Cruel Intentions : A High School Bully Romance (Eastern High Series Book 1)

My eyes stay locked on her face, unable to look away, unable to fucking breathe. She’s devastating—beautiful in a way that cuts right through me, raw and untouchable. Every sound she makes, every flicker of her lashes, every goddamn breath. I know what I want. I know how much I fucking love her. And yet, I hold back.

Even as every fiber of me screams to sink into her, to lose myself entirely, I hold the fuck back. Because this isn’t about me. She needs this—needs the release, the control—and I’ll give it to her. I’d set myself on fire if it meant being what she needs right now.

With one final, deliberate glide of my cock against her folds, I see her fall apart. The sound she makes—a raw, desperate moan—hits me, stealing the air from my lungs. Her head falls back, her eyes fluttering shut, her body shattering in my arms.

She’s perfect, so fucking perfect, and the sight of her coming undone is something I’ll never forget. My chest aches, because I know this could be it—the last time I get to touch her, to hold her, to see her like this. And if she walks away after this, I don’t know if I’ll survive it.

My gaze roams over her, drinking in every detail: her parted lips, the soft flush staining her skin, the way she trembles under my hands. Aubrey, bold and unguarded, is a revelation. I’ve always known she was beautiful, sexy as hell, but this side of her? The one that lets me hold her together even as she falls apart—It’s fucking everything.

I want her so bad it’s killing me. Every time her hips roll against mine, every arch of her body, I’m one second away from snapping. My cock aches, the relentless need for her driving me to the brink. I want to bury myself in her, to feel her clench around me, to make her mine in every possible way.

But I don’t.

I hold back, even though it feels impossible, because this moment isn’t about me. It never was. It’s about her. It’s about drowning out her pain, giving her something to hold onto when everything else feels like it’s slipping away.

My hands tighten on her ass, holding her close as we both struggle to catch our breath. Her skin is warm and slick against mine, the water cascading around us like static, but all I can focus on is her.

Our eyes meet, and I wonder if she can see it—see how close I am to losing control. See how much I need her. How much I want to slide inside her, to feel her wrapped around me, to take and give until there’s nothing left between us.

The need claws at me, overwhelming and insistent, but I say nothing. If I speak, I might ruin this fragile thread holding us together. If she pulls away, if she regrets this, it’ll fucking destroy me.

The seconds stretch endlessly, each one marked by the pounding of my heart and the ragged sound of our breathing. Her gaze stays locked on mine, and I see it—fuck, I see it.

The same hunger, the same aching desire, mirrored back at me. My pulse hammers in my ears as I shift, my cock brushing against her entrance, teasing us both. It would take nothing—just one push, one movement—and I’d be right where I’ve been dying to be.

But I wait, even though my body is screaming for release. I wait because I need her to want this as much as I do. I need her to choose me, to crave this moment, to crave me.

No other girl makes me feel like this, and I know deep in my gut that no one else ever will. She’s it. She’s fucking it for me, and I don’t even know if she realizes it yet.

Her voice cuts through the haze, soft but resolute. “I’m on birth control,” she says, her eyes fixed on mine, and then she nods, giving me permission.

That’s all I need. Her words ignite something inside me, a fire that roars to life and burns away every last shred of hesitation, every ounce of restraint I was barely clinging to. There’s no turning back now. She wants this. She wants me. And fuck, I’m going to give her everything.

I guide the head of my cock to her tight wet pussy, the heat of her making my breath hitch. The sound of her moan—soft, breathy, and perfect—sends a jolt straight through me. Her body tenses, adjusting to my girth, and the way her eyes flutter shut tells me all I need to know. She’s feeling this just as much as I am. Fuck, I’ve never wanted anything more in my life.

As I push deeper, inch by inch, her tight, wet heat surrounds me, gripping me like a vice. It takes everything in me not to lose it right then and there. I pause when I’m buried to the hilt, savoring the way her body feels around mine. My cock throbs, desperate for movement, but I force myself to hold still, to soak in every sensation, every sound, every heartbeat of this moment.

Her dark brown eyes meet mine, and it feels like the ground’s been ripped out from under me. There’s something raw, something unspoken, in the way she looks at me—something that cuts through all the tension and bullshit between us.

And as much as I want to let go and take her completely, I hold onto this moment, refusing to rush. Not yet.

Slowly, I start to move, pulling out before sinking back in, setting a rhythm that’s equal parts torture and salvation. Her walls clutch me with every thrust, hot and impossibly tight, pulling me deeper into her. Her nails dig into my shoulders, leaving trails of fire in their wake, and it only makes me want her more.

“Oh, fuck, you feel amazing,” I groan against her neck, my lips brushing her damp skin as I speak. The words are raw, dragged out from the deepest part of me, and I can’t stop myself from pressing a kiss there, tasting the water that clings to her.

Years of wanting her like this, of dreaming about her, all come crashing down on me in a way I can’t control. She moves with me, her hips rolling in time with mine, her breath hitching with each thrust. Her moans rise higher, raw and unfiltered, and I swear I’m losing myself in her.

Her pussy tightens, pulling me deeper, and I know I’m fucking gone. She’s everything—every dream, every ache, every fucking need—and nothing will ever compare to this. To her.

Our mouths find each other in a frantic clash of tongues and teeth, messy and desperate, blending hate and love into something primal, something neither of us can control. Her kiss is wild, just as untethered as mine, as if we’re both trying to devour each other, as if we’re on borrowed time and this moment could vanish in an instant.

And maybe it will. Maybe this is all we’ll ever have. But if that’s the case, fuck it—I’ll take it. I’ll take every raw moan, every breathless gasp, every fleeting second of her.

When I finally pull back, it’s not because I want to—it’s because I have to. My lungs burn for air, but my eyes stay locked on hers, trying to memorize this moment. Her gaze is unguarded, her expression caught somewhere between vulnerability and defiance. I hold onto this fleeting connection like it’s the last thread keeping me from unraveling completely.

Tomorrow will come, and it’ll wreck us all over again, resetting everything we’ve just shared. But tonight? Tonight, she’s mine.

With a strained groan, I pull back, the slick heat of her pussy clinging to my cock as I slide out, only to thrust back in deep. The way her body accepts me, the way she molds to me like she was made for this, for me, it’s overwhelming. My face buries itself in the curve of her throat, her scent grounding me, steadying me as I lose myself in her.

Every thrust is a crescendo, building until I can barely hold on. The pleasure is blinding, but it’s the emotions that wreck me—the years of longing, the bitterness of separation, the desperate need to hold onto her now that she’s here.

“Aubrey,” I whisper, her name a breath, a prayer, a confession. There’s so much I need to say, but the words choke me, caught in the tangle of my emotions. She might leave tomorrow. She might walk out of my life again, and the thought terrifies the fuck out of me.

Her face contorts with pleasure, her nails biting into my skin, and I watch, utterly captivated as she shatters around me. Her body clamps down on mine, pulling me deeper, and it’s too much. The way she trembles, the way she comes undone in my arms—it undoes me completely.

My thrusts become erratic as the need for release takes over. With one last deep thrust, I let go, my orgasm ripping through me as a guttural groan tears from my throat. It’s blinding, consuming, and somehow not enough. It will never be enough.

I cling to her, holding her close as the waves of pleasure fade, leaving behind an ache I can’t shake. I want to tell her I love her. I need to say it. But the words stay lodged in my throat, suffocated by fear and the gnawing uncertainty of what comes next. I can’t lose her again. Not like before.

Instead, I press a tender kiss to her lips, letting it linger, hoping it says what I can’t. Slowly, gently, I lower her down, keeping her close as the warm spray of the shower washes over us.

My hands move on instinct, lathering soap over her skin with a care that feels almost reverent, as if I can somehow anchor her to me.

When I’m done, I wash myself quickly, not wanting to break the fragile connection between us but knowing I need to give her space. Even as I pull away, the thought of her slipping through my fingers again leaves me hollow. But for now, I’ll take this moment. I’ll take her.

I step out of the shower, the cold air slamming into me like a slap, and quickly wrap a towel around my waist. My chest feels tight as I grab another towel for her and move into my room.

Outside, the storm rages on, the rain battering the windows in relentless waves. I pause by the glass, staring out into the chaos, wondering if she’s in the bathroom right now piecing together all the reasons why this was a mistake.

The thought fucking kills me.

I pull one of my shirts from the cupboard, the soft cotton something I hope might bring her a little comfort. The lights flicker, the storm’s fury outside feeling like a mirror of the storm inside me—chaotic, intense, unrelenting.

The sound of the water shutting off pulls me back, and I head to the bathroom, shirt in hand. When she steps out, the sight of her steals the breath from my lungs. Her damp skin glistens under the soft light, every curve of her body highlighted like a masterpiece brought to life.

My cock hardens instantly, throbbing as my gaze drifts over her. Her perfect tits, nipples taut from the cool air; the smooth curve of her hips; and her legs, so stunning they make me want to fall to my knees and worship her all over again.

She’s so fucking perfect—every inch of her begging to be touched, claimed, cherished. All I can think is how much I want her. Not just now, not just for tonight, but always. Every fucking day. I want to wake up with her beside me, to hold her, to have her as mine in every way that matters.

But for now, I stand frozen, my throat dry, my cock aching, praying she doesn’t pull away.

From the moment I met her, she’s been my undoing—the quiet storm that slipped into my life and wrecked everything I thought I knew.

I still remember the first time I saw her. She was just a little girl, sitting in her backyard, crying so quietly it made something in me ache. I was up in my treehouse when I spotted her through the branches. She looked so small, knees pulled to her chest, her face buried in her arms like she was trying to disappear.

And then she looked up.

Her tear-streaked face broke something in me I didn’t even know could break.

I climbed down, my curiosity dragging me toward her like a magnet. At the fence, I peeked through the gaps, watching as she tried to stifle her sobs, her shoulders trembling while the harsh yelling spilled out from her house. The sound was so loud, so harsh, and she looked so lost.

“Hey,” I called softly, trying not to startle her. Her head jerked up, her wide, red-rimmed eyes meeting mine through the fence. “You can come over to my place if you want to get away from the noise.”

She hesitated for a moment, her small hands wiping at her cheeks, before climbing through the gap in the fence.

Suddenly, she was standing there in my yard, looking at me with this mix of fear and relief that I didn’t understand back then.

I was too young to process what I felt that day, too young to grasp why my chest tightened or why I wanted to shield her from whatever had made her cry like that.

But now? Now I get it. That day, without realizing it, she became a part of me.

She’s carved into me, so deep there’s no removing her, no forgetting.

Now that I’ve had her again—tasted her, touched her, fucked her—there’s no going back. Nothing and no one will ever make me feel this way again, like I’m losing control and finding myself all at once.

“Here.” My voice comes out rough as I set the shirt on the dresser for her. “You can wear this.”

“Thanks,” she whispers, her voice soft, almost fragile, as she takes the fresh towel.

I turn to leave, but my body betrays me. I glance back, unable to resist stealing one more look. Her damp hair clings to her shoulders, and the soft light highlights every curve of her body. Her hips, those perfect tits—and fuck, it’s enough to drive me insane.

And the thought of this being the last time. Of her slipping away again, like she always does. It guts me. Because I know how this ends. Her mom will show up, or some other excuse will surface, and she’ll leave. She always does.

Stepping back into the room, I let the towel fall to the floor and pull on a pair of boxers. The cool air brushes against my skin, but it does nothing to cool the fire raging inside me. My eyes catch the flashing light on my phone, and when I pick it up, my stomach knots. A series of missed calls and texts from my dad light up the screen.

Fuck. I completely forgot to let him know I got home safely.

Sighing, I run a hand through my damp hair and quickly dial his number. The phone barely rings once before he picks up, his voice already thick with worry

“I’m okay,” I say quickly, cutting him off. “Got caught in the rain and needed a shower to warm up. Sorry I didn’t call.” My voice is low, guilt tugging at me.

As I lift my gaze, Aubrey steps into the room. She freezes, hesitating like she’s unsure what to do. The oversized shirt I gave her hangs loosely over her frame. But my eyes betray me, trailing down to where her nipples press against the thin fabric, hard and visible.

The heat courses through me again, sudden and undeniable. My cock stirs, the memory of her still too vivid, too fresh. Goddamn it. She has no idea the effect she has on me—how one look, one small movement, can undo me completely.

Our eyes meet, and I motion toward the bed, pulling back the blankets in a silent invitation.

She hesitates, her gaze flicking between me and the bed, and for a brief moment, uncertainty cuts through me. What’s running through her head? Does she regret this?

“I was worried,” my dad says, his voice softer now, drawing my focus back to the phone.

“I’m home, Dad. Everything’s fine,” I reply, my attention glued to Aubrey as she steps closer to the bed. There’s still a flicker of doubt in her expression, but it’s fading, her features softening as she inches forward.

“Alright, son. I’ll talk to you tomorrow,” he says, the worry finally leaving his tone before the call ends.

I set my phone down, my gaze locked on Aubrey. She stops at the edge of the bed, and my pulse hammers in my ears. My cock is still hard, pressing against my boxers, impossible to miss. I don’t bother hiding it. Why would I? After the way she fell apart in my arms in the bathroom, there’s nothing left to hide. If she wants more, I’m up for it.

“You can sleep on the bed beside me,” I say, my tone even despite the tension tightening every muscle in my body. “Or take a blanket and sleep on the floor. Your call.” The words taste bitter, wrong. The thought of her on the floor feels fucking wrong. If that’s what she chooses, I’ll switch places. No question. It’ll hurt like hell, though.

She studies me, her gaze flicking between my face and the bed, and I hold my breath, waiting.

Finally, she moves, climbing into the bed. Relief floods me, but it’s short-lived. She lies on her back, staring at the ceiling, her face unreadable.

The distance between us feels suffocating, and I fucking hate it.

“How about tonight we ditch all the bullshit,” I say, my voice softer now. “And just go back to being the friends we used to be.”

She turns her head to look at me, her eyes searching mine. “Can you do that?”

I nod, the motion small, deliberate. “Yeah,” I say, the lie rolling off my tongue too easily. “I can handle it.”

The weight on my chest doesn’t let up, though. I turn toward her, shifting so I can see her clearly, the need to understand clawing at me. Why is she here? The question has been haunting me since the night I showed up at her window, desperate and reckless, like a fucking idiot.

“Why did you come back?” I ask, my voice breaking the silence between us.

Her eyes flicker to mine, just for a moment, before darting away, her focus shifting to the ceiling. Her face tightens, and I catch it—barely—the flicker of pain she can’t quite hide.

The silence stretches between us, heavy, oppressive, and I almost wish I could take the question back.

Almost.

Finally, she speaks, her voice trembling as if it’s all she can do to hold herself together. “My mom didn’t want me around anymore,” she says, each word landing like a punch to the gut. “Her new boyfriend decided I was a problem, and she agreed. So, she just… dumped me at my dad’s.”

Fuck. My chest tightens with a pain that digs deep and refuses to let go.

A tear slides down her cheek, and before I even think, my hand moves, brushing it away with my fingertips.

She turns onto her side, curling up slightly, and the sight of her like this—raw, vulnerable, hurting—rips at something deep inside me.

I fucking hate it. Hate that she’s in this kind of pain, hate that I can’t just fix it. My hand lingers near her face, desperate to do more, to offer comfort, but I force myself to pull back. I can’t leave her in this silence.

“My mom’s back,” I say quietly, my voice rough and strained. “She wants to see me. She’s got kids now—two kids with some other guy. A whole new family. I’ve got a half-brother and sister.”

Saying it feels like dragging broken glass across my throat, but if it helps Aubrey, if it makes her feel even a fraction less alone, it’s worth it. My voice wavers, betraying how much this rips me apart, but I push through.

“I don’t even know them,” I admit. “They’re strangers to me, but I’m supposed to play big brother now. Like none of the shit she did before matters. Like her leaving didn’t fucking destroy me.” My jaw tightens as I glance at Aubrey, unsure if I’m helping or just digging us both deeper into this pit.

The room falls into silence, the only sound our breathing, but I can feel her walls starting to crack. Maybe it’s small, barely noticeable, but it’s there. If bleeding out my own pain makes hers a little easier to carry, I’ll gladly rip myself open. That’s what you do for someone who owns your heart, even if they don’t realize it.

“Wait, what?” Aubrey sits up, her brows furrowed, concern etched into her face. She knows how difficult it is for me to talk about my mom, how much it fucking kills me to reopen that wound. ‘She started another family?’

I nod, my eyes tracing her face, noting the way her lips press into a hard, angry line. Even pissed off, she’s breathtaking. “Yeah, pretty fucked up, huh?”

“You can say that again,” she mutters, leaning back against the headboard but keeping her eyes locked on me. “Why did she come back now?”

I shrug, bitterness twisting in my chest. “I don’t know. Maybe guilt. Maybe she finally figured out how badly she fucked me up and wants to make it right. But I’m not meeting her.” My jaw clenches, the words tasting like poison as they leave my mouth. “She walked out on me, Aub. When I needed her most. I don’t need her now. She can try to play happy families all she wants, but I’m not buying it. She doesn’t get to come back into my life and act like nothing fucking happened.”

The edge in my voice fades as I meet Aubrey’s gaze. She’s quiet now, watching me, her eyes softening in a way that makes it harder to hold onto my anger. But it’s still there, simmering under the surface, because some wounds don’t heal. Some scars run too deep.

I pause, my gaze flicking to her lips for a second before meeting her eyes. She’s staring at me like she wants to speak but can’t quite find the right words. “What about you? Why were you locked out of the house?”

Her face falls, and she looks away, her fingers fidgeting with the sheet. “My dad was so pissed after what happened with Tia,” she says, her voice barely steady. Her hands clench into fists, and she swallows hard. “The school called him, and he just lost it. He scared me, and… it brought everything back, you know?” Her voice wavers, and I feel anger rising in my chest—not at her, but at the ghosts that cling to her, dragging her down.

“Remember when he threw that beer bottle at me?” she whispers, her voice so quiet it’s like she’s afraid saying it out loud will give the memory power.

I nod, my stomach twisting. “Yeah. I remember.” How the hell could I fucking forget something like that? Her dad’s anger wasn’t just loud—it was dangerous. The way his voice shook the walls, the way his hands trembled with fury before he hurled that bottle… It’s burned into my memory; a moment of helpless rage I couldn’t do anything to stop.

She exhales shakily. “The way he yelled at me in the car after the meeting…” Her eyes drop to the sheet again, her fingers plucking at it like she’s trying to distract herself. “He said some really horrible things. Then he pulled over and told me to get out of his car.” Her voice cracks, and my fists clench as she continues. “He said if he never saw me again, he wouldn’t give a shit. That I’m nothing. Never was and never will be anything in this world.”

Her words slam into me, and the anger I’ve been holding back boils over, hot and bitter. Fuck him. Fuck everything about him—his cruelty, his carelessness, his blind inability to see her for the amazing person she is.

I don’t hesitate. My hand moves to her face, cupping her cheek, my thumb brushing softly along her skin.

“Aubrey,” I say, my voice low and steady. “Look at me.”

Her eyes lift to meet mine, and the raw pain I see their cuts, sharp and unrelenting. My chest aches with it, but I hold her gaze, hoping she can feel the truth in my words.

“You know what he’s like. His words don’t mean shit. They don’t define you.”

She nods faintly, but there’s no strength behind it, no belief. “Yeah, I know,” she murmurs, her voice barely audible. But the resignation in her tone says otherwise. The weight of his words is still there, pressing down on her, poisoning the parts of her he doesn’t deserve to touch.

“They still sting,” she admits, her voice cracking.

“I know they do,” I say softly, my thumb tracing gentle circles on her cheek. “But he’s wrong. About all of it. About you. You’re not nothing, Aubrey.”

Her lips press into a thin line, her throat working as she fights back tears. My hand lingers against her cheek, grounding us both in this fragile moment. I want her to feel it—all of it. Comfort. Reassurance. Love. Anything to drown out the echoes of his cruelty.

“You’re stronger than him,” I say, my voice firm, unwavering. “You’ve survived everything he’s thrown at you. And you’ll keep surviving, no matter what bullshit he spews. Because he’s fucking wrong. About everything.”

I lean in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to her lips. This isn’t about desire, not this time—it’s about giving her something real, something she can hold on to when everything else feels like it’s slipping away.

Her lips press back against mine, warm and tentative, and for a second, I’m tempted to deepen the kiss, to lose myself in her.

But I don’t. I pull back just enough to meet her gaze, savoring the tenderness of the moment. This is us—raw, unguarded, stripped down to who we were before the world got so complicated. And right now, that’s all I want to be.

I pull away slowly, my hand slipping from her cheek as I force myself to put some space between us. My cock is hard, throbbing painfully, and every nerve in my body screams at me to close the distance again, to lose myself in her like I’ve done before. But this moment isn’t about that. She doesn’t need another guy who just fucks her and leaves her feeling hollow. She needs someone who can stay, someone who can listen. A friend. And if that’s what she needs, then fuck, I’ll be that for her—even if it kills me.

“So,” she says, breaking the silence, her voice soft but steady, pulling me from my thoughts. “How did your dad react when your mom showed up?”

I let out a sigh, running a hand through my hair as I lean back against the pillows, my gaze fixed on the ceiling. ‘He was shocked at first,’ I admit, my voice tinged with the lingering weight of that conversation. ‘He asked if my decision to not reconnect with her was about loyalty to him. But once he realized it wasn’t about him—that I genuinely don’t give a shit about rebuilding anything with her—he backed off. Besides, he’s got a new girlfriend now.’

Aubrey’s eyes widen, surprise flickering across her face in a way that tugs at something deep inside me. “Your dad has a girlfriend?”

I can’t help the small smile that tugs at my lips, a flicker of amusement breaking through the heaviness. ‘Yeah. Her name’s Simone. I haven’t met her yet, but they’re on a weekend trip together right now.’

Aubrey’s expression softens, her lips curving into a faint smile. ‘Your dad would never put her above you,’ she says, yawning. ‘He’s not like my mom.’

Her words land with a weighty truth I can’t deny. My dad has his flaws, sure, but he’s always put me first, even when it wasn’t easy, even when it hurt him.

‘Can I ask you something?’ Aubrey murmurs.

‘Sure,’ I reply, turning to look at her.

“Those two girls you were making out with tonight,” she begins, her voice hesitant but firm. “Do they mean anything to you?”

“Fuck no,” I answer without hesitation, the words leaving my mouth before I even think.

“Then why do it, Noah?” she asks, her tone soft but carrying an edge of disappointment. “You never used to be like that.”

I turn my head back toward the ceiling, my jaw tightening as her question hangs in the air. I take a deep breath, trying to untangle the knot of emotions threatening to choke me.

Do I tell her the truth? Do I admit how fucked up I was when she left, how I used anything—anyone—to numb the ache of losing her? Do I tell her I still love her?

But fear creeps in, coiling around my thoughts like a shadow. What if her stay is fleeting? What if I bare my soul, only for her to leave again, taking all of this—whatever this is—with her?

I wrestle with the words, with the urge to tell her everything, and the silence stretches between us, heavy and uncertain.

After what feels like an eternity, I turn my head ready to tell her everything—to spill the truth that’s been clawing at my chest—but the words die on my tongue. With her eyes closed and breathing steady, she exudes a rare sense of calm.

Shifting onto my side, I absorb every detail of her, unable to look away from her captivating features. Her delicate nose, perfect lips, and the soft curve of her cheek create a portrait of beauty.

I raise my hand instinctively, the urge to brush her hair away from her face overwhelming me, but I freeze halfway, my fingers hesitating near her cheek. The thought of touching her now would only intensify the desire burning inside me.

Keeping a distance between us feels like torture, but it’s necessary. I don’t want to screw this up. Being close to Aubrey again, really talking to her, feels like coming up for air after drowning for years. It feels good. It feels right. I don’t want my fragile ego to spoil things because she didn’t want me the way I wanted her back then.

I want this with her. No, I need this with her. I always treasured her friendship, longing for it deeply, and I fucked it all up by pushing her away. I need to stop being such an asshole to her. She’s dealing with enough shit already, and the last thing she needs is me making it worse. If her screw up of a father really did kick her out, I’ll talk to mine. He’ll help. He’ll figure something out.

I’ve always wanted her. I don’t think I’ve ever told her that, and maybe it’s time I should.

I quietly ease out of the bed, trying my best not to disturb her.

She doesn’t stir, her soft breaths filling the quiet room as I grab her damp clothes from where I tossed them earlier.

Tiptoeing out of the room, I head to the dryer. Tomorrow, we’ll go to her dad’s house together and sort all this shit out. But for now, I can at least make sure she has dry clothes in the morning.

It’s not much, but it’s something.