Brutal Boy by Selena
twelve
Harper Apple
Royal shoves Mabel’s clothes back at me and pushes open the door to the main building, holding it while he nudges me in with that possessive touch on the small of my back. We enter the hallway as everyone is filing out of their classes. I don’t know what I’m watching for. I start down the hall, feeling the heady tension of Royal’s presence behind me. Someone catcalls me, and Royal steps over and clocks the guy. He goes down like a ton of bricks.
“What the fuck,” I ask, spinning on him. I’m just in time to see a guy making a lewd gesture at me, and Royal decking that guy, too.
“Keep walking, sweetheart,” Royal says. “I’m just getting warmed up.”
Everyone crowds around the guys who fell, and we keep walking, until we reach the next group who doesn’t know what just happened, and someone pinches my ass. Royal spares a minute to grab the guy by the collar and punch him in the face four or five times before I grab him. He lets me drag him off and shoots me a crooked smile. “By the way, you look absolutely fuckable in my jacket. Don’t ever take that off.”
“Are you fucking crazy?” I snap. “I don’t need you to pull this shit, especially because you’re the one who caused it to begin with. Seriously, Royal. Stop.”
He crowds in on me, his hands landing on my hips as he walks me backwards down the hall. “They’re the ones who need to stop,” he says. “Their playtime is over. You’re mine now, and they need to know it.”
“Trust me, they’ll know it. Just let the word get around. I can handle a few days of catcalls. I’m so used to it, I don’t even hear it most of the time. It doesn’t bother me.”
“Yo, Royal,” someone calls. “You gonna test her out and see if she’s as good as she looks in the video?”
Royal releases me long enough to punch out the guy, who stumbles back and crashes against the lockers.
“Yeah, well, it bothers me,” he says, raking his hand through his dark hair and adjusting his sleeves before giving me a grin that is positively devilish.
Damn him. My panties are wet in one second flat when he looks at me like that, but my heart is also breaking. His eyes are alive and shining, the way I’ve only seen them after the car race. I wish I’d known the boy he was two years ago, the boy who probably always smiled like that.
“That’s why you fight, isn’t it?” I say, halfway to myself. “Not for the money. You enjoy it. You need it. It makes you feel alive.”
“You make me feel alive,” he says, sliding a possessive arm around my waist and pulling my body flush against his. He flattens one huge hand against the small of my back, sliding the other one under the front of his letter jacket to squeeze my breast. “This is why they call you Appleteeny, isn’t it? Your tits are like two little apples.”
I stare up at him, my heart pounding as we stand in the middle of the crowded, noisy hall, confessing that we know this about each other. He’s admitting he fights. He knows I fight.
He takes his hand out of my jacket and runs it roughly up the back of my head, making a mess of my hair as he fists a handful of it and presses his forehead to mine. “I want to pin you up against the lockers and fuck you right now,” he says, bending me backwards as he crushes my body against his with one hand and leans in like he’s going to kiss me, his other hand still cradling my head. “Let me feel that wet pussy you like to brag about so much.”
“Royal, what the fuck,” I say, my voice breathless. “What are you doing to me? You said I was your toy, and you were going to ruin me.”
“So be my darling doll and let me have a little fun while I play with you,” he says, his voice rough with desire. “I want to hurt you so good you can’t stop moaning for more.”
“I can’t do this,” I say, trying to keep my feet under me and my head on my shoulders. It’s all too much. I wonder who he fucks after his fights on Saturday, because if punching out a few guys got him this horny, he’d better have someone on standby at the Slaughterpen.
“You’re not a virgin,” he whispers against my lips. “You can take me.”
Heat ripples through me, and I grip his shoulders. “We’re in the middle of the hall.”
His eyes snap open, and he straightens, his huge hand swallowing mine as he pulls me down the hall and into the darkened library. This is not what I meant. I wanted in, but it’s way too fucking fast, the way he’s trying to consume me like the demon he calls himself. I balk, trying to break his grip, but he drags me across the room and pulls open the shelf that hides the door to the basement. My blood runs cold, and my legs shake for a whole new reason.
“Stop,” I say, my voice so loud it echoes through the empty room.
He pushes me against the inside of the door to the basement, his hips pinning mine. “I can’t stop,” he whispers, brushing my hair back and kissing my forehead. “You make me lose my fucking mind, Harper Apple.”
“I thought you were disgusted by me,” I say. “Not half an hour ago, you said I smell bad and you wanted nothing to do with me.”
He rests his forehead against mine, his eyes closed, his inky lashes casting shadows over his chiseled cheeks. He’s so beautiful I could cry.
“Can’t you tell when a man is lying through his teeth?” he asks, his voice rough with desire, his hand gripping my hip painfully even as his face remains so gentle.
“No,” I admit, a tremor in my voice. “Despite your constant shaming, I know very little about men, and nothing about ones like you.”
“Then know this,” he says, turning his face so his skin brushes against mine, sending a wave of erotic energy rushing over me. “When we go down those stairs, I’m not going to make you fuck me. But I’m going to make you wish I had.”
Before I can ask what the fuck that means, he pulls the door closed and scoops me up in his arms.
“You’re going to fall,” I cry, throwing my hand out.
“Not before you, baby,” he says, his feet rasping on the stone steps as he takes careful steps down into the pitch black where he forced me onto my knees. I swallow hard, my heart racing so fast I think I’m deprived of oxygen and can’t think straight. My hand gropes along the dirty stones of the wall beside the stairs, sure he’s going to pitch down them at any moment. But he sways to a halt when we reach the bottom, then fumbles forward.
His breathing is ragged and uneven, and I’m suddenly scared of more than him forcing himself on me. He’s unraveling, unhinged, and I remember how dead-eyed he was when he was beating Colt. Did he even know who he was hitting?
I don’t think so. But I think he would have killed him if I hadn’t stopped him. If he got pissed enough, would he beat me to death down here?
He stumbles against something and then lowers me into an armchair. “I just want to make you feel good,” he mumbles against my mouth. Then he sinks onto the floor in front of the chair, pulling me so my back is flat on the cushion, and my legs are on either side of him. I struggle to sit upright, but he pushes his mouth between my thighs, inhaling the scent of my arousal, his warm breath heating me through my sweatpants when he exhales.
“Royal,” I say, pressing a palm against his forehead, my voice strong. “I don’t want you to do that.”
“You smell so good,” he says, rubbing his face against me, then pushing it over the front of my pants and onto my lower belly, his hands bracketing my hips.
“It’s too… Intimate,” I say, my heart racing in my throat. I hate the darkness here, the way it makes me feel trapped and detached from my body, like I did in those closets my mother shoved me in.
I wait for him to laugh or make some derisive comment. Instead, he slides his body up onto the chair on top of mine, and kisses me. “Let me make you cum,” he murmurs against my lips. “I want to feel your cunt squeezing my finger when you make a mess all over my hand.”
He kisses me again, sliding his hand down the front of my pants. I struggle to position myself better on the chair, and he takes it as an invitation and sinks his fingers into my slippery slit. He moans when he finds me wet, thrusting his tongue into my mouth with slow, aching strokes as he pushes his hand deeper, slowly pushing a finger into me. My core clenches, and I gasp as the pleasure of his touch overwhelms me. I try to breathe, but his smell is everywhere, and the smell of my arousal, and god, I’m hot all over…
“Fuck,” he groans, breaking the kiss and dropping his forehead onto my chest as he scoots lower on the chair. “You feel so good, baby, you’re killing me. Tell me it feels good to you. Tell me you like it. Tell me you want this.”
“I do but—”
He kisses me again, little distracted kisses, and I know he’s not here, that if I turned on the lights, I’d see it’s not Royal at all but that dead-eyed doll version of him.
“Tell me again,” he says. “Say you want it, Harper.”
“Royal,” I say, pushing at his chest. God, he’s so fucking hard, so wide, it’s like pushing against the ceiling. “Can you turn on the light, or… Slow down or… Something. I can’t fucking breathe. You’re drowning me.”
“Drown with me,” he whispers against my lips, stroking my hair gently back from my forehead with his thumb. I can feel him just inches from my lips, like he’s staring into my eyes, but it’s too dark to see one goddamn thing. I wonder who he’s seeing behind those blind eyes. His finger moves inside me, slow and strong, his thumb stroking my clit. His lips press gently to mine, and he rests his weight on his elbow, so he’s not crushing me. But I know he won’t stop now, that he’s somewhere else, where he can’t stop.
“Let go,” he says, his voice this hypnotic, lulling murmur. “Just stop fighting it and open your mouth and let the water in. It’s easy. As easy as breathing air. Sink to the bottom with me. It’s cold at first, but don’t be scared. I’m right here with you, baby. Nothing can hurt you in the dark. Let go and let it in. Let me in.” His finger keeps stroking just the right way, and I know I’m going to have to let go because I can’t help it, despite the distracting words he’s breathing on my mouth, peppering the sentiments with kisses. He presses his hips against me, and I can feel his thick, hard length against my hip as he sinks his finger into me in a slow, maddening rhythm.
“It’s so dark,” he whispers, his lips brushing my ear and sending shivers of pleasure through me. “It doesn’t hurt anymore.”
He presses his hips against me again, and the sensation of his hard cock against me and his finger inside me and his thumb on my clit pushes me over the edge. His name falls from my lips, and I press my hips up, opening my thighs for him to push as deep as his finger will reach. My walls clench around him, and he moans, slowly massaging my clit while my core pulses around his finger. He waits until every last aftershock throbs through me before sliding his finger out and pulling his hand from my pants.
His head rests so heavy on my shoulder I could almost believe he’d fallen asleep if his hand wasn’t still moving.
“You’re really fucking fucked up, you know that?” I ask.
“Shhh,” he says, putting his finger to my lips. It’s wet with my cum and smells like pussy. He slides it along my lower lip, coating it with wetness. “Taste it.”
I squeeze my eyes shut, suddenly grateful the lights are out, and let him push his finger between my lips. The moment my tongue touches his finger, he comes alive, rolling onto me and pressing his mouth to mine, his tongue battling mine for the wetness coating his finger. A moan escapes him, vibrating into my mouth and down my throat, igniting my core. I’m so fucking turned on and turned around and disgusted and aroused that I don’t even know what’s up or down.
When his hand is clean, he finally pulls it from between our mouths and strokes my hair back, his mouth taking command of mine, his tongue moving against mine in the way I know and crave, the dominating rhythm of his usual, starving kiss. He kisses me so long I’m dizzy, and I’ve forgotten why I ever wanted him off me. All I can feel is his body on mine, and that it’s not close enough. His cock throbs against my abdomen every few minutes, and every time, my clit throbs hard in answer. I think I’m going to cum again just from kissing him.
I reach for his pants, my fingers wrapping around the thick ridge I can feel through them. He groans into my mouth, and heat shimmers through my core. Reaching for his zipper, I slide it down and dip a hand inside. His boxers are damp, and under them, his bare cock is so hard, his skin so soft, I can hardly breathe. Bliss wraps around me as I run my hand down his full length.
He breaks the kiss, his wet lips skimming over my cheek and caressing my neck as he kisses me there, his breathing labored and hot against my skin. I drop my head back, closing my eyes and giving in to every bit of the pleasure that’s drowning me. Using my free hand, I push down the top of my sweats, then drag the thick head of his cock through my wetness from my clit to my opening and back. My core trembles with heat, and I think I’m going to cum again before he’s even inside.
His breathing is so rough he’s almost choking against my neck.
“Put it in,” I whisper against his ear.
Suddenly, his head snaps up, and his fingers spread across my face, feeling roughly over my features like he’s trying to remember who I am. “You’re fucking stupid to be doing what you’re doing right now,” he snaps, and he slides off me, onto the concrete floor in front of the chair.
For a minute, I just lie there catching my breath, the sweat on my body feeling suddenly clammy and grimy. I climb off the side of the chair and stumble around, barking my shins on things and running my hand along the wall until I finally find a switch. All the while, I can hear Royal sitting there just breathing in that hiccupping way that makes me wonder if he’s crying. At last, I turn on the light. He’s sitting there with his elbows on his knees and his head hung down between them, not moving.
I’m not sure what to do. I force my feet to move as I make my way across the room and sink down beside him. “Are you okay?”
“You should go,” he says, his voice cold.
I lay a tentative hand on his shoulder. “I don’t want to leave you here.”
His muscles tense under my hand, and I draw away. I know when I’m being told to fuck off. But I also know when someone is hurting so much it hurts me, too, as if he can’t contain it all no matter how big and strong he makes himself. I can feel it seeping through the air between us like the damp in the basement.
“Royal,” I say, knowing I have to try, even if it breaks my heart. “You can let me in, too, you know.”
“I said go.”
“Okay,” I say. “If it’s what you really want, I’ll go.”
I stand and go to the bottom of the stairs, trying to make sense of what just happened between us. I can’t seem to walk away. If I was unsure whether I’m in with them before, now I know for sure that I am. Royal is going to use me up until there’s nothing left to use if I let him. Which means I have to find out something good enough to break him and then get the fuck out while I can.
But right now, being in isn’t about getting even or playing games. It’s about having to bear witness to whatever messy, fragile, fucked up pieces of his tortured soul that remain. So I sit on the bottom step, and I just wait. After a long while, he gets up, and without even looking at me, he walks to the door on the far side of the room, wrenches it open, and disappears, slamming the door behind him. Only then do I go upstairs and go back to class. I may as well not bother. My mind is in a daze and I don’t hear a word anyone says to me all day.
