15. Raf
CHAPTER 15
RAF
The upside of Corvus College being small is that it’s easy to control. The downside is how fast news travels through the rumor mill. It comes as no surprise that there are whispers circulating by lunchtime, nor is it a shock when Chelsea corners me after my last class of the day, all fired up and looking for a fight.
“Is it true that the new girl is under the Kings’ protection?” she huffs when she confronts me outside the library, where a bunch of other students are milling around. Chelsea Carson does love a scene, after all.
“No,” I reply bluntly, decidedly not in the mood for her shit today. Then again, I rarely am.
“Why have Ford and Wes been escorting her to classes all day, then?” she questions, lips twisting in a scowl. “Did you guys really have her schedule changed to fit yours?”
“What about it?” I grumble.
She punches her hands on her hips, acting a little too emboldened for my liking. “Why? What’s going on?” she demands, as if she’s actually owed an explanation for anything we do.
I shrug boredly, moving to step past her. “Just keeping an eye on my new stepsister.”
“But why ? What’s so special about that girl?” she presses, snatching a handful of my shirt sleeve in a feeble attempt to stop me.
I flick her hand off with a frown. “Kings business. It’s none of your concern.”
I start to walk away again, but Chelsea lunges into my path, planting herself in front of me and refusing to give up. “It is if you’re making her your Doll,” she spits, her features twisted in anger.
I heave a sigh, scrubbing a hand over my face . I should’ve known this was coming.
Ford, Wes, and I are the most promising triad of our generation, but there’s one thing we’re still missing–our Doll. When new Kings are appointed every three years, girls line up to vie for the coveted position, but only one is chosen to serve them. That lucky girl has the distinct honor of living with her Kings and tending to their every need, and if she passes her initiation and trials alongside them, she not only becomes untouchable, but is also rewarded with a marriage pact after graduation to secure her future. It’s a time-honored custom. My mom was a Doll, and my dad was her King.
A lot of good that did her in the long run.
When Wes, Ford, and I were sworn in as Kings our sophomore year, the Invictus put forth recommendations for our Doll, and Chelsea Carson was at the top of the list. Not surprising, given her dad’s status as a past King and the fact she’s already been initiated into the society. I shut that shit down immediately– not because I give a single fuck about the spoiled princess or would balk at sharing her with my friends, but because I have no interest in claiming a Doll, period . I don’t trust anyone but Ford and Wes, and I refuse to allow some random bitch to invade our space and infringe on the good thing we’ve got going. The Invictus will just have to fucking accept it if they want us to ascend. Given the failed trials of the last four sets of Kings that came before us, they want us to ascend .
All the prior Kings chose their Doll in their first year, so we’ve decidedly gone against the grain by entering our second year of rule without one. The high council of the Invictus has started putting more pressure on us to choose– probably because Chels keeps whining to her dad about it– but we’ve continued kicking the can down the road, telling them that we’re still coming to a decision.
A decision that’ll never be made, if I can help it.
“Jesus, Chels, fucking let it go,” I groan, shoulder-barging past her.
She doesn’t. Instead, she yells after me in that annoyingly high-pitched voice of hers, drawing even more attention our way. “No, Raf, this is bullshit and you know it!”
I grind to a halt, whipping back around and stomping in her direction, getting right up in her space. “She’s not our fucking Doll, alright?” I hiss through gritted teeth. “We’re just putting her in her place.”
“So, is she sucking all your dicks then, or just Wes’?” she demands loudly.
My jaw clenches, hands curling into fists at my sides.
This definitely isn’t the time to test me. I’ve got a fight booked for Thursday night, but it’ll be a miracle if I can keep my rage contained until then. Chelsea’s playing with fucking fire.
Breathe, Raf.
You’re in control.
Grabbing Chels by the elbow, I yank her toward the front of the building, digging my fingers in with a grip that’s sure to bruise. Still, she doesn’t fight me. A smug smirk pulls at her lips as she trots happily by my side, pleased that she finally snared my undivided attention.
I drag her into the breezeway of the library, away from prying eyes since she’s obviously intent on making a scene.
“You know damn well what this is, Chels,” I growl as I slam her up against the wall between the two sets of double doors, crowding her in as shadows bleed into my vision. “If I wanna get my dick sucked, then I will. And if you like being the queen bee around here, then you won’t say a damn word about it.”
“But she’s your stepsister!” Chelsea whines. “That’s disgusting, Raf, how do you think that makes me look?”
“I don’t give a shit,” I snap back. “And even if I did, it wouldn’t matter, because she’s not getting anywhere near my dick. Wes and Ford can play with her all they want, but I have no interest in that slut.”
Chelsea visibly relaxes, a beat of silence falling between us as she reaches up to fiddle with the strap of my backpack on my shoulder. “You know I always wanted to be the Doll,” she mumbles, her eyes downcast. “When you told me you guys probably wouldn’t be taking one on this year, I was disappointed, but I got over it.” Her gaze lifts to meet mine, blue eyes wide. “If you’re claiming someone else as your Doll, though…”
“We’re not.”
My adamant response has nothing to do with providing Chelsea reassurance and everything to do with the fact that I despise Ava Morrow. A trashy little nobody like her doesn’t deserve to breathe the same air as the Kings, let alone have the honor of serving as our Doll.
I don’t want to reward Ava, I want to break her. Ruin her. Slice her open and watch her bleed.
“Okay, then,” Chelsea replies softly, angling her hips toward mine and looping her arms around my neck. “I just care about you, Raf. You and me, we make sense. We’re good together.”
I reach up to grab hold of her wrists, peeling her arms from around my neck. “We’re not together.”
“I’m not so insecure that I need to call you my boyfriend,” she scoffs, suddenly whistling a different tune. She presses a palm against my chest, gazing up into my eyes. “As long as we’re endgame, I don’t care how many skanks you bang along the way. That’s what college is all about, right? You’ve got your freedom and I’ve got mine.”
She’s rubbing up against me now like a doe in heat, sliding her hands down over my abs toward my belt. And as annoyed as I am with her, it seems my rapidly thickening cock has a mind of its own.
“C’mon,” I growl, grabbing her by the elbow again and directing her through the second set of double doors into the library.
A spark of victory ignites in her eyes as she stumbles along with me, all the way back to the accounting section where nobody else ever bothers to wander. I push her against the bookshelf along the rear wall and she throws up her hands to catch herself, gripping onto the wooden shelf. I swiftly press in behind her, kick her knees apart, and reach underneath her dress to yank her panties down her hips.
Chelsea doesn’t complain about my rough treatment. In fact, the only time the spoiled bitch isn’t complaining is when she’s taking my dick. I bunch her dress around her waist to bare her little round ass, and she sticks it out further, wiggling her hips in invitation as she darts me a sultry glance over her shoulder. She knows exactly what’s about to happen. This isn’t the first time I’ve fucked her in the library stacks, and it sure as shit won’t be the last.
Fucking helps keep the shadows at bay.
Dropping my backpack to the floor and my hands to my belt, I unfasten it and pop the button on my jeans, reaching inside my boxers to pull out my cock. I’m only at half mast, but it stiffens in my palm as I give it a few lazy strokes, rucking Chelsea’s dress higher up her waist with the other hand. She presses back against me, and I line the broad tip up with her opening, thrusting inside.
I bottom out in a single push, her warm, wet heat pulsing around me. Chelsea may be an insufferable brat, but I can’t deny that the pussy’s good, always slick and ready. She lets out a little moan as I rock back then shove in deeper, compelling me to reach around to cover her mouth with my hand. Digging the fingertips of my other hand into the flesh of her hip, I continue to slam my dick in and out of her tight cunt, setting a punishing rhythm.
Chelsea moans into my palm as I fuck her harder, the quiet slapping of my hips against her ass resonating around us in this abandoned section of the library.
Well, it’s usually abandoned.
I get a prickling sensation on the back of my neck like I’m being watched, and when I whip my head sideways, my eyes lock with another pair. They’re peeking out at me from over a shelf of books in the next aisle, and I’d recognize those big brown doe eyes anywhere.
Well hello, Ava baby.
I don’t know why Ford’s stupid nickname for my stepsister pops into my head, but suddenly I’m pounding into Chelsea even harder as my gaze remains fixed on Ava’s shocked eyes, wondering just how good her virgin pussy would feel wrapped around me instead.
Would she cry?
Fuck, I love when they cry.
Perhaps most surprising is the fact that Ava doesn’t immediately run off or even look away in embarrassment. She just stares into my fucking soul as I rail Chelsea up against the stacks, her screams muffled behind my palm and my orgasm barreling down on me in record time.
My muscles tense, eyes squeezing shut as I punch my hips forward a final time, groaning through my climax. All my stress melts away in an instant as a wave of unbridled pleasure washes over me, the shadows inside me fleeing.
By the time I catch my breath and open my eyes again, Ava’s gone.