Boys Club by Selena
three
Harper Apple
At home, I check in with Mr. D, filling him in on my progress for the week. My head is so fucked. I don’t know what Royal’s doing to me, but whatever it is, I’m not immune. I cannot resist even when I try. So, I don’t try. After all, I’m in! I’m so fucking in.
This whole week, I thought sex with Royal was a mistake, that I’d played all my cards way too soon. But if it gets me close enough to uncover his secrets, it’s worth the broken heart. I know he’ll break it anyway. What does it matter if I help, if I break my own heart instead?
I’m so close now I can feel it. I can taste it. Gloria knows something, but she doesn’t trust me. She won’t spill anything… Yet. When she said she’d never seen him like that, I thought she was full of shit. He didn’t even bothering texting me back. But after today, I’m not so sure. If what she said is true…
Will he tell me himself? Bare his soul to me?
My heart does some stupid-girl thing in my chest every time I replay his words at lunch. Apparently I’m a basic bitch like every other dumb girl who’s fallen for him. Oh, well. Not like anyone ever said I was special.
I ignore my dumb bitch heart and bask in Mr. D’s praise. Then I slip on Royal’s letterman jacket, which I still have from last week, and head out to wait for Gloria, who insisted she was coming to pick me up before the game. I feel a little weird about getting in her car in front of Blue, as if I’m betraying her by making friends with rich bitches. So I avoid her gaze as I climb in the back seat of the Mustang next to Eleanor.
“We’re going to swing by and grab burgers on the way,” Gloria says. “Have you eaten?”
“Yep,” I lie, not about to take charity from the Waltons. It’ll probably end up on Dixie’s blog. I wouldn’t have thought the Waltons would consume the kind of calories in fast food, but a few minutes later, we pull up at Boehner Burgers’ drive-through.
“Sure you don’t want anything?” Gloria asks, adjusting the mirror to see me. Just then, the smell of fries hits my nose, and my stomach decides it’s a good time to growl like a motorcycle revving its engine.
Everleigh giggles. “You obviously didn’t eat enough. Is that how you stay so skinny?”
“Skinny?” I ask. “Have you seen my ass?”
She sighs. “I’d die for your figure. I mean, I tried waist training, but I don’t think it did anything. Can you tell?”
“Yes?”
I’m not really sure how to talk to girls like the Waltons, who worry about shit like that. I could tell her that the real reason for my tiny waist is lack of nutrition, but somehow, I don’t think that’s what they’re looking for.
“Really?” she asks, looking so pleased there’s no way I can admit I have no idea what she’s even talking about.
Gloria hands back two bags with grease stains blooming on the paper. My mouth waters.
“I just got four of the same,” she says. “Y’all can get me back next time.”
“Thanks,” I say, too hungry to really care that much that I owe her. It’s like five bucks, and she’s loaded.
We all dig in. The car is filled with the smell of fried food and ketchup, the chatter of the three sisters, an old pop song by Aria Airheart, and the crackle of anticipation. Though I don’t participate much, it’s hard not to get caught up in their excitement. We get to the game, and Gloria points to a section of at least a dozen girls wearing jerseys and standing in a corner at the front of the bleachers. No one gives me dirty looks when I join them in front. When I edge into the group of girls, they absorb me like an amoeba. Dixie smiles and waves as the dance team comes out wearing cowboy boots and flowy dresses to hang out at the edge of the field, waiting for Quinn’s routine.
So, this must be what it’s like to be accepted.
It’s weird, but not bad. We watch the girls do a dance routine to some old Taylor Swift song, and then the guys take the field. We cheer for Willow Heights, and at the end of halftime, Royal jogs over and hops up on the railing, towering over us. The other girls giggle and bat their lashes at him like he’s a rock star. He catches the front of my jacket—his jacket—and pulls me against the railing, so I’m flush against him with only the cold metal bars between us. “You think this is yours now, huh?” he says, smirking down at me. “I thought you didn’t want to be my girlfriend.”
I snort. “Please. Wearing your letter jacket is a total ho move.”
Duke hops up beside Royal and claps him on the back. Then he stuffs something in the pocket of my jeans, grinning down at me. “Go get yourself a snack, Jailbird. Gotta keep your stamina up for later.”
He winks and drops off the railing, jogging off even though half the girls behind me are clamoring for his attention.
“So, this is what it feels like when y’all don’t hate me,” I say, pulling out the five Duke shoved in my pocket.
“Don’t get comfortable,” Royal says. “We still hate you.”
“Ditto.”
He leans down and kisses my forehead before hopping off the railing and jogging away after his brother.
“Oh my god,” groans a fanboy behind me. “You’re so lucky. How did you get Royal Dolce?”
I shrug and pretend I don’t hear him and the freshmen girls speculating. I fucked Royal, sure, but lots of girls have done that. I didn’t rat him out for our trip to the basement, but lots of girls have endured that, too. The only thing special I did was possibly try to kill him. But I’m not volunteering that information.
After the game, Baron grabs me and drags me to the Range Rover. Eleanor and Everleigh come bouncing up, still in their cheer uniforms. “Can we ride with y’all?” Everleigh asks, hanging onto Duke’s arm and batting her eyes at him.
“Gloria ran home to get last minute stuff ready before the party,” Eleanor adds, hooking her hand through Duke’s other arm.
“No one rides with us,” he says, sliding a hand up the back of each girl’s leg and under her skirt. “But one of you can ride my dick later, and the other can ride my face.”
“Okay,” says Everleigh, giggling and pretending she’s trying to squirm away from him but falling against him instead.
“What about her?” Eleanor whines, giving me some stink eye.
I cock a brow and swing my ponytail behind my shoulder. “What about me?”
She juts out her chin and rolls her eyes. “Nothing.”
“No, go ahead. If you’ve got something to say about me, don’t be a little bitch about it. Say it. I can handle it.”
She glances from me to something over my shoulder, which I realize is Royal when he steps up right behind me, not touching me but looming over me. “Go on,” he says, his voice low but laced with menace. “Say it.”
Eleanor huffs and crosses her arms. “I just don’t understand why she gets to ride with you, and we don’t. We’ve been with you for over a year. She just got here.”
Royal just stands there staring her down while she looks up at the streetlights or anywhere but him. At last, she drops her arms from across her chest and meets his gaze. “Fine,” she mutters. “I understand.”
Without a word, he turns and climbs into the car. I don’t know what the fuck she understands, but I know one thing. Someone just had my back.
Royal just had my back.
My heart is glowing like a fucking firefly inside my chest. Nothing else matters all evening. We go to a party hosted by the Waltons, who, it turns out, live down the street from the Dolces. Though Royal says I’m his plaything, I’m really no different than any of the other Dolce girls, who are playthings and booty calls for the twins. No one makes any distinction, either. And though only six girls sit with the six boys at school, there are at least a dozen girls who wore their jerseys and stood with me at the game. After a few drinks, Everleigh explains that they’re former or hopeful Dolce girls—they aren’t in favor right now, but at any moment, one of the six could be booted in favor of one of them.
I decide to play it cool and not hover and cling to Royal, but the apparently that sentiment is not mutual, because every time I wander away, I turn around to find Royal watching me from across the room. I don’t love crowds or obnoxious drunks, but I can hold my own at a party, so I mingle and have a drink and try to ignore the heat of Royal’s gaze on me. After about an hour, he comes over and slides an arm around me from behind. He flattens his huge hand across my belly—I swear his fingers reach all the way across my entire torso—and leans down, pressing his mouth to my ear. “Let’s get out of here.”
A tingle goes through me at his touch and the warmth of his breath tickling my ear. I lay my hand on his, closing my eyes and leaning back against him for a second. Maybe I haven’t been hovering, but I’d be lying if I said my mind hadn’t been on him every second since we got here. Wondering if he was going to humiliate me in front of everyone, or hook up with some other girl to prove to me that we aren’t together, or see me talking to a guy and make a scene, or just pull me possessively back to him the way he has before.
He texts his brothers on the way out, and we hop into the Range Rover. My heart is pounding, and I swallow hard in anticipation as we circle around the gravel road through the neighborhood toward his house. But instead of pulling in, he keeps driving. I don’t ask where we’re going. I know he won’t answer, and tonight, there’s no anger rolling off him. So, I open the window and turn up the music, letting the cold winter air and thudding base of Harlow and the Honey Badgers sweep through the car.
I watch the road, the familiar turns he takes that lead us back to the bridge where just a few weeks ago he almost killed me. He pulls over and rolls up the windows before shutting off the engine. Without a word, he reaches for me and pulls me into his lap so I’m straddling him. Leaning the seat back a little, he shifts under me and hooks his hand into the front of my jeans, speaking for the first time since we left the party.
“Ready for me to wreck this sweet little cunt?”
I wrap my arms around his neck and kiss him. “I’ve been ready since Monday,” I say, toying with the soft hair at the back of his neck. “You missed out. That’s what happens when you don’t talk to me all week.”
He yanks open my button and zipper and slides a hand inside, cupping my bare mound. He drops his head back against the seat, his nostrils flaring as he takes a long, slow breath, his fingers gently moving against my soft flesh. “You kept it shaved and ready for me all week? Waiting for me to call?”
“Like a good girl.”
He rakes his other hand up from my knee, over my thigh, and around to my ass. Holding my hip, he watches my face while he sinks a finger into me. My lips fall open as a shudder of pleasure rolls through me, making my toes curl and my skin prickle all over my body. Releasing my hip, he leans forward and grabs his phone out of the console, thumbing it open while he slowly circles his finger inside me, hitting all my walls.
“This is why I waited all week,” he says, handing me his phone. “I don’t want to ever wear a condom with you, Harper. I want to cum so deep inside this delicious little hole that you’re walking around with me inside you for days afterwards.”
My core throbs at his words, and he chuckles, pulsing his finger inside me in response. I read the email on his phone, and he shows me the two attachments with our lab result—both clean. “That’s great news,” I say, rocking against his hand, my words breathy with desire. “As long as neither of us are taking risks with other people.”
“Are you asking me to be exclusive?” he asks, working another finger into me. His own breathing is heavy, and I can feel his erection pressing up against my ass as his fingers strain inside me.
“I’m asking you to keep us both safe, if we’re not using protection,” I say. “I’ll do the same. Pregnancy is not the only STD.”
“I’ll keep you safe,” he says, pulling his fingers out and smearing them between my folds before stroking my clit a few times. “Now I want to watch you sink this tight, wet cunt over my tip and bounce on it until we both cum. Can you do that for me, my perfect little whore?”
I smile and press my lips to his, holding his face between my hands. “I can do that,” I whisper. “If you can stay right here with me.”
I obey, not just because he’s a bossy bastard and he told me to, but because I want to. I love the way his beautiful face is completely captivated in bliss as he watches his thick cock stretch me open. I love the dirty words that leave his lips, even though I hate when he calls me those same things when he’s not inside me. I love the way he loses control when he can’t stand my pace anymore, the way he flips me on my back and fucks me fast and rough, though it feels like I’ve about dislocated a hip before the night is over. I love that when his eyes start to lose focus and I feel him slipping away, I can wrap my legs around him and hold his face between my hands and talk to him until he comes back to me.
I love the way he curses savagely and growls like an animal when he feels my walls clench around him as I cum. And most of all, I love the intoxicating, smoky heat in his black-coffee eyes when he grinds so deep inside me it hurts, pinning me to the seat and forcing me to take the extra pulse of size when he cums into my bruised, aching core. I love that he’s with me, right here, that his eyes are so full of lust and desire and maybe even emotion that I can hardly remember the emptiness.
We stay there until close to dawn, though he pulls me into the back seat after the first time. I try not to think about what Duke said about the back seat seeing a lot of action, or to consider why he has a blanket in the back of the car and who else might have been under it with him. Instead, I make myself stay in the moment, just like I want him to. We fuck and cuddle and talk, and he tells me more about his sister, and I tell him a little about my mom, and then we fuck again.
Around dawn, he takes me home. I start to get out of the car, remembering how he just about shoved me out the door last time. I don’t need a reminder that he thinks I stink. For a girl who lives in a pigsty like my house, and who doesn’t always get a hot shower, that’s always a point of self-consciousness. Before I can climb down, Royal grabs me by the front of his jacket and pulls me back, kissing me roughly on the mouth. “Keep my jacket over the break,” he says. “And send me a picture of you wearing nothing else.”
I snort at that. “You really think I’m sending you nudes after what you did with that video?”
“Shit,” he says, his face sobering. “I—I didn’t think about that.”
“And?” I ask, cocking a brow.
“Maybe I shouldn’t have done that,” he mutters.
“And?” I press.
“And I get it,” he says, sitting back in his seat and staring straight ahead. “You’ll never send pics.”
“I’ll tell you what,” I say, leaning over the console to brush a light kiss over his cheek. “You work on your apology, and I’ll send you something sexy in the meantime—but no nudes.”
He groans and slips a hand behind my head before I can pull away. “I can’t wait ten days to see your pretty pink cunt spread open for me,” he says, nipping my lower lip and squeezing until I suck in a breath, pressing my knees together. “If you’re not going to send me pics, I’m coming over.”
“Here?” I ask, panic rising inside me. It’s one thing to fuck a rich guy. I’m not having him see my house.
“I don’t care where we are, Cherry Pie. I forget where I am when I’m inside you.”
“The bridge, then,” I say, pulling him forward for a kiss, my heart soaring so high I know there’s only one way to go from here. “Sunday?”
“Sundays aren’t good for me,” he says, his jaw tightening. “How about tomorrow?”
“Can’t,” I say, thinking of the poker games where I won’t earn enough to cover all the fights I’ve been missing. “I’m busy Saturdays.”
He pulls back, his eyes narrowing. “Why?”
“I work,” I say. “If you’re going to take all my Fridays, you can’t have Saturday, too.”
“You don’t fight on Saturday. That’s—”
“When you fight,” I finish for him. “And I play cards.”
“What do you make?” he asks, reaching for his wallet. “I’ll cover it.”
“I’m not taking money from you.”
He hesitates like he’s deciding whether to argue, then nods. “Okay, then Monday.”
“Monday,” I agree, the dopey grin on my face surely ruining any game I might have as I climb out of the car and run up the walkway to the house.
*
Cliché
A girl in nothing but
My letter jacket
And knee socks
Her smile a tease
Like the hand between her legs.
A girl in my jersey
My number on her back
My name across the top like I own her
So I can see it while I fuck her
From behind.
A girl on her knees
On my bedroom floor
Her baby blues wide
As they meet mine
While she swallows my cum.
A girl like her
Makes it all new
Like it’s never been done before
And though I recognize every bad cliché
I only want more.
