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

Cruel Intentions: Chapter 8



Noah

Having Aubrey so close today has fucked me up in ways I can’t even begin to explain. The taste of her lips, the feel of her body pressed against mine—it’s burned into me like a brand, and no matter how hard I try, I can’t put out the fire. I’ve already jerked off twice today, trying to exorcise her from my head, but it’s useless.

When I left the gym, I thought about finding someone else, anyone else, to fuck and drown her out. But I knew it wouldn’t work. It’s her I’d be thinking about, just like I always do. Every other girl I’ve fucked becomes her in my head, a stand-in, a pale imitation that only makes the ache sharper. I’m fucking pathetic, haunted by someone who’ll never stay.

It took every shred of self-control I had today not to lose it—not to take what I wanted. I felt her everywhere, tight and perfect under my hands, and I knew if I gave in, I’d come apart. She’d worm her way back into my life, tear me apart piece by piece, and then leave in ruin all over again, just like before.

That first time? It damn near fucking destroyed me. I barely managed to put myself back together, and I know I wouldn’t survive another round.

But the pull is still there—relentless, maddening. It doesn’t matter, though. I can’t let her back in. So I’ll sit here with this torment, this ache that won’t go away, because it’s better than the pain of losing her again.

It has to be.

Sitting in my bedroom, the darkness swallowing me whole, I take a slow drag from my joint, letting the burn in my lungs ground me. I adjust my hard cock, already aching because she’s in my head again. Fucking Aubrey. No matter what I do, she’s always there, clawing her way back into my mind like she owns it.

I try to shove her aside, but it’s a losing battle. So I let my anger shift to someone else: my so-called mother. Or the ghost of her, because that’s all she’s ever been to me.

Ever since I got home, Dad’s been on my case about her—about how she’s reached out again, wanting to “reconnect.” As if I give a shit about her or the half-siblings she decided were worth staying for.

What pisses me off the most is Dad backing her up, acting like it’s some noble fucking mission to give her another chance. He knows what she did to us—how she walked away and left us both broken without so much as a glance back. So why the hell is he pushing for this now?

Just hearing her name dredges up all the shit I’ve spent years trying to bury, the same way I’ve been trying to bury every memory of Aubrey.

But the past never stays buried, does it? It claws its way to the surface, dragging you under until you can’t fucking breathe. Right now, it feels like I’m drowning in both of them.

I take another hit from my joint, holding it in until the haze starts to settle over me, softening the edges of my thoughts. It’s temporary, fleeting—but I’ll take it. Anything to quiet the relentless loop playing in my head.

Then Tia’s bullshit flashes through my mind, the way she’s been acting toward Aubrey. I don’t condone it—it’s petty and vindictive—but I’m not about to step into their mess. It’s not my place to fix their drama. And Aubrey doesn’t need me to. She’s always been able to hold her own. She’ll stand up to Tia when she’s had enough.

Aubrey’s strong like that. Tia lets her insecurities spill out all over the place, so messy and grating it drives me insane.

But Aubrey? She’s the opposite. She’s composed, a force of nature, and my fucking kryptonite.

She’s my one glaring weakness in a world where I’ve fought so hard to stay untouchable. And that’s the worst part. I know how dangerous it is to let her get under my skin again, but it doesn’t stop me from wanting her.

I take another drag, letting the smoke escape in slow, curling wisps, like maybe it could carry away some of this pent-up frustration with it. One more year. I keep telling myself that. Counting down the days until I can finally break free and figure out who the hell I’m supposed to be. But no matter how much I want that freedom, the thought of leaving my dad behind hits hard.

Since she walked out and left us shattered, I’ve been his whole world. He never complained, never crumbled—just picked up the pieces and carried them like they weren’t crushing him. He became everything I needed, both parents rolled into one. And I’ve felt it every step of the way—his love, his pride, his unwavering belief in me, even when I didn’t fucking deserve it.

The thought of him sitting here alone after I leave. It fucking wrecks me. Twists something deep inside. He gave up so much for me, and I can’t stop wondering how he’ll handle it once I’m gone. Maybe I can find a college close by—someplace that lets me come home on weekends, keep him company, make sure the silence she left behind doesn’t drown him.

Fuck my mother for what she did to us. For walking away and leaving us wrecked while she built a shiny new life, like we were nothing but a chapter she could rip out and rewrite. She’s moved on, but the scars she left… They still ache like fresh wounds—on me, on my dad. She hasn’t been a mother to me in years, not in any way that matters. And yet, her shadow still hangs over him.

It drives me insane, the power she still holds over him. Maybe, deep down, he still loves her, no matter what she did to us. Maybe that’s what love does—it fucks you up, digs in, and refuses to let go no matter how hard you try to bury it.

I get it. God, do I fucking get it. It’s the same way I feel about Aubrey. It’s not like I want to feel this way. Not after all the ways she cut me open without even trying. But no matter how many times I tell myself to move on, to forget, the feeling sticks.

They leave, both of them, and the pain should fade, right? But then they come back, like ghosts stirring up everything you thought you’d buried. And just like that, you’re fucked all over again.

I lift the joint to my lips, ready to take another hit, but pause when voices drift in through the open window. Low murmurs, cutting through the stillness. It pulls my attention, and I move closer, leaning against the frame. The streetlights outside cast jagged shadows across the yard, flickering as the leaves shift in the breeze.

That’s when I see them—Jace and Aubrey, standing way too fucking close in front of her house.

What the fuck is Jace doing with Aubrey?

My grip tightens around the joint, my chest burning—and it’s not from the smoke. Seeing them stirs something sharp and raw inside me, a mix of anger and something worse I can’t even name.

My mind spins with infinite possibilities, none of them comforting. If Jace is pulling some fucked-up stunt on her, adding to the shitstorm she’s already dealing with, I’ll step in without a second thought. The way he looked at her today—like she was just another toy to play with—pisses me off. My fists are already itching, ready to knock some sense into him.

I stand there, tension coiling tight in my chest, as Aubrey steps away, only for Jace to grab her arm, stalling her. The sight of his hand on her twists something ugly in my gut. This damn well better not be Jace doing Tia’s dirty work, plotting some bullshit against Aubrey. Knowing the two of them, it wouldn’t surprise me. Tia’s probably already sucked Jace off to get him to play along. That’s their thing, always trading favors for favors, using each other like pawns in some fucked-up chess match.

But not this time. Not with Aubrey.

After the shit that happened between me and Tia today, I won’t think twice about telling her to fuck off, no matter how it looks to anyone else—or even if Aubrey finds out how I still feel about her. I can deny that shit in a heartbeat if I have to. They forget who they’re dealing with.

I’ve been ignoring Tia’s relentless texts all night. She’s been blowing up my phone since this afternoon, flipping between flirting and calling me a bastard because I won’t reply. It’s exhausting. She’s getting bolder too, acting like she’s wearing some damn invisible crown, like she’s some fucking queen born to rule the world.

Well, fuck that. Doesn’t she get it? I’m not interested. I never have been, and I never will.

I stub out my joint, ready to storm outside and rip Jace’s hand off her myself, but I stop when I see Aubrey yank her arm free and bolt up the front path. Relief barely settles in before my gaze snaps back to Jace, still standing there, still watching her. He’s lingering, and it makes my blood boil all over again.

Why the fuck is she even with him in the first place? My thoughts won’t stop spiraling, one question louder than the rest: has she changed that much?

The girl I knew—hell, the girl I loved—wouldn’t have been caught dead with someone like Jace Cooper. I used to know her better than anyone. Every thought, every feeling, every little look she gave me.

But then the rumors start creeping back into my head, like a bad soundtrack stuck on repeat. I can’t shake the image of those condoms spilling out of her bag. What the fuck was that about? And the thought of her with Jace—him, with his shitty reputation and the way he talks about girls like they’re nothing more than walking orgasms—twists something deep inside me.

A surge of protectiveness tears through me, gnawing at my insides. I don’t want her anywhere near him.

But then a voice in the back of my head cuts through the noise with the truth: I’ve talked about her the same way. Like she’s just some easy lay, a quick fuck. I’ve used the same degrading shit Jace would say, and now I hate myself for it. What the fuck is wrong with me?

From my hidden vantage point, I watch as Jace walks off down the street, disappearing into the shadows. A jagged spike of frustration slams through me. The urge to storm out there, confront him, demand to know why the fuck he was with her, why he dared to ignore my warning after I told him she was off-limits, claws at me. But I hold back.

If I go out there, if I confront him, it’ll expose everything—that I’ve been watching them, that I’m obsessed with the girl next door, that I care way more than I’ll admit to anyone.

My gaze shifts to Aubrey’s house when her bedroom light flickers on. I edge closer to the window, my body moving on its own, like some desperate stalker.

I can’t tear myself away.

I don’t want to.

She moves across the room, her steps heavy like she’s too exhausted to keep up any walls. My eyes track her every move. She pulls her hair out of its ponytail, the strands falling messily around her face. She’s not trying to impress anyone—she’s just… her.

And I can’t look away.

I watch as she tugs her shirt over her head, her movements slow and weary. All I can think is how much I miss her. And how much I fucking hate myself for it.

She’s so goddamn beautiful it fucking hurts. Every detail of her is etched into my mind—her eyes, her lips, the way she moves, the way she was. Incredibly fuckable, in a way that makes it hard to breathe. And every time I think about her being with someone else—him—it tears me apart.

The idea that Jace might’ve touched her, that he might’ve heard her moan and scream, twists my insides into something ugly and raw. Did I push her toward him? Was it the way I acted—like she didn’t matter to me, like she was nothing? I was too proud, too fucking scared to admit how much I needed her. How much I’ve always needed her.

And the thought of Jace pretending to care, acting like he gives a shit, sets my blood on fire. But the worst part—the thing that eats me alive—is wondering if she’s falling for his bullshit.

The Aubrey I knew wouldn’t have. She would’ve told him to fuck off, seen through his bullshit without breaking a sweat. But now? I don’t know her anymore. She’s not the same.

And that thought… it fucks me up more than anything else.

I stand there, frozen, my gaze locked on her as she slips off her boots, then her jeans. Each movement is slow, deliberate, like she knows the power she holds, making every nerve in my body hum with awareness. My pulse spikes—wild, erratic—as I take in the curve of her hips, the smooth line of her legs, the effortless grace in the way she moves. She’s fucking beautiful—no, more than that. She’s a goddamn vision, and I’m powerless to look away.

And then, just as I’m losing myself, she looks up.

Her eyes meet mine, catching me in the act. The air leaves my lungs in a sharp rush, and for a moment, time seems to freeze.

Surprise flashes across her face, but it’s fleeting—replaced by something unreadable. It feels like she can see straight through me, like she knows every dark, twisted thought racing through my mind right now, knows exactly how much I want her. And yet, I’m the one left breathless.

Everything in me aches to fix what’s broken. To end this war we’ve been waging, to bridge the chasm between us. I want her back. I want to hear her laugh again, see her smile light up the room like it used to, before everything went to shit. But I don’t know how to undo the damage I’ve done, how to rebuild something I’ve spent so long tearing down.

Memories flood in, unrelenting. Her laughter, her touch, her voice—each one sharper than the last. But the one that destroys me, the one that haunts me, is her walking away. That moment is seared into me like a scar that won’t heal.

Her eyes drag down my bare chest, slow and deliberate, like she’s trying to carve every inch of me into her memory. But it’s when her gaze lands lower that my pulse kicks up. She doesn’t just glance—she fucking stares—at the bulge of my cock, thick and throbbing beneath the thin fabric of my grey sweatpants. I don’t bother hiding it. What’s the point? The air between us is already thick with all the shit we’re too scared to say.

I let my hand drop, fingers brushing against the rigid outline of my cock, a small stroke that feels more like a dare than anything else. My jaw tightens as I look at her, the silence daring her to admit what we both already know—that this isn’t just tension. It’s years of unsaid words, buried feelings, and all the fucked-up, messy shit that’s kept us apart.

The thought of how she felt under my hands today is fucking torture, it spurs my body on. The way her body responded, the soft, breathless moans that came with every stroke of my fingers —they’ve burned themselves into my brain, a cruel, unrelenting loop. It’s not just the memory of her tight pussy or the way her lips parted as she tried to hold back the sounds that killed me. It’s what she did to me—how she unraveled every shred of control I had and left me wanting like I’ve never wanted before.

Now, all I can think about is turning the tables. Making her feel the same unbearable pull, the same aching need that’s tearing me apart. I want to strip her bare, inch by inch, until she’s trembling, her every thought consumed by me.

The tension between us crackles like a live wire, sparking in the air, sharp and electric. Her gaze holds mine, dark and unflinching, like she’s trying to strip me bare. My hand moves, slow and deliberate, stroking my cock just enough to push the edge—a test, a dare for her to look away, to break first. But she doesn’t.

Her gaze remains steady, unwavering, but there’s something in her eyes—a flicker of raw, unfiltered need that sets my pulse racing.

It’s subtle, almost imperceptible, but it’s there. A challenge. One I’m more than willing to meet. My hand dips lower, pushing past my waistband, freeing my cock. The air shifts when I do it, her throat working as she swallows, her lips parting just slightly before her tongue flicks out to wet them.

That subtle reaction wrecks me more than it should. A groan rumbles in my chest, low and guttural, as my imagination spirals. I can see it—her lips around me, taking me in inch by inch, the stretch of her jaw as she tries to take more. My fingers tangling in her midnight-black hair, guiding her movements until there’s nothing left but the dizzying need to lose myself in her.

My hand moves faster, the slick rhythm filling the space between us. My cock is rock hard, each stroke sending sharp jolts through me, coiling the pressure low in my gut. My breaths come in uneven, shallow gasps at the sight of her—her parted lips, her rising chest—drags me closer to the edge.

Her name tears from my throat in a broken growl as I come, the release blinding, hot, spilling over my hand. “Aubrey.” Her name feels like a confession, raw and unguarded, cutting through the layers I’ve built around myself.

My body shudders with the force of it, the pleasure sharp and all-consuming as my strokes slow, dragging out every last ounce of pleasure.

When I finally look back at her, her breathing is uneven, her chest heaving as if she’s fighting the same battle I am. Her eyes are unreadable, but the way she stares—like she’s as wrecked as I am—tells me I’ve ruined her, just as much as she’s fucking ruined me.

My cock still hangs out of my sweatpants, but I don’t give a shit. I move closer to the window, drawn to her like I always am. Her stare pins me in place, unrelenting, cutting through every shitty wall I’ve put up. Aubrey. Fucking Aubrey. She sees too much. She always has.

No other girl has ever made me feel this exposed, this raw. No one else fucks with my head the way she does.

I reach up, grabbing the curtains in a single sharp move, and yank them shut. The abruptness feels like ripping off a bandage, cutting her off the only way I can. A fucking coward’s move, but it’s all I have.

For a moment, I stand there, paralyzed, my hand clutching the curtain like letting go of it would mean letting go of her too. Every nerve in my body screams for her, demands I open the curtains again, to see her, to find some proof that whatever this is, it isn’t just tearing me apart.

But I don’t. I can’t.

Instead, I stay there, frozen, the weight of her name lingering in the air, tearing me apart from the inside out.


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