Deviant King (Royal Elite #1) by Rina Kent

Aunt ignores her phone for the rest of the film. Once we reach the end, I call it a night to revise my notes before sleep.

As I change into my PJ’s, I pause buttoning the top and stare at the hickeys Aiden left on my flesh.

In the past, whenever I looked at the scar, I’d have haunting flashbacks about the incident when I lost my parents.

Now, I don’t.

The flashback is still haunting, but it’s filled with deep grey eyes gnawing into my soul as he bit the skin and left his mark in an intrusive, intimate way.

I think a part of you likes this but because you’re such a good girl, you’re out to destroy that part.

I button the rest with jerky hands. I’m angry at myself, no, I’m furious. How the hell can I remember his words, let alone give them weight?

I meant it earlier. I didn’t want his attention, but on the flip, damning side, he’s having mine.

The fact that I’m starting to be invested in him creeps me out of my skin.

While a psycho, Aiden is a human being, and I can’t help wondering why he does everything he does.

Everyone has a motive, don’t they? No matter how much I’ve tried to shove Aiden into the black category, I’m only fooling myself.

I crawl into my bed, play Power by Bastille, and check my phone.

Kim sent me a message saying she’ll be driving her baby brother and therefore she won’t be able to pick me up tomorrow.

She sends a cute picture of Kirian clinging to her leg. Although Kim is a brunette, her brother has the most golden blonde hair.

Kim: Babysitting. Save me.

Elsa: *heart emoji* I’ll have that cute little elf.

We chat for a while before I head to Instagram. On RES’s official page, I find a picture of me taken by the school’s photography club. They had a perfect shot while I ran in practice. It’s from behind, but my name and the school’s logo are clear.

The tag reads. Great minds in excellent bodies.

RES has changed their policies over the years. Now, they’re constantly promoting that they’re not only about academics, but also sports.

Right after my picture, I find another one with more comments and likes. It’s about the football team, so no surprise there.

The photography club managed to snag a perfect shot of Aiden during practice when he was about to shoot and score. One of his hands flings back in symmetry with his left foot like he’s about to take flight.

It could be because he’s a leftie, but that posture is too… unearthly. Damn that perfect, aesthetic posture.

I zoom in to erase everyone in the pitch except for him.

After a few seconds of staring like a creep, I exit Instagram altogether and cover my head in exasperation.

I’m turning into something I hate because of the bastard.

My phone dings, and I lunge for it expecting it to be Kim.

Aiden.

Wait. Aiden?

Of course. He had my phone for a whole day after all. If he can crack the code, he can save his number.

I’m tempted to toss my phone and crack it to pieces, but curiosity gets the better of me.

I swipe the screen to read the text.

Aiden: Asleep?

I contemplate sending him a ‘fuck you’, but decide to ignore him instead. I seriously don’t know what he’s thinking by texting me.

It’s not like we’re old friends or even acquaintances.

Another text comes in.

Aiden: I’m not.

Obviously.

My phone dings again.

Aiden: I’m picturing you naked, screaming my name while I pound into your tight little pussy.

A tingle warms its way down my body and between my legs.

Aiden: If you don’t reply, I’ll keep telling you about my fantasies.

I purse my lips. He won’t get to me.

Aiden: I’m thinking about your pouty lips around my dick as I face-fuck you while you stare up at me with teary blue eyes.

The explicit image draws a shudder from my spine.

Aiden: I miss your full tits and how perfectly they fit in my palms. Are your nipples sore?

My nipples harden against the soft cloth of my PJ’s and I cross an arm around them as if he can see them.

Aiden: I know you’re not asleep, sweetheart. Last chance. You’ll regret it if you don’t reply.

When I remain silent, he sends another one.

Aiden: As you wish.

He stops sending texts. I wait for five minutes, but nothing comes out. My hands tremble as I put the phone on the nightstand.

Why did he stop texting?

Nope. I’m not allowing him to get under my skin.

In the morning, I wake up with my hand between my legs.

Again.

Shit.

I don’t usually remember my dreams, but I recall glimpses of this one. Dark grey eyes. Tears in my eyes and something thick in my mouth.

I take the longest, coldest shower I ever had and stumble downstairs.

“... maybe she’s remembering.”

I halt near the corner of the stairs at Aunt Blair’s worried voice.

“You’re overthinking.” Uncle’s sounds muffled due to something he must be eating.

So he did come home last night.

“Maybe we should try Dr Khan’s recommendations.” My aunt again. “She’ll be eighteen soon.”

Dr Khan’s recommendations?

And what does my age have to do with anything?

Dread lodges at the pit of my stomach. I don’t like where this conversation is going.