Royal Havoc

33. Teased Confessions

thirty-three

Teased Confessions

Tulip: 2013 Age: 16

T he clue Bolton gave me about the truth hurting me has me completely obsessed. I want answers. I hate secrets as much as I hate lies.

Dan walks beside me down the hall, peering from the corner of his eye at me every few steps. “I’m fine. I promise not to cause any trouble.”

I’m sure I hear him breathe a sigh of relief. “You have your key?” he asks me softly before we reach B’s door.

“Yes,” I whisper, watching him slide his key into the lock. Dan nods as I slip past him into B’s room.

“Tulip?” B gasps, shooting to his feet.

Once Dan’s footsteps disappear, I walk to B’s desk, raising myself up to sit on it. The moon’s shadowed rays are our only source of light.

“Where did you go?” I ask, peering at his face, wishing my eyes would adjust quicker to the darkness.

“It won’t happen again,” he answers hesitantly.

The excitement of our unsupervised meeting fades with each passing second. Instead, the anger of the unknown taunts me, shifting my mood. The secret he’s keeping consumes me.

“That’s not what I asked. Tell me what it is, so I know what isn’t going to happen again,” I press seriously, fighting off my greed.

He rubs his face and begins to pace, dragging out the heavy moment shadowing us. His silence is close to driving me insane with worry.

I’m about to speak when he abruptly stops in front of me. “I went to Sasha’s room,” he tells me, stepping between my spread legs.

“Why?” I hiss without thinking, completely caught off guard by his answer.

I’ve come to learn The Row demands the truth. Same as Bolton. So, I’ll admit, the cringy stuff he brought up in his office has been affecting me, which is why I’ve been going to the library. There are some amazing things in books. Things I would never dare ask Bolton about. They’re more of a learn-by-doing type questions.

What I’m getting at, is that I didn’t understand why he brought it up at the time. When he said I’d be mad, I thought he meant Brock was leaving. This… what Brock just said has me tripping over my thoughts to catch up.

He narrows his stare. “She gave me a blow job.”

I honestly forget how to breathe for a second. “Why,” I rasp, all thoughts gone as I blink up at him stupidly.

His laugh is full of shock. “Cause I wanted her too.”

“How many times?”

“Does it matter?” he counters jokingly, stormy eyes dancing between mine.

“Yes,” I answer sharply, fixated on the new answer I’m searching for.

His brows dip as sadness starts to fill his eyes. “Three,” he whispers softly.

I let his answer brew inside me as I silently vow to make her pay for each time.

“Why didn’t you ask me?”

He sighs loudly, spinning around, and storms to the window, avoiding my accusing stare. “We’re friends. You want us to be friends,” he rushes to clarify. “You won’t even flirt with me,” he mumbles to himself.

“I don’t know how to flirt,” I admit shyly.

How doesn’t he know he’s the only person I care about in this ugly, useless world? Brock’s mine. No one else is allowed to have him. If anyone tries to take him from me, I’ll happily dance in their blood.

Long seconds slip by. The only disturbance is the flickering light, stabbing at the silence festering around us. I wish I could crawl into his brain and dissect all his thoughts. I’d slice out the ones about that whore and laugh when I finally got to make her choke on them.

“I’m sorry if I hurt you, princess,” he says, drawing me from my daydream.

His eyes never lie, which is why I’ve grown to trust him.

“You’re mine, Brock,” I answer simply.

He peers across the short distance, thinking about what I’ve said. He’s a thinker, always planning and figuring out the world one silent thought at a time. I remember I asked him once if he could teach me so I’d be smart like him. He laughed and told me I was methodical enough on my own. I had to ask Bolton what it meant.

Later, I told B he was good with words, and he corrected me by saying “English.” I didn’t even get mad when he chuckled at me.

“Your what?” he finally asks.

I smile wickedly, the thought of what he’s asking making my insides sing. “Everything,” I tell him, giggling from the wetness I feel clinging to my panties. “Come here,” I order sweetly, wiggling my finger. He approaches me cautiously. “Sit,” I order, using my foot to slide the wooden chair from his desk.

Hesitantly, he sits, studying me closely. “What are —”

“Shhh.” I stop him by pressing a finger to his lips.

The jumpsuit Bolton allows me to wear is uncomfortable to sleep in. So, I wear the awful orange shirt and pants at night.

His brows shoot up when I lean back on the desk, spreading my legs wide, letting him see the wetness staining the ugly pants.

“What are —”

“Shhh.” Silencing him again with my finger. “Don’t make me shove something in your mouth,” I whisper, tapping the tip of his nose playfully.

His eyes narrow evilly as he watches me lean back again and slowly slide my hands up the inside of my thighs. “At night, I think about you.” Sliding my fingers over the wetness. “I get so wet.” Starting to draw small circles over my swollen button, purring at how good it feels because he’s watching me. “I think about you shoving your cock in me. I wonder if it will hurt?”

“Tulip,” he grits, pressing his palm on the rod I see tenting his pants.

I bite my lip, loving the madness I see tormenting him. Removing my hand, leaning forward until our breaths mingle. “Did you fuck her?” I ask.

“No,” he sneers, grimacing before he pulls away.

“Do you think about me?” I ask nicely, fluttering my lashes, wondering if this is what he means by flirting.

He notices me staring at his lips as I lick mine. I slide off the desk, taking the few steps to reach him. Slowly, I straddle his legs, feeling his thickness. The sensation of him pressed against me washes over me like waves of warm water.

Once I relax, he grinds his teeth, jaw muscles flexing under his skin. I reach into my bra, removing the razor blade I keep tucked against my skin. “Give me your arm.” He raises it, and I bend his elbow, moving it so the lower part is across his chest. Glancing down at the outside of his forearm as I roll my hips, making him growl as I hiss.

Pressing the tip of the blade to his skin. “You’re mine.” I remind him, rolling my hips as I drag the metal through his skin. “Forever.” Admiring the M I’ve carved into him. He begins to tremble beneath me, forcing himself not to move. “If she looks at you.” Grinding my swollen button over him, watching his blood run from the I. “I’ll dig her eyes out of their sockets with a spoon.” He growls, fisting the hem of my shirt with his free hand as I carve the N. “I’ll slice your fucking dick off if you ever go near her again,” I warn, smearing his blood, tracing the E hard with my fingertip.

Quickly, I stand, stepping back, excitedly taking in my beautiful work. Blood oozing down his arm painting his skin red while his cock throbs inside his pants for me.

Bending so we’re eye to eye. “I love you, B.” Smashing my lips to his, stealing my first kiss.

“Where are you going?” he asks as soon as I step away.

Glancing over my shoulder, giggling at his wicked glare. “To bed. Bad boys get teased. See you tomorrow.” Blowing him a kiss before slipping quietly out the door.

Once I’m locked in my room, I fall back against the cold metal, smiling so hard my face instantly hurts.