he pins me to the spot with a penetrating, lustful stare. Snapping forward, he gets in my personal space before I realize what’s happening. I gulp, hard, watching as the vein in his neck protrudes along with the ones on his arms. His impressive heat encompasses me, bringing with it the smell of sunshine and ocean waves.

  He inhales deeply, as if centering himself, then growls like a man possessed. “You’re a disobedient brat. That’s all the reason I need.”

  Before I can utter another word, he turns and struts away. Chaz follows him, but not before shooting me another look filled with heat and promise. Then, Dorran, he just has to go and wink at me, setting my stomach to the tune of fluttering butterflies.

  All three leave without a backward glance. Even though I don’t want to be here as much as the next person, that doesn’t stop me from imagining what Brett was insinuating. He may not have come right out and said it, but it doesn’t take a genius to figure it out. I spurred his advances, and someone like Brett doesn’t do well with rejection.

  CHAPTER 3

  I case the dorm room around me, nearly falling over in disbelief. It’s hard to keep my jaw from unhinging at the number of lavish furnishings that tease my greedy senses.

  He wasn’t lying when he said it was a top of the line high school, and I hate myself for getting caught in his snare. Well, I wouldn’t necessarily call it a high school, either. It’s more of an upper class, elite, placement facility. They cater to the nation’s most influential families. No one under the age of seventeen is allowed admittance.

  Where I thought I’d only have to survive my junior and senior year here, turns out, this academy educates their benefactors children through the last two years of their high school career and the first two of their college. They believe it will give all Reighton Preparatory Academy graduates a jump over the rest of the populace.

  None of the other students my age were able to get a dorm room as lavish as mine, either. Apparently, the only dorm rooms left this late in term are the rooms you share with someone. So, for me to get this one, it begs the question of how long Laura and my father knew they were sending me here. Because I most definitely do not share this room with anyone.

  It also begs the question of how much of a ‘donation’ she threw RPA’s way. I know it had to be substantia
l for me to live here in Kingston House. Because there are other students in this school that have the bank account equivalent of some third world countries. Where Laura is now my stepmother, that shot me to the top of the ‘most desirable’ list. I’m to get the top education, top living experience—top everything.

  It makes me sick to my stomach. No person should have such extravagant things. I mean, if they worked for it, they can, sure. They can get all the nice things they want. However, I deserve nothing. The only thing to transpire to get me to where I am now is my father married into a family that bleeds money from their veins.

  The dorm I’m in now? I share it with only three other students. There are four rooms per building—for the ‘elite’ students whose families can afford them. Lord knows who I’m sharing this building with. I just hope it’s not stuck up, prissy bitches. Because if that’s the case, this will be a long four years. Especially, since I can’t transfer into another building. Laura’s influence made sure of that.

  Sighing, I look at my surroundings. I take in the large, floor to ceiling windows that peers out into the dense, mix-match forest of transplanted saplings. Birds travel past, buffeting by the wind that whistles through the swaying trees. My boots clip against the hardwood floor as I step off the platform nearest the door, taking the three steps down, until I land in the main living quarter.

  Steps lead upward to a second floor on my left, the planks are varnished mahogany that blends perfectly with the main floor. They set flat on metallics stilts, giving them a regal, yet trendy look. A large, beige area rug stretches along the middle of the room, connecting two brown, creamy-leather love seats, and a sleek recliner in a varying shade of coffee. A minimalist, shatter-proof glass coffee table sits right in the middle as a piece that ties the room together.