Bloody Princess by Helen Scott

12

Keats

I've zoned out for most of criminology. The only reason I'm here, if I'm honest, is because I can't seem to stay away from Lyric. Plus, we get points deducted from our final grade for every class we miss. I'm not exactly the best student, so I'll take all the points I can get.

"And now, we've come to the part I'm sure you've all been waiting for...the announcement of your partners for the final project," the professor says as he tries to get almost any kind of response out of us. I feel bad because it's like he expects a cheer or excited chatter or something, but none of us feel that. Group projects fucking blow. As if that's not bad enough, this is just me and the other person, who is most likely going to either be terrified by me or turned on—or both. There never seems to be an in-between.

"Adams, you're with Gilman. Brentwood, you're with Sila..." I zone out again as he goes through the list of names. My ears perk up when I hear my own last name though. "Kingsley, you're with Sterling."

My chest tightens. No. Anyone but her. I can't even look at her. It doesn’t matter that I know exactly where she's sitting, exactly what she's wearing, probably even what she smells like. Fuck me. I can't be around her any more than I already am.

I mean, just what she's wearing today...It's like she knows exactly what will make me want to fuck her and wears that—has since the first day of class. Today, her outfit seems extra special though, with expertly frayed jean shorts that have pockets hanging down from the front and a sweater, tucked into her shorts, that's thin enough to see the outline of her bra through. One shoulder is bare, as the sweater has either slipped off or is designed to be worn that way.

The cherry on top of the cake, though, is the thigh high socks she's wearing. The black material stretches up her long legs, making them look even longer. I'm painfully aware of the curve of her shoulder and how much thigh is visible between the bottom of her shorts and the top of her socks.

I probably wouldn't notice shit about fashion if it wasn't for Sienna. Every time she and my mom had gone shopping when we were growing up, I'd been forced to sit through a fashion show when she got home. Just seeing her in the clothes wasn't enough, though, so she'd explained why she liked each item. It made me aware of how much girls go through when picking their outfits, or at least girls like Sienna. Whether Little L is like that or not, I'm not sure.

I push the thoughts of my sister and Lyric aside as I decide that I'll talk to the professor after class. I can’t be partnered with Little L. Not with my mind constantly making me think dirty thoughts about her. Hell, Jude doesn't even want us to be friends with her, doesn't want us talking to her. When he’d heard that she was in my criminology class and Atlas’ econ class, he’d lost his shit.

The guy has a short fuse on the best of days, but knowing Little L is on campus seems to have only made it shorter. Every time her name—or the Sterling family in general—is mentioned, he gets pissy about it. He won't talk about it, so it would be pointless to ask, plus I don't particularly want to hear him bitch about some offense that he feels the family has committed. Little L wasn't, and still isn't, responsible for her family's mistakes.

Chairs squeak on the floor as students push back and start to leave the classroom. I have no idea what happened for the rest of class, since I've been too lost in my own thoughts. I could get the notes from Little L, but I don't really give a shit one way or the other. For all four of us, college is more of a formality than anything else. I know Jude is expected to follow the family business, just as l am. The same is probably true for Atlas and Thayer, though they've never said it aloud. Family business is exactly that, family business, not to be discussed with outsiders, even if I have known them my whole life.

I grab my backpack and shove my notebook and pen inside. I bring it all with me so I don't get interrogated by the professors in every class. They don't seem to care whether or not I actually take notes, just that I have the ability to do so.

Professor Urelky is heading out the door when I catch up to him. The man really hates sticking around after class. His manila folders are bundled under one arm, and he grips his travel coffee mug like his life depends on it as students trail after him asking questions.

"How detailed does the concept need to be before we turn it in?" one kid asks. I think his name is Fig, or Fin, or Frank...something beginning with an F. Maybe.

"However detailed you want to make it," Professor Urelky says before trying to hurry away.

Most of the other students peel off as he reaches the area where the professors' offices are. The hallway is quieter, and as I turn the corner and follow Professor Urelky, I see only one other student, and he appears to be waiting outside a different professor's door. Urelky's shoulders drop as he heads further into the space, and I can't help but wonder why the hell he teaches if he clearly doesn't enjoy it. I mean, I'm sure the dude's got bills to pay and all that, but there have to be other jobs out there that he'd like more.

It's only when his hand wraps around the door handle to his office that he notices me. "M-M-Mr. Kingsley. My office hours aren't until three." His stutter confuses me for a moment, but I suppose I am an intimidating motherfucker.

"I just need you to give me a different project partner. I can't work with Sterling," I say, ignoring his obvious dismissal.

The color in his face drains, and he goes pale, which is weird. "I can't. Everyone else has partners."

"Can't or won't?" I ask as I cross my arms over my chest.

I see his gaze dart down as I move, and I know he's taking in the fact that my biceps are probably almost the same size as his head. The man is scrawny, and I get the feeling that, under his corduroy pants and sweater vests, there's not much to him. He wouldn't know how to fight me if someone handed him instructions and a weapon. I press my advantage and take a step closer. His eyes widen ever so slightly.

"C-c-can't."

I step closer once more, and I swear the guy looks like he's about to piss himself.

"The partners were selected before the beginning of term. Everything is already set up. I can't switch things around. I'm sorry." With one swift move, he opens the door to his office, steps inside, and shuts it in my face before I can get close enough to stop him. I try the handle and find that he's locked himself in. Fucking coward.

I turn around, anger flicking at my mind like an annoying sibling. What I don't expect to see is Lyric standing there—well, leaning against the wall right at the corner where it turns from the main hallway to the professor's offices. She must have followed us here.

"Can't get rid of me, huh?" she asks as I approach her.

I want to grab her by the belt loops on her shorts and push her up against the wall while I wipe that smirk from her face, devouring her as I do so. I want to peel those socks from her legs and have her thighs wrapped around my head. I want to make her come so hard that her juices drip down my chin as I eat her out. I want that petite body naked and writhing under my touch. But most of all, I want that darkness I see in her to come out and play.

Lyric's not a kid anymore. Hasn't been for a while. I've just always been too distracted with family shit to notice.

I'm not anymore.

Jude's anger is the only thing that stops that line of thought. She's off limits. He’s made that perfectly clear. I'm not one for rules, though.

"I guess not," I grumble as I walk past her, trying not to notice the slight scent of something floral coming from her. Probably some expensive perfume.

"Do I want to know why you don't want to work with me? I know I wasn't the greatest student in high school, but I had some shit going on, you know?" she asks as she walks alongside me. I don't expect her to pop in front of me, but she does, and I crash into her. Without thinking, I wrap an arm around her back so she doesn't fall over and clutch her to my chest. Once we're both stable again, I let her go and hope that she didn’t notice my fucking dick getting hard. She doesn't move, just stands there and lifts a hand with her pinky extended toward me. "I won't drop the ball on this. Promise."

"You want to pinky promise me?" I ask, unable to stop the chuckle that bubbles out.

Lyric scowls, but I can tell it's an act. "Not if you're going to act like that. Pinky promises are sacred. If you can't respect that, then you don't deserve one." She drops her hand and turns to start walking away. I can't help myself and reach for her arm, spinning her back toward me.

"I'll respect it. I promise," I say, before I extend the hand that's not on her arm. Pinky out.

She looks at me with her brows drawn together skeptically. I hold my hand there and wait. After a moment of studying it, she takes my pinky in hers, wrapping the delicate finger around my own. We shake, and then she leans in and kisses her thumb. She stays still and looks up at me expectantly with those storm cloud eyes of hers. I lean down and kiss my thumb, mimicking her.

My gaze locks on hers as we stare at each other over our clasped pinkies. It feels like being struck by lightning, and I see that devious glint in her eyes once more. It makes me want to yank our hands down and close the distance between our lips until I can kiss her the way I need to.

But I can't.

Even though I’m not one for rules, I’m also not one for pissing one of my best friends off.

Instead of doing what I want, I pull back and drop our hands, the movement breaking them apart at the same time. "You better not fuck up. I'm holding you to this promise," I say as I glare at her.

She's out of bounds. She shouldn't exist to me, at least not as someone I want to hear screaming my name. I don't know how to stop thinking of her like that when she looks at me with that fuck me expression on her face.

The problem is, I don't just want to fuck her, I want to break her. I want her begging for me specifically. I want her to want me. I want her to be willing to share that hidden, dark, devious side with me. Only, none of that can happen without breaking my word to Jude and disrespecting Lyssa's memory.

"I already pinky promised and sealed it with a kiss, I don't know what more I can do to convince you," she says, popping her hands on her hips and highlighting just how small she is under that oversized sweater.

"Come over to the APT house tonight, and we'll work on it. The project I mean. Not you convincing me." I should have said the library or the cafeteria, anywhere except somewhere I can be alone with her. Anywhere that would help me resist the temptation that is Lyric.

"I'll come by after dinner," she says with a nod that makes the chestnut strands of her ponytail bounce. Thankfully, she turns and walks away, and I tuck my dick into the waistband of my jeans so I’m not walking round with a fucking tent in my pants, then head in the opposite direction. It's not the direction I need to go, but it prevents me from following her, and right now, that's what I need more than anything.