Ava: A Dark Bully College Romance, page 11
Ava Aston with her pretty mouth and dark hair was out with those filthy bikers.
I needed to get her in The Library Program - needed to destroy her - and then I needed to kick her to the curb.
A wolf whistle sounded out as more and more of the crowd became aware of what we were doing. But I didn’t care - couldn’t stop, not when I was fucking this girl while Ava was right there. The sound of slapping flesh could only just be heard over the music as I used the redhead to exorcise my demons - to expel myself of this incessant fucking need I had for Ava. It had gotten to the point where I was bordering on obsession. But if I was obsessed, it was her fault. Which was exactly why I needed to make her kneel.
The thought of Ava kneeling before me as I fed her my cock was what sparked my orgasm, and as I grunted, filling the condom with my cum as the tight little redhead squeezed my cock, I kept my eyes fixed on the pub - waiting to see if she would walk out the door anytime soon.
Chapter Fourteen : Upping The Ante
Ava
I stared into my drawer. My very empty drawer. The same drawer that had previously held all my panties and bras.
There was no doubt in my mind that this was Bastian's doing. What a way to start a Monday. Some new items - handpicked and chosen by Sarah Walton - had arrived this morning. It should have been a beautiful way to start a Monday, and, yet, here I stood pantiless. But it wasn't just the panties that posed a problem, walking across campus sans bra was going to be a task unto itself. While I wasn't exactly gifted in the breast department, they were more than a handful, which meant that walking across campus would equate to a bouncing chest.
I sighed as I picked up a pair of jeans and a white backless shirt. The material was soft and buttery and not at all suited for afternoon bike rides with Dad. Even simply holding the item made me feel somehow more sophisticated - as if this was what it meant to be elegant. But if the first week of class had taught me anything, it was that I was neither prepared - nor welcome - in this world.
But being raised in the Hell Hounds Club meant that I was accustomed to having to shoulder my way into things - adept at making my own damn welcome. So, here I was. I dressed quickly, the seam of the jeans pressing against my clit in the most delicious way. With each movement, the friction only heightened the sensation. Fuck me, this was going to be the longest Monday in the history of Mondays. The soft material of the shirt clung to my frame, leaving no room for the imagination when it came to my peaked nipples - my body's arousal had almost turned the sophisticated attire sinful. But there was no time to overthink my outfit or change entirely, instead, I secured my hair into an easy clipped updo and swept a coat of mascara on my lashes. It would have to do.
The week began with penmanship by Lionel Bamford. The lesson took place in the old stables which had been converted into a studio that resembled a traditional classroom. Rows of desks dotted the room, with natural light filtering through the skylight from above. It was almost idyllic. Almost. Except for the fact that Bastian de Trafford sat directly in front of me - his ego blocking everything else in sight. Worse still, the minute he walked in, his gaze darted towards my chest, causing my nipples to pebble even more under his vision. It was official, my boobs were goddamn traitors. And then he smirked as if he somehow found my discomfort amusing. Asshole.
I shifted behind my desk, but with each movement, the seam of my jeans pressed against my sensitized clit, creating just the right amount of friction to keep me aroused, but not enough for it to do much else. How the hell did other women walk around commando if this was the result?
“Heard you passed your house test last Friday, Bastian.” Maisie sidled up towards the man in front of me, not even slightly subtle in the way she perched on his desk. Her skirt rode up, revealing her bare thigh, and I wanted to take my finely sharpened pencil - the one that the Academy had specified we use for Penmanship - and stab her through her supple flesh.
Bastian grunted his response - a non-answer if there ever was one.
“Don’t be fooled, dame,” Roger - the token jock - stepped forward, sliding his hands down Maisie’s arms, “his little house slut probably fucked Albrecht for the grade.”
My fingers curled around my pencil in anger as I waited for Bastian to deny it - to tell them. But the man in question only coughed out a laugh, and I could do nothing but sit there and stew in my rage. Because if I reacted, there wasn’t a doubt in my mind that there would be blood shed, and I would be expelled from the Academy. Worse still, I would prove all the rumors about the Hell Hounds to be true.
Inhale. Exhale. I shifted in my chair, repositioning it closer to the desk. Because that was something I could control. I pulled out my spiral notebook, dating the first page as I took control of my immediate surroundings. My desk. My things. My writing.
“Did she blow him or simply bend over?” Maisie’s taunting voice followed me, interrupting the forced calm I was blanketing myself with. And Bastian - the fuck - simply shrugged as if he alone were in on the joke.
“Wait,” Jeff finally walked in, and I could have sworn he was wearing two different shoes. The kids here would probably chalk it up to a fashion statement and not to the fact that the dude was too high to function. “I thought our biker was a virgin?” He looked genuinely dumbfounded as I sat there grinding my teeth as they discussed my sexual experiences as if I wasn’t even here.
“Oh, damn. So, her first time was with Albrecht?” Roger couldn’t hide the disgust from his voice. I exhaled, jotting down a mental list. Here, I couldn’t react - couldn’t retaliate, but this program was only three months long, which meant at the end of summer, they were all fair game.
That was something I could control.
Roger
Jeff
Maisie
Amy
And Bastian.
“I plead the fifth.” Bastian’s tone was laced with humor. I shouldn’t have been surprised, Bastian was the type of guy who only acted if it served his interests.
“No way she gave up her V-card to Albrecht. She probably just sucked him off.” Roger continued the conversation, forcing me to exhale and inhale. Repeatedly.
“We should buy her some toys to prepare her for The Library Program.” This time, it was Maisie, her voice filled with that goading nastiness that mean girls seemed to have perfected.
“What a fantastic idea, little cherub.” Bastian addressed her, and she visibly preened under his attention.
I hated these people. There were no two ways about it. Gunner and Olivia could mingle in their world because if I was forced to engage in this playing field for longer than necessary, someone would die.
A shadow crept forward, his hulking form almost comical as he sat behind a white ivory desk. Constantino Russo - Olivia’s housemate, was in our class. It was an unusual occurrence - one that I was certain was an exception of some sort. Still, I craned my neck in the hopes that Olivia was about to walk through the door. I could use some home support. She was the best out of all of us. Kind, giving, and always so optimistically hopeful. I swallowed the lump in my throat as I clenched my fist once more against the tremors of rage that reverberated straight through my nails. I could use some of her optimistic hopefulness right now.
But no matter how many times my gaze lingered on the doorway, Olivia didn’t walk through, leaving me to wallow in the inflated egos of my insufferable peers.
“You think any of the other biker bitches want to come and play in the library?” Roger spoke loudly, leading the little gathering that was currently taking place at Bastian’s desk. “What about the blonde one.”
A loud bang echoed through the converted stable as Constantino slammed his book down on his desk. He looked fierce - menacing, but that wouldn’t deter these rich assholes.
“Naaah,” Bastian drawled, “let’s not split the pot too much. Keep the money riding on one show pony.”
He knew I could hear him - knew that I was sitting right fucking here while he spoke about me as if I were some animal to trade and bet on. Not that animals should be traded or bet on, but that was besides the point.
I needed to hit back - needed to make Bastian pay. Not in the true way I wanted to - but in this childish game of Tic-Tac-Toe we had found ourselves in. So far, he had not only left me without undergarments, but now he was acting as if I had sucked off Albrecht simply to pass the Academy’s stupid test.
When I had called Mom and asked her to run through some of her recipes with me, she had been delighted. The passing grade belonged to her as much as it did to me. Because this shit didn’t matter to Nicci - or my dad, really, but, to Mom, it mattered. She was the kind of woman who would have been a pageant queen if life had dealt her a different hand. Instead, she was rewarded with a Vice President biker named Spyro, and Nicci, who was the Club’s knife for hire. I like to think that, in the end, she got the better deal.
What would unbalance Bastian? His reputation was too well guarded to take a hit - if anything, whatever I did publicly would probably only bolster his popularity. No, it needed to be personal. I mentally ran through everything he had done to me. The hair dye. Stealing my shoes. Taking my underwear. It all came down to my personal things - my personal space - my room.
I exhaled. The tightness in my chest finally settling. I had a plan - which meant that I could control the situation - control the outcome.
Mr. Lionel Bamford walked in with a hop in his step as if he hadn't just interrupted my mental planning of how to bring Bastian down in his own game.
I spent the next hour listening to the man drone on about the importance of thank you letters and how to write them. It was interesting for the first ten minutes of the lesson; after fifty minutes, we all understood that Mr. Bamford simply enjoyed the sound of his own voice. A note was passed back and forth between the elite, and, once more, I fought the irrational urge to grab the small square piece of paper that our instructor seemed oblivious to and shred it. The snickers and giggles told me exactly what the topic of the note entailed: me. That wasn’t me being conceited, that was me simply leaning into my survival instincts.
As soon as class was finished, I didn’t linger - didn’t wait to hear what Bastian and his followers had to say, instead, I bolted, choosing to skip my break entirely. Food could wait, bringing Bastian down couldn’t. My plan would take time to effect, but I needed to take action now if I wanted to destroy his space by the morning. I knew his routine - knew that he woke early, headed to the gym, and returned for breakfast and coffee. The man was meticulous in his habits, and that was exactly what I was counting on. First things first: I needed to phone a man about a horse.
I was sweaty and sore and annoyed. I just wanted a shower, some underwear, and my bed. Mrs. Holloway had made us go over a series of classical dances, forcing me to endure Bastian and his crowd’s giggles and sneers as I fumbled each and every step. I learned a hard lesson about myself today: I was not a dancer. Sure, I could grind down in the bar as we threw darts and shot some pool, but give me a waltz, and I would botch it up. It was so bad that Mrs. Holloway suggested I pick up private lessons on the weekend - our fucking downtime.
The house was cool and quiet as I walked through the front door. My stomach grumbled, but I bypassed the kitchen, needing a shower more than I needed food.
The steam cleared the grime of the day away, and as I soaped my hair, my shoulders began to relax further and further. Tomorrow, Bastian would be howling like a little bitch, and I couldn’t fucking wait. I needed an early night so that I could wake at the crack of dawn and destroy his space while he was at the gym. It was a simple plan, really, which was what made it so damn beautiful.
Wake up early.
Slip into his room.
Destroy his space.
Watch as Bastian de Trafford lost his shit.
I stepped out the shower feeling whole. It was amazing what scrubbing your skin and washing your hair could do for your mental health. And what do you know, as I dug through my drawers, I found that all my undergarments had been replaced - along with a large black vibrator. The silicone dick was complete with artificial veins, as if the veins would make it appear somehow more life-like. It was also larger than Jayden. Much larger. I swallowed, ignoring the item for the taunt that it was as I slipped on a pair of panties before digging up a t-shirt.
HOLY MOTHER OF GOD.
It burned. My pussy burned. It started out as a heated kind of warmth before spiking up into a full on blistering burn. What the fuck did that fucker put in my fucking panties because FUCK.
I gritted my teeth, refusing to give the bastard the satisfaction of hearing me scream. My eyes watered, my hands shook, and I forced the undergarments off of my flesh as I stepped into the shower once more, unfastening the shower head from the wall to force the cool blast of water against my pussy. In another setting, it may have been pleasurable - I may have gotten off on the water hitting my clit, but, right now, there was none of that, only pain, burning, blistering pain.
Bastian de Trafford needed to DIE.
I stood there, hunched over in the shower as I forced my breath through my nose, nausea rising up at the pain as I washed away whatever the hell he had laced my panties with. Was it hot sauce? Tabasco? What fucking psycho injured a girls pussy?
I was wholly not equipped for this - the only thing I had in my bathroom that I could use to soothe poor lips was aquas cream. And when I was certain that I had washed the offending substance off, that was exactly what I used. I covered myself in the cream as I fought the urge to scratch and squeeze beneath the layers I had applied.
Tonight, I would be sleeping in only a t-shirt. There wasn’t a chance in hell that I would attempt another pair until they had been washed and laundered. The asshole probably thought this was hilarious.
The idea of food didn’t seem appealing either - not after enduring and then washing off the burn. Instead, I snuggled in and picked up my book - it was starting to get good. I lost myself in the pages, reading how Phoenix allowed herself to be devoured by Dax, Colt, and Mason. They ate and sucked her as if she were their last meal, and they were dying. Lynn Rhys did a damn good job of describing everything, but then sex always seemed better in books. Jayden had gone down on me a total of two times, and, each time, he tackled the task as if it were a chore - something to check off of his to-do list. But, still, a girl could dream. Biting my lip, I wondered if there was another way to pay back Bastian. After all, I had been forced to witness him fuck Maisie, so this was only fair. Without giving it too much thought, I left the comfort of my bed and dug out the large black vibrator that had been placed in my drawer as a taunt. It was impossibly large. My fingers didn’t reach around the full girth of it, and, for one traitorous moment, my mind flashed back to Bastian standing on the landing with his trousers pulled down and his cock out. Was this the same size as him? He was big, and while I had more than glimpsed at it, I had wanted to look at him for longer - had wanted to touch and feel and taste. If only out of curiosity.
The item was still in its packaging - brand spanking new, but I wasn’t about to take any chances. Instead, I freed it from the hard plastic mold and washed it thoroughly under a stream of water in the bathroom.
My feet padded lightly against the floorboards as I returned to my bed, my hands clammy as nerves skittered through my body. This was me taking control of my own wants - of exploring my body without Jayden or anyone else for that matter. Sure, I had my own bullet, and I used the showerhead religiously, but this was different. I lay back onto my pillows, allowing my thighs to fall open as I touched myself. The aquas cream mixed with my own arousal made my fingers sticky, but sticky was good. Hesitantly, I switched the device on, the low hum of buzzing filled the air as I pushed the large tip of the silicone dick against my clit. The pressure was almost too much, and, almost immediately, my hips snapped up off the bed seeking more before my legs snapped shut on instinct as if shying away from the pleasure this thing was about to bestow. HOLY HELL.
I moaned loudly, doing absolutely nothing to soften my cries. Half the point of this exercise was to let him hear me - to force him to endure a similar level of discomfort to what I had. Jeff would, no doubt, be too high to notice what was going on. But Bastian was astute - careful - measured. He would know, and that knowledge only fueled me further. The little act of pressing the tip against my clit had caused a flood of arousal to slip down, and, without shame, I dipped my fingers into myself and used my arousal to coat the silicone toy.
Would it fit? I wasn’t sure, but I was going to try. I was done with small dick men who sweet talked my dad. Jayden wasn’t it for me - I deserved more - deserved better. I widened my thighs and notched the tip at my entrance, circling there for a bit as I sighed and gasped. It wasn’t an act - it wasn’t forced, it was an experience that belonged solely to me. The feeling of having the vibrator right there soon made me restless, making me want more. I pushed in, reveling in the slight stretch and burn that I felt at my entrance, and then I retreated, only to push in again. On instinct, I lifted my shirt up, exposing my breasts because I needed… I needed… more. I needed to touch - needed to feel - needed to scream.
I pinched my nipple, hard, biting down on a cry as I simultaneously thrust the large cock deeper into me.
Oh, God.
This was not Jayden. This was better. And if I had any doubt about whether I should give my ex another chance, they were blown out the water by a goddamn toy. With each thrust and retreat, I moaned and cried out, my hips snapping off the bed, seeking the cliff I wished to dive off of.
“Oh, God.” I thrashed against my pillow, my fingers forgetting my nipple as I clutched the bedsheets. This. This was euphoric. This was everything. Was this what I was missing? Surely, this wasn’t achievable with another person?
A loud bang clattered in the stairwell, and, somehow, my climax was egged on by simply knowing that Bastian was there - listening and affected.
