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

I know I shouldn’t be doing this with Noah again, but logic is a faint whisper, drowned out by the deafening roar of desire. I’m consumed by him, every rational thought obliterated by the fire that burns. My body still quivers from the way he just made me come—like he unlocked a part of me no one else has ever touched. The raw need in his touch, the relentless intensity of his demands, has me aching to give him everything. To watch him lose himself in me, to see him fall apart in my hands.

Our eyes lock, and I surrender completely. The way he looks at me—dark, hungry, and possessive—sends heat pooling low in my belly. A growl rumbles from his chest. The sound alone sets my pulse racing, my body yearning.

“Open,” he commands, his voice rough and low, thick with unspoken promise.

My gaze drops down to his cock—long, thick, and veined, standing proud and pulsing with need. A bead of pre-cum glistens at the tip, and I can feel the restraint in him, every muscle coiled tight as he fights for control. If I don’t give him what he wants soon, it will be agonizing, and fuck I want to be the one to shatter him, to push him over the edge.

I lean forward, my tongue flicking over the tip, tasting him. The salty-sweetness lingers on my tongue as his groan rips through the silence, raw and guttural.

His fingers weave into my hair, gripping tightly, holding me in place as if letting go isn’t an option. This side of Noah—assertive, commanding, his dominance razor-sharp—has me breathless, craving more. I’ve never seen him like this, and it’s dangerous. Addictive. Irresistible.

I glance up, meeting his gaze as I take him into my mouth.

The moment our eyes connect, something shifts. His groan deepens, rough and desperate, and it fuels me. Slowly, he pushes forward, sliding deeper, testing my limits. I hollow my cheeks, taking him further, my tongue tasting the underside of his cock.

His grip tightens in my hair, his restraint slipping with each passing second. I’m completely his in this moment, surrendering to the way he commands, the way he looks at me like I’m the only person who matters. Every inch of me burns, desperate to please him, to drive him to the point of no return.

“You look so fucking hot with my cock in your mouth,” he growls, his voice rough, his words sending a shiver through me.

He pushes deeper, hitting the back of my throat, holding me there. His head tips back, eyes fluttering shut for a moment as he lets himself sink into the sensation.

When his gaze comes back to mine, it’s raw, unrelenting, blazing with need.

Without breaking eye contact, he pulls back only to thrust forward again, the movement deliberate and desperate. He fucks my mouth with a rhythm that leaves me breathless, every thrust sending a jolt of heat straight through me. I lose myself in him, in the way he grips me, the way he claims me, the way he unravels me completely.

His grip tightens, anchoring me in place, and I surrender completely, letting him take what he needs. I relax my throat, yielding to his relentless thrusts as his groans wash over me—low, raw, and utterly unrestrained.

They fuel me, each sound a spark that sets my body ablaze. I glance up, catching the way his face contorts in pleasure, and it’s breathtaking. In this moment, with him unraveling above me, a truth I’ve buried deep rises to the surface: I’ve always loved him. Always. No matter how broken we are, no matter the tangled mess of our past, I always will.

I feel his cock throb against my tongue, the pulsing rhythm perfectly in sync with the guttural groans spilling from his lips. His release comes in a powerful rush, warm and unrelenting, as his thrusts slow to a deliberate, almost reverent pace.

He groans my name, rough and wrecked, and the way he says it sends a sharp ache through my chest—a want, need, craving. I want him. All of him. Inside me. Around me. Until there’s nothing left but this raw, consuming need.

His grip on my hair loosens, his fingers relaxing, but he doesn’t let go entirely. He holds me there, his touch gentler now as he rides out the last waves of his release, every drop spilling down my throat.

His gaze stays on me, heavy with something deeper—something unspoken. Even as the moment begins to fade, I feel it settling between us, an undeniable truth neither of us can say.

For a brief moment, he stills, his cock softening against my tongue as tension coils thick in the air. His fingers slide from my hair to cup my cheek, the gesture tender and fleeting. And there it is—something familiar and haunting. The look he gave me before I left, before I shattered us into pieces.

A question arises: Has he forgiven me?

The silence stretches before he finally pulls away, withdrawing from my mouth and pulling me to my feet. His arm circles my waist, firm and possessive, pressing our bodies together as though he can’t bear to let go. His hand brushes the hair from my face, his thumb tracing my cheek with a tenderness that nearly undoes me. I see it—the hesitation, the flicker of vulnerability. He swallows hard, his throat working as if he wants to say something.

But nothing comes.

Then, the softness is gone.

His hand shifts to my throat, his dominance reasserted, as his lips collide into mine. The kiss is frantic, all-consuming as my body melts into his. His need is wild, untamed, and I’m swept away by it.

He guides me to the bed, his grip unyielding, his intent clear. He lays me down, positioning himself at my entrance, and before I can prepare, he thrusts forward in one powerful, unrelenting motion.

A sharp hiss escapes me as he fills me completely, stretching me, consuming me. The sensation overwhelms my body, a mix of pain and pleasure that leaves me trembling beneath him.

He doesn’t give me a moment to adjust, doesn’t hold back. His hips snap against mine, his pace primal and punishing. Each thrust is a surge of raw, unchecked power, driving into me. Pain and pleasure blur into something electric, sparking through my body with every relentless stroke. I gasp, back arching as I lose myself in the storm of him.

His gaze locks onto mine, intense and unyielding, and I feel it—the way he claims me, body and soul. Every motion, every thrust, is a declaration, a reminder that no matter what’s broken between us, this fire will never burn out.

My nails dig into his thigh, and the sharp sting only seems to drive him harder, faster, each thrust more brutal than the last. I can’t think—there’s no space for anything but him, no room for rational thought. Every movement tears me apart and puts me back together again. My body trembles as he stills for a moment, leaving me gasping, desperate for more.

“Noah, please.” The words tumble from my lips, raw and broken, heavy with the weight of everything I feel. Desire, hunger, need—it all bleeds into my voice, a plea I don’t fully understand. I’m not even sure what I’m asking for. More time? A deeper connection? Just him, every part of him.

His voice cuts through the charged air like a blade, low and commanding, a dark promise woven into every word. “If you want it…” His hand grips my chin, tilting my face so I’m forced to meet his gaze. “Then take it.”

Before I can process his words, he flips us with a swift, fluid motion. A startled squeal escapes me, and my heart pounds as realization hits—he’s giving me control. Daring me to take it. The shift in power ignites something wild within me.

I don’t hesitate. My hips roll, taking in every inch of him completely, every movement driving me deeper into a haze of pleasure. Each shift sends jolts of arousal as my body finds its rhythm.

“Fuck,” he groans, the sound guttural and unrestrained, his hands sliding up my body, claiming me inch by inch. His fingers pinch my nipple, a sharp jolt of pleasure tearing through me, and I can’t help the moan that spills from my lips. His voice drops, darker now, dripping with authority. “Play with your pussy,” he orders.

My hand moves instinctively, sliding between my legs, and the instant my fingers find my clit, the intensity spikes. Each stroke sends sharp bursts of pleasure through me, the sensation of his cock filling me mixing with the heat of my touch. It’s too much and not enough all at once.

“That’s it,” he urges, his voice strained as he watches. “Rub that little clit. I want to feel you fucking explode.”

I’m lost in the sensations, my body moving on autopilot as I chase the release dangling just out of reach.

His hands grip my waist, guiding me. His groans fill the air like music. His words are like gasoline poured on the fire raging within me.

“Yeah, ride me just like that. Fuck yourself on my cock—take it all. You know this pussy’s mine, don’t you? Show me how bad you fucking want it.”

His dominance, his raw, unfiltered need, pushes me over the edge, my hips moving faster, my fingers working my clit with frantic urgency.

Wet sounds fill the room, the heavy slap of our bodies colliding in rhythm with his deep, guttural groans. Sweat slicks over my skin, my muscles trembling, but I don’t stop. Can’t stop.

Each thrust drives me higher, his cock hitting places so perfect, so deep, I lose myself in the spiral of pleasure. My finger moves faster, winding me to the breaking point. I’m teetering on the edge, and when it snaps, it’s going to destroy me.

I’m close. So fucking close. One more stroke, one more thrust, and I know I’ll fall apart completely in the fiery chaos of him.

With a low, feral growl, Noah pushes my hand away, replacing it with his own.

His fingers move with precision, finding a rhythm that consumes me. A desperate moan tears from my lips, raw and unrestrained, as he strokes with skill and relentless focus.

My hips buck against him, chasing the pleasure he’s expertly drawing out of me. And then he finds it—that spot that makes me cry out, a sound so primal and needy it shocks even me.

“More,” I gasp, the word barely audible over the pounding of my heart. My voice is ragged, dripping with desire, and he doesn’t hesitate. His pace quickens, his touch rougher—exactly what I crave. My body burns, building higher and higher. I ride the wave, clinging to him, until it finally crashes down.

My orgasm hits me, ripping through me with devastating force. My back arches, my body trembling and shuddering as I call out his name, loud and unfiltered.

There’s no stopping it, no containing the ecstasy. My walls tighten around him, pulling him deeper, as I shatter completely, coming undone in his hands.

Before I can catch my breath, Noah flips us over with effortless strength. His hands grip my ass, and he takes control. I spread my legs wider, surrendering to him, offering myself completely. My eyes lock onto his, and I can’t look away.

His face is a mask of raw desire, his lips parted as deep, guttural sounds escape him. He pushes back inside, filling me completely, claiming me with every rough, perfect thrust. And I think I might just break apart.

His mouth crashes down on mine, fierce and demanding. It’s not a kiss—it’s a storm. All-consuming, leaving me dizzy, trembling beneath him. I yield completely, lost in the fire of his touch, the way his body commands mine without hesitation.

Each thrust feels like a declaration, a conquest. He’s marking me, claiming me as his. I moan into his mouth, swallowing the savage groans spilling from him. His need is palpable, reflected in every kiss, every bite, every rough stroke.

Noah moves faster, harder, his body driving into mine with a force that makes the bed creak beneath us. My legs tighten around his waist, pulling him deeper, and I lose myself in him—his heat, his power, the way he knows exactly how to fuck me.

Finally, with one last, brutal thrust, he pulls out, a sharp growl tearing from his throat. His hand moves over his cock, pumping it as he releases over me, marking my stomach with his cum. He groans, the sound guttural, animalistic, as his gaze locks onto the mess he’s made.

“Fuck, look at you,” he says, his voice rough and low, still heavy with arousal. He strokes himself one last time, pumping out every drop, his eyes fixed on me. “So fucking hot dripping with my cum like you were made for it. I’d cover every inch of you if I could. That’s my mark on you.”

For a moment, he stays there, staring at me, his chest heaving with every breath. His gaze is unreadable, and an icy dread grips me in an instant. My mind flashes back to the equipment room, to the second he walked away. The second he treated me like nothing more than a fleeting moment. A mistake to be left behind.

My heart sinks as he turns away, reaching down to grab his shirt from the floor. This is it. He’s going to leave again, just like before. That hollow ache creeps in, familiar and unwelcome, wrapping around my chest like a vice.

But to my surprise, he turns back.

Without a word, he kneels by the side of the bed.

I blink at him, caught off guard, as he uses his shirt to wipe the streaks of cum from my stomach. His touch is soft, the fabric dragging gently over my skin. It’s such a simple act, but the tenderness in it stirs something deep. Like he’s taking care of me in a way I didn’t expect, in a way I didn’t know I needed.

When he’s done, he doesn’t pull away immediately. Instead, he leans down, pressing a tender kiss to my bare pussy. The touch is light, reverent even, and just when I think it’s over, his tongue flicks against my swollen clit—teasing, taunting. A low groan escapes me before I can stop it, my body arching involuntarily toward him, desperate for more of his touch.

He pulls back just enough to look up at me, his dark eyes glinting with satisfaction. That sexy, infuriating smirk spreads across his face—the one that says he knows exactly what he’s doing, knows exactly the effect he has on me.

And damn it, he’s right. My body responds to him like it’s his to command, and the worst part is, I don’t want to fight it. Not now. Not with the way he’s looking at me.

And fuck, I hate how much I love it.

I don’t move, my body heavy with exhaustion, every limb feeling weighted and slow. My chest tightens, and my vision blurs as tears threaten to spill over. The ache in my chest feels unbearable, an emptiness so vast it swallows me whole.

Noah’s hard to read now. Once I knew every nuance of him—his thoughts, his fears, his dreams. Now, he’s a puzzle with too many missing pieces, a mystery I can’t quite solve, no matter how hard I try. And that realization only makes the ache worse.

I watch as Noah climbs back into the bed. Without hesitation, he wraps his arms around me, pulling me into him like I belong there, like he needs me just as much as I need him. I close my eyes, letting the warmth of his embrace calm me.

There’s something unspoken in this moment, something fragile and achingly real. I don’t dare move or breathe too hard, afraid it might shatter.

Our eyes meet, locking in a silent conversation that feels heavier than anything words could carry. His gaze softens, and in it, I see a flicker of something I can’t name—something I don’t dare hope for.

Then, without warning, he leans in. His lips brush against mine in a kiss so soft, so tender, it makes my chest ache in a whole new way. This isn’t hunger or lust—it’s something deeper. A connection. A solace. It cracks something open inside me, stirs emotions I’ve buried so deep I didn’t think I’d ever feel them again.

A tear slips silently down my cheek, and I don’t bother to wipe it away. I love him. I always have. And as much as it terrifies me to admit it, I can’t keep it locked inside anymore.

My heart aches with the weight of everything I want to say, with the fear that he’ll never feel the same way. But I can’t hold it back. I need him to know. Even if he doesn’t reciprocate. Even if this moment is all we’ll ever have.

“I need to tell you something,” I whisper, my voice trembling. My heart pounds, each beat a desperate plea for courage. “Noah… my heart has always belonged to you. Even when I left. Even when I tried to forget. It’s always been you. I love you, Noah.” My voice cracks, the words carrying a lifetime of emotions.

Noah lifts his hand, his fingers brushing a tear from my cheek, the touch so gentle it almost breaks me.

I hold my breath, my heart pounding like a fucking drum in my chest as I wait for him to say something—anything.

The silence stretches out, each second dragging me deeper into uncertainty, like the moment could shatter if I breathe wrong.

His expression shifts, the hard edges of his face softening just enough for something real to bleed through. His hand lingers on my cheek, trembling slightly, and for a second, I think he might pull away.

“I…” He pauses, his throat working as he struggles to find the right words. Then, finally, he exhales sharply, like he’s ripping off a Band-Aid. “I love you too, Aubrey. I never fucking stopped loving you.”

His voice is low, just above a whisper, but it crashes into me like a wrecking ball, knocking the air from my lungs. Relief hits hard and fast, that makes my head spin. I search his eyes, desperate for confirmation that this isn’t just a moment, a slip of vulnerability he’ll regret later.

And there it is.

The truth. Bare and raw, staring back at me like it’s been there all along, waiting for me to see it. He’s always loved me. Even through the shit we’ve been through, even when we were apart and everything felt broken—he still loved me.

“You… you mean that?” I whisper, my voice breaking slightly, still scared to believe it.

Noah’s thumb grazes my cheek again, his gaze locked on mine. “Yeah,” he says, his voice low but steady. “I mean it. I’ve always loved you, Aub. Even when everything turned to shit.”

“I thought you hated me,” I whisper, my voice barely holding steady.

‘I tried to, at first, but I can’t, Aubrey. No matter how hard I tried, I just couldn’t.” Noah’s voice is rough, edged with the kind of honesty that hits me right in the chest. “You’ve always been it for me. Even when I was too much of an asshole to admit it.”

I can’t breathe. The vulnerability in his voice, the unguarded truth—it’s like nothing I’ve ever heard from him before.

Before I can find the words to respond, he leans in. His lips capture mine in a kiss so tender, so real. His mouth moves against mine slowly, deliberately, like he’s trying to tell me everything he’s never been able to say with words.

The kiss deepens, and I feel it—the weight of his love, his regret, his need—all wrapped up in this moment.

It’s not just a kiss. It’s a confession, a plea, a promise.

I wake earlier than usual, my body still sore from another long night of hot, heated sex. The ache is a sweet reminder of everything Noah did to me—every touch, every kiss, every filthy word whispered against my skin.

Since I told him I loved him, everything feels different. Deeper. Rawer. It’s like we’re channeling every unspoken emotion into each other, carving it into our bodies with every moment. I see it in the way he fucks me—with passion, with purpose, with love.

Rolling over carefully, the sheets slide against my bare skin, cool and soft. I smile when I see him still sleeping. My eyes roam over his face, memorizing every detail—the strong line of his jaw, the faint scruff dusting his chin, the curve of his lips.

God, those lips. The same ones that worshipped me last night, that kissed every inch of me with a devotion so dirty, it still sends heat flaring low in my stomach.

My gaze drifts lower, the steady rise and fall of his bare chest as he breathes. The early morning light filters through the curtains, casting shadows over the hard planes of his muscles, making him look impossibly beautiful. He’s at peace, utterly at ease.

In this moment, he’s everything. Perfect and real, raw in his stillness. Like the world narrows to just this—just us.

The sudden urge to capture him, to immortalize this exact moment, grips me fiercely. I need to draw him. Noah stripped down to his raw beauty.

Carefully, I slip out of bed, my movements slow and deliberate so not to disturb him. The coolness of the floor contrasts with the warmth of the bed, but I barely notice it. My eyes sweep the room, searching for my sketchbook. Then I remember—last night.

I was showing Noah my sketches, and in the heat of the moment, I didn’t care where the book ended up.

Scanning the room, I spot it half-hidden beneath a tangle of discarded clothes near the bed. I kneel, reaching for it, my fingers brushing the pages with a rush of relief. I flip through the drawings quickly, checking for any damage, but every line, every shadow remains untouched. Perfect.

Just like him.

I move around the room quietly, gathering my clothes from where Noah tossed them in last night’s haze. Pulling on my shirt and jeans, I grab my notebook and charcoal pencils before settling at the end of the bed.

Exhaling, I flip open the book to a blank page. My fingers take over, moving instinctively as if they’ve been waiting for this moment. The first lines are light and tentative, outlining the gentle slopes of his face and the strong angles of his jaw.

Line by line, shadow by shadow, I lose myself in the process. I blend the charcoal, perfecting the delicate curve of his lips, the faint scruff along his chin, the unruly strands of hair that fall across his forehead. With each stroke, Noah’s image emerges on the page, just as he is now.

I’m so immersed in the drawing that I don’t notice he’s awake until I glance up. His eyes are open, watching me, his expression soft and unreadable. That look—it’s the one that undoes me every time. It’s not just heat or desire; it’s something far deeper. Like he’s peeling back every layer of me and loving what he finds.

“Hey,” I say softly, a smile tugging at my lips.

He doesn’t respond right away, just keeps staring at me, his gaze flicking from my face to the sketchpad in my lap. A slow, lazy smile spreads across his face—pure Noah.

“You couldn’t resist, huh?” His voice is rough with sleep, teasing but tender.

“Stay still, or I’ll have to start over,” I murmur, trying to fight the heat rising in my cheeks.

But Noah just stretches, his smirk deepening. “Come here,” he says, his tone low and inviting.

Without hesitation, I set the sketchpad aside and crawl back onto the bed. He pulls me against him, his arms wrapping around me in that effortless way of his, and I melt into his warmth, letting the world fade away.

The sound of the front door opening shatters the moment. My stomach drops. Shit.

It’s Noah’s dad—and he’s not alone. I can hear his voice, low and steady, mingling with someone else’s. Probably his girlfriend.

I freeze, staring at Noah, who’s still sprawled across the bed like nothing’s wrong.

“You should get up. Now,” I hiss, panic clear in my voice.

Noah just smirks lazily, as if I’m overreacting.

“Seriously, Noah,” I snap, grabbing his arm and tugging him upright. My pulse is racing, and I’m already mentally bracing for the fallout if his dad walks in and finds us like this.

Noah groans in protest but doesn’t fight me. I toss his jeans at him, my movements frantic. My eyes scan the room, searching for his shirt, and then my heart sinks. I remember exactly where it is—used to wipe his cum off my stomach last night. Great. Just fucking great.

When I glance up, Noah’s already buttoning his jeans, his smirk as casual as ever. He steps toward me, so composed it’s almost maddening, and presses a kiss to the top of my head like we’re not in the middle of a damn crisis.

“Don’t panic,” he says, his voice low and steady, like he’s got everything under control. “He won’t come looking for us while he has Simone here.”

With that, Noah slips out of the room and heads across the hallway into his bedroom.

I stand there for a moment, my nerves still on edge, and turn to face the mirror above the dresser. My hair is a mess, my cheeks flushed from the rush of everything. I run my fingers through my hair, trying to smooth it down, as if that’ll somehow make me look more put-together.

I’m still trying to get my breathing under control when I spot him in the reflection, moving back into the room with a fresh shirt pulled over his head. Before I can say anything, he’s right behind me, slipping an arm around my waist, pulling me back against his chest.

His mouth finds the side of my neck, his breath warm and teasing as he presses a soft kiss to my skin.

“We should probably go out there,” he murmurs. His lips brush against my neck one last time before he pulls back slightly. “Relax, everything will work out.”

I nod, though the tightness in my chest and the unease twisting in my stomach don’t go away.

Noah squeezes my waist gently, his touch grounding me, and I feel my pulse settle just a little.

“Trust me,” he says, his voice firm, the assurance in it something I can’t quite argue with.