Bloody Princess by Helen Scott

8

Keats

Fucking Christ. What had I just seen? Criminology is supposed to be a breeze class. One I can slack off in without worrying too much since I've grown up around lawyers and people who research ways to get around the law. Plus, I am fairly sure the professor knows who I am and will treat me accordingly.

Then, she’d walked in.

I swear, the girl's a fucking chameleon.

Every single person in the room who had an inclination toward women had noticed her. She has curves that can make grown men cry, and the tank top and skirt she's wearing only emphasizes them. Her body is petite, the kind made for being thrown around in the bedroom. I’m not as into control and submission as Jude is, but with a girl like that? I might make an exception.

When her papers had flown over the side of the table and she'd leaned forward to get them, it was like the heavens opened and Odin himself blessed everyone in viewing range. That perfect ass was up in the air, with the edge of her skirt riding just high enough that I could see the lace panties she had on underneath. I shouldn't have been so fucking turned on by it, but it was like getting a glimpse of a birthday present before the party, and fuck me if I didn't want to open it.

My intention had been to introduce myself, flirt a bit, probably have a quickie in the closet or bathroom or something, and be on my way. When she'd turned around and I’d realized that the girl my cock had been jumping for was Little L? It had all come crashing down.

The idea that I might have a class with her hasn't even occurred to me until now. How have I become so used to the fact that the Sterling family just isn't in my life anymore?

As I pace down the hall, my mind runs through the various memories I have with them. Melody and Lyric were always minor players, even more minor when Melody went off to study abroad and Lyric went into a special training program—one that no one in the Sterling family was allowed to talk about. But Alyssa had been one of us. At least, until she wasn't. Her death had taken us all by surprise.

We hadn't been on the best terms at the time, but the idea that she'd resorted to drugs was hard to accept. We weren't—aren't—your average rich kids. Our mommies and daddies didn't inherit their money. Well, most of them hadn't. They had all worked for it, risen up through the ranks of the Regents while they were at school, and gone to the Collective. A name I'm not even supposed to know yet.

Every single cent of our money is coated with blood, thick and red. It's woven through every facet of our lives, no matter how much some of us might try to deny it. I accepted it long ago, though.

My thoughts race as I push into the men's room. Until I'd known that was Little L, I was ready to bend her over and fuck her, right then and there. Now, I'm just confused. My cock is relentlessly hard in my pants, and I feel like I could snap a piece of wood across it.

I know I should just tuck it into my waistband and move on with my day, wait for the painful hardness to ease, but instead, I find myself unzipping my pants and pulling it free. The thing is practically purple from how turned on I am.

By Little L.

The thought rattles around inside my mind, but I can't decide if it's really worth caring or not. Would Lyssa want Lyric to fuck someone like me? Probably not. But at least she'd know that would be the end of it. I'm not a relationship kind of guy, and we all know it, have known it since I first worked my way through the high school cheerleading team.

If even the thought of my dead friend can't make this boner go away, I know only one thing is going to work. I roughly begin working my shaft as I try to think about anything other than Little L, and yet, that's all my mind will give me.

The glimpse of those fucking criminal white lace panties stretched over the lips of her pussy, one that I'm willing to bet is as sweet as pie, before the thong went up between those peachy round ass cheeks of hers? It should be illegal.

The image of her ass perked up high in the air is burned into my brain. I can just imagine it jiggling as I pound into her from behind. Each thrust of my cock and slap of my hips against hers would make her skin ripple from the force of it. There's enough there to grab a handful and, smack it around a bit. I can almost hear the sound of my palm cracking against her skin.

God, I bet she sounds like heaven when she comes.

I try to keep my thoughts to the faceless, nameless version of her who had practically bared her pussy to the world, but I can't. Those fuck-me lips of hers would be stunning around my cock, their natural red color like a beacon for my gaze to follow as she bobs up and down on me.

It's the thought of her eyes looking up at me with that stormy blue gaze, the one that has trouble written all over it, the one that calls to the darkness living within me, that undoes me. I catch my release with my other hand, and once I've caught my breath, I wipe my hand and cock clean with some toilet paper. I stand in the stall for a while longer, evaluating what's just happened and waiting for my hard on to subside before tucking myself back into my jeans, then into the waistband of said jeans since I'm still fucking rock solid.

I know I'm still young, but I haven't had an erection like this since I first hit puberty. I usually have a recharge of a few minutes, but not today. Of course not. Why? Because Lyric's pussy is still dancing through my mind, and I want to fuck her seven ways to Sunday. I shouldn't want to, but I do.

The idea that I should see her like a kid sister is one that rolls through my consciousness, and I reject it. We were never close enough for that, and I'm not going to jerk off to a woman I think of as a sister. Lyric is no blood relation of mine, no sister by choice either, no matter what the others might say. She was around, but we never indulged her, never took her along for the ride.

Lyssa was the Sterling princess who got whatever she wanted, whenever she wanted. Lyric? I honestly have no idea how she grew up. She was around, and we were friendly, but that was about it. When she was around, it was awkward, too. She was quiet and serious, nothing like the woman I’d met at the APT party the other night.

I had been excited to see her at the party, especially after seeing Atlas's reaction to meeting her again as an adult. I was also a few shots and beers deep, so I’d been the relaxed, overly friendly version of myself who was looking to get laid. Had I met Lyric sober, I probably wouldn't have hugged her like that. Thinking about it now, I realize that, even at the time, I had registered what her body felt like in my arms, how she'd slid down my front, her breasts pressed against me.

The door to the bathroom opens, and some guy comes in and takes a piss. I listen, feeling weird for having just jerked off in a stall, and a few moments after he leaves, I do too. There's only one place I want to go right now, and that's the fucking bar.

I need some horny schoolgirl to suck my cock like her life depends on it because, with the mood I'm in right now, it just might. I've done some behind-the-scenes work for my father, work that would land us both in prison for a long time, and I'm well aware that sometimes my needs get the better of me. It's why I fight on the weekends.

The need to spill blood roars in my veins and my cock. I need release of both kinds tonight. I'd like to say that might be hard to find, but that would be a lie. Too many girls are willing to suck my cock to get a shot at the Kingsley fortune, and finding a drunk, angry guy in a bar is almost as easy. The only challenge is making sure it's a fair fight.

My knuckles creak from the way my fists are clenched, and I feel like the orgasm in the bathroom only shortened my hairpin trigger. Anger at Lyric for being so fucking tempting races through my mind, followed quickly by anger at Lyssa for getting herself killed and putting Lyric out of bounds for me.

It could be any other woman, and I wouldn't think twice about seducing her, but Lyssa's little sister has got me jerking off in the bathroom like some fucking middle schooler. Sure, Lyric has a banging body and a face that looks like it was made for sin, but there are plenty of other hot girls on campus.

I can fuck my way through the entire freshman class if I want—girls and boys. But no other student I've seen since the school year started has made me react like this. Why should Lyric get that honor? Why is it that the woman I can't fuck makes me harder than a rock?

The world is fucked up in so many ways. I am too. So is Lyric. She has to be after losing her mom and both her sisters, right? Maybe that's it. The darkness of her grief is drawing me to her like a bee to a flower.

She certainly isn't going to be my queen.

Oh, no.

I may have reacted rashly when I saw her, and I may have jerked off thinking about her, but that ends now. She is off limits, and not just because Jude says so, but because I'll never let any woman have that kind of control over me. If she did, she'd be able to lead me around by my cock and use sex as a weapon or a bargaining chip, and I'm sure as hell not signing up for that bullshit.

The guys are probably going to wonder where I am since we were supposed to meet at the gym for a workout, but I know I'm useless in my current state. Plus, my fucking boner still hasn't gone down, which is just pissing me off even more. I slip my phone from my pocket and text them that I'm going to the bar.

When my phone buzzes in my pocket, I know they've responded, but I don't check it. I have other things on my mind, things I can't let them get in the way of. Before dinner, I plan to have eased this relentless throbbing in my cock. Whether that takes a mouth, a pussy, an ass, or some combination of them, it doesn't matter. I don't give two shits which hole—or holes—I fuck, I just need this release. Once I've taken care of that and my dick isn't trying to escape my pants any more, then I'll find a solution for my other needs—the ones of pain and blood.

The one thing I need most of all is to get Lyric out of my head.