Brat: Winchester Academy Book 2 Read online

  “Hey, it’s just school bullshit. Don’t let it get to you.”

  That may be the case, and I know she means well, but there’s one thing that Ramona doesn’t know. And that’s that deep down, I freaking want Beckett Truman. Deep down, I’m may be a little obsessed with him. Those blond locks, those blue eyes. Those arms that look like they were made for picking me up and throwing me around. The way I can even get a glimpse of what he’ll look like grown up, since Porter, his twenty-seven-year-old adoptive brother and our new Math teacher, just looks like an older, just as hot version of him, even if Porter was adopted.

  …Okay, and if we’re being honest here, there’s a chance I’ve let my eyes linger on Porter more than few times. Many times, actually. About as many times as he’s crept into my darkest, dirtiest dreams, actually. Which I can say, has made sitting in his class in the front row right in front of the hottest teacher at school more than a little… fidgety.

  I wave both Kara and Ramona off. “Hey, I didn’t come here for Beckett Truman. Let’s find drink—”

  “Well now might be your chance.”

  “Huh?” I frown as I glance back at Kara, who just grins at me.

  “Your chance to hook up.”

  “Kara, I don’t—”

  “Because he’s walking over here right now.”

  Shit.

  I whirl back, and my heart jumps into my throat. My core tightens, and when those blue eyes pierce right into mine as he effortlessly moves his six-foot-four frame through the crowd, heat pools between my legs. I glance back and notice Kara and Ramona melting away into the party, and when I turn back, I gasp as I see the heat in Beckett’s eyes only burn fiercer as he marches right for me.

  Right for me, jaw pulled into a smug, gorgeous grin, and a hunger blazing in his eyes that has me hot, trembling, and wet.

  The school’s Queen is about to come face-to-face with the King.

  Let the games begin.

  2

  Beckett

  When I see her, the same thing happens that always happens when my eyes land on Kempton Carlisle. My pulse quickens, my hands tighten to fists, my jaw clenches. A fire burns through my veins, a devil roars up inside of me. My cock thickens to steel between my thighs, and my balls ache for release.

  And this happens every fucking time I see her. It has for years, and tonight is no exception. I didn’t expect to see her here. Hell, I honestly didn’t except to see anyone from school here. Although, I guess Kara Lowe being here makes some sense, seeing as it’s her brother Justin’s party. Justin and my adopted brother and best friend, Porter, go way back. They were both at Winchester together back when I was a kid. Both of them helped take the Raiders to a division title their senior year too. And then both of them went to work on Wall Street together too. Justin’s back in the area to start as VP of acquisitions for a new hedge fund. Porter’s back, oddly, hilariously, and maybe a little annoyingly, as my new fucking math teacher. I mean, the guy’s a genius, so I guess it makes sense.

  And as much as I want to shit on the fact that Porter is cramping my senior year, if anything, he’s only made it better, in terms of social standing. I mean, how many seniors get to live off-campus and have a car? Normally, there’s no fucking way Winchester would allow that. But Principal Kane knows Porter from way back, and the whole damn school remembers him for being both the football hero and the guy that took our unheard-of math team to nationals. So when he asked if I’d rather live with him in my own room in his apartment downtown, and that he’d already cleared it with the school, you bet your ass I said yes.

  I know, king of the school, football star, and badass rep of having my own place and car? I should be a regular fixture at parties, and the girls who throw themselves at me pretty much daily should be regular fixtures in my bed. But that ain’t the case. Not since my eyes landed on Kempton Carlisle and just fucking stuck there.

  I’ve been the star of the football team since the day I landed here at Winchester. Add to that the background with my family—the dad most of my friends have seen quoted in the Wall Street Journal, the mother they’ve definitely looked up pictures of online—and I’ve been one of the hottest tickets in this school since day one. And with the fame and the status came the girls, of course. Cheerleader groupies, the daughters of socialites who’ve been taught that high school is the place to nail down a future congressman or hedge fund manager for eventual marriage. And when I was young, yeah, I let all of that bullshit pull me under. But not lately. I know this is where I’m supposed to say that I’ve shoved all that away in favor of making football my top priority, but it’s not.

  It’s her. It’s been because of Kempton.

  She’s eighteen, like me. Long gorgeous red hair that falls halfway down her smooth back. Blue eyes, pouty pink lips that were made to wrap around my cock. Mouthwatering tits, an ass that I’d give an arm to feel bouncing in my lap. In laymen’s terms, Kempton’s the female version of me at Winchester. Captain of the varsity cheer squad, the object of every guys fantasy, and the undisputed top of the social food chain. The queen to my king, you could say.

  Social normalcies say we should have hooked up years ago. I mean, star quarterback and the gorgeous cheer captain? That Hollywood script writes itself. And yet, it’s never happened.

  …But that’s about to change.

  Yeah, I know the stories. I know how every other guy in school, however much they want her, won’t even attempt to pick her up. I mean, the purveying thought is basically “how the fuck do you compete with some of the guys she’s apparently been dating”? Kempton Carlisle isn’t just high school royalty. She’s like a notch or ten above that. She dates men twice our age—rich guys with boats and shit. Industry tycoons. I’ve even heard about her dating a prince or some shit.

  Every guy at Winchester, no matter how many notches they’ve got on their belt or how easy it is for them to get laid at weekend parties, is essentially scared of Kempton Carlisle.

  …Every guy except me.

  It’s not that I’m cockier, or more arrogant than them. It’s not that I’m braver or any of that shit. It’s just that I don’t fucking care. I’ve had my eye on Kempton for longer than I care to even admit, and I’ve wanted her for just as long. We travel in the same social circles of course. We’ve talked, and bantered, and even flirted.

  And I’m tired of it. I’m tired of watching her breath catch when I move close to her, only for her to leave at the end of the night alone, without me. I’m tired of watching her lip catch when I talk to her, my eyes locked on hers, unflinchingly. I’m tired of watching her soft pink tongue dart out to wet those pouty lips without me tasting them. I’m tired of watching her on the sidelines at practice or at games, that tight little body undulating and bouncing, and twirling around, like fucking bait on a stick right in front of my nose, without me reaching out to take it.

  I’m tired of moving in slow motion. I’m tired of wanting her and not doing anything about. I’m tired of Kempton Carlisle not being mine. It’s like an itch that’s been building. A paper cut I can’t stop picking at. A scorching need that’s been burning up inside of me to the point of fucking madness. And I don’t know what changes tonight when I see her, but when I do spot her across the room, and when our eyes lock, I just know.

  …I know I’m done playing games with her. I know I’m done dancing around this. I’m done not claiming her mouth with mine, or not hearing her moan as I pull her against me, or not tasting her when I pull her little panties away from her sweet little pussy with my teeth.

  I don’t give a fuck who she’s dated—football captains, rich married guys, or princes. Because none of those guys are me, and it’s time Kempton realizes that. The fact that she’s not someone’s wife right now tells me none of those men deserved her. None of them could throw her around, hold her close, or pin her to the bed while fucking her exactly like a little wildcat like her deserves and needs to be fucked. And I know damn well none of them could give her a cock like mine.

  So fuck the stories. Fuck the past. And when our eyes lock there across the room of Justin Lowe’s party, I know I’m done with the games. Maybe it’s the special brand of courage that comes from being football royalty in a school where there are the children of actual royalty. Maybe it’s that pretty much everyone else here is ten years older than us, and that’s giving me some sort of perspective on where life takes you. Maybe I’m just done with high school and all dumb games that come with it.

  Or maybe it’s just that I’m done going another fucking second without Kempton Carlisle being mine. But whatever it is, when I move for her, I move with a purpose. I watch her two friends—Justin’s little sister, Kara, and Ramona Weiss—scurry away, and I smile hungrily.

  Kempton holds my gaze, her baby blues burning right into mine unflinchingly, her cheeks flushing just a little red as I storm through the crowd right for her.

  “Isn’t it a school night?”

  She smirks. “Oh, do you not have to go to school living off campus?”

  “Now that sounds like jealousy. How are the dorms, anyways? Having a roommate? Sharing a bathroom? Not having a car?”

  She pursues her lips together for a second, and I smirk on the inside. I know that’s a sore spot for most students at boarding school. With the family wealth and status of most students at Winchester, sharing a room and not having a maid to pick up after you is actually a sore spot. And I’m betting Kempton is no exception.

  But she brushes it off as she arches a brow at me, a smirk on her lips.

  “How’s living on your brother’s couch, loser?”

  I chuckle, shoving my fingers through my hair. This banter isn’t new for us. But tonight, I’m not letting it sit at just banter. Not anymore.

  “I’v
e got my own room, actually. And bathroom.”

  “Wow, you’re own room?” Kempton rolls her eyes in this bratty way that equally gets my blood heated and my cock thickening. Like usual with her.

  “Do you get a cookie after dinner too if you’re a good boy and eat your vegetables?”

  I smile right through her little barb.

  “You tell me, Kempton.” I grin. “Got a cookie for me?”

  She blushes fiercely, and I put that one in the bank.

  Gotcha.

  Watching the too-cool-for-school brat façade fall is fun, even if it’s just for a second. And I’m just getting started.

  “It is a school night though, isn’t it?” I tease. “Doesn’t that mean you should be off with some married guy twice your age on a yacht somewhere tropical?”

  “Shouldn’t you be banging some desperate JV cheer squad skank while high-fiving your buddies?” she shoots right back.

  I make a face. “That’s uh…” I snort. “While high-fiving my buddies? Nothing against guys who dig guys, but that’s maybe a little gay for me.”

  “Says the guy who takes group showers with twenty other dudes.”

  “Aww, jealous, Kempton?”

  She blushes again, and I move closer.

  “Why are you here?”

  She shrugs. “A party is a party. Maybe I wanted a drink.”

  I sigh dramatically. “And here I was hoping you were here for me.”

  She rolls her eyes. “Isn’t that thing a little big for this small living room?”

  I grin hugely and glance down at the front of my jeans. “You’re welcome to get a little closer and find out.”

  Kempton goes crimson red, blinking quickly as her cheeks flush.

  “I was talking about your ego,” she hisses.

  “And I was talking about my cock.”

  That heat flushes across her face, her cheeks burning as her eyes lock on mine before she yanks them away. She takes a breath, and as she brings a hand up to lace her thin fingers through her long red hair, the flush fades into a cool smile.

  “Aww, hon,” she coos in this patronizing way. “Maybe those JV skanks are nice enough to fluff your ego telling you you’re the ‘biggest they’ve ever had’ when they fake it for you. But…” she makes a tsking sound as she shakes her head. “Well, I’m just not sure I’ve got the charity enough to tell you pretty lies like that.”

  She looks at me smugly like she’s just won this little war of wits. But I just grin. I’m not shaking that easy. Not when I’ve spent this long denying myself her.

  “Charity, huh?” I sigh. “And here I was thinking I’d be doing you a favor showing you what you’ve been missing with all your little rich boy toys.”

  She snorts. “Oh, and what have I been missing, Beckett? A hand-me-down Range Rover and Porter’s couch? Ooo, do I get VIP bleacher seats at the next home game?” She snorts sarcastically.

  Brat. I decide to take it to a new level.

  “Actually, I was going to say ten thick inches that never go soft and a tongue that doesn’t know when to quit.”

  Kempton goes beet red, her jaw basically dropping to the floor and her eyes going wide with a mix of scandal and excitement. We’ve bantered and sparred in the past, but this is way beyond anywhere we’ve gone before. I can feel the heat actually rising in the air between us, and when I move a step closer to her and she doesn’t move back, my blood starts to burn like fire.

  “You know, I don’t think tall tales are your forte,” she says quietly, still trying to be sassy, but without the edge she had before.

  “And I don’t think feigning disinterest is yours,” I toss right back.

  Kempton’s big blue eyes lock with mine, and I watch as she swallows thickly. That little pink tongue of hers darts out across her plump lips, and fuck if my cock doesn’t grow another inch in my jeans.

  “You know,” she says quietly. “Everyone already thinks we’re screwing.”

  My jaw grinds.

  “Filthy rumors.”

  “The worst.”

  “How would they ever even think that?” I muse sarcastically, my eyes locked on hers. This time, it’s her who takes a step towards me, closing the distance even more.

  “Well, cheer captain and star quarterback? It makes sense, I guess. Too bad they’re so wrong.”

  “We could fix that,” I growl.

  Kempton swallows, that flush burning in her cheeks again as her eyes shine.

  “Oh, hon,” she drawls in this bratty little condescending way. “I don’t think you could keep up with me.”

  “Sweetheart,” I growl. “I don’t think you could handle me.”

  She snorts. “Oh, right, this made up big dick of yours?”

  I grin. “Anytime, anywhere. You say the word and we can see who’s telling tall tales.”

  She blushes, her teeth raking over her pouty bottom lip as she swallows.

  “Beckett, we both know you’d be lucky for the chance.”

  We’ll see who’s lucky, little brat, I grin to myself.

  “You know what, Kempton?” I smile widely, my eyes still locked on hers. “Let’s settle this.”

  Her brows go up. “Excuse me?”

  “Tonight, right here at this party. I’m going to give you a chance to give up this little game and admit defeat.”

  She barks out a laugh, her face red, her eyes wide, and a small amused smile on her lips.

  “Admit defeat, huh?”

  “Yep. I’m going to go upstairs. I happen to know that the second door on the left is a guest room. I’ll be there, and whenever curiosity gets the better of you, and whenever you decide you’re done playing games with your little boy toys and want to see what a real man can do, you come find me.”

  Her jaw drops, an amused grin on her face as she shakes her head.

  “You arrogant little—”

  “Nothing little about it, sweetheart,” I purr, leaning down and letting the words murmur into her ear. She shivers, her breath catching, I groan, somehow resisting the urge to grab her right there and yank her against me.

  “So, that’s where I’ll be. You know, for when you decide to make the right choice.”

  She stares at me, biting her lip and slowly shaking her head.

  “Fine.” She lets the word drip seductively from her lips. “Two can play this game. How about this. You can sit in your room hoping I come to you. Or you can just admit that you’re just jealous and sour about not ever getting a chance with me and come find me. I saw an office on my way in near the front door. I’ll be there, waiting for you to admit defeat.”

  The air sizzles with heat as we stand there, inches apart, her sassy little face looking up into my hooded eyes and clenched jaw. There’s a thin smile on my lips, and a bratty little grin on hers, and I swear you could cut the air between us with a fucking chainsaw.

  “Deal,” I growl, putting my hand out. She swallows, hesitating before she takes it. Her hand is so small in mine, and so warm, and when my fingers close around hers, I can feel her pulse thudding.

  “Deal,” she whispers. “We’ll see who cracks first.”

  “Sure will,” I purr.

  “But when you lose and crack first, and I make you wear a ‘I’m Kempton’s bitch’ shirt every day for the rest of the school year, you’ll wish you never took this bet.”

  My hand tightens around hers, and I pull her close to me. She gasps as she almost falls into me, her hand landing on my chest as my lips brush her ear.

  “But when you’re saying ‘wait, Beckett, there’s more?’ when I’m only halfway inside that bratty little pussy of yours, we’ll see who’s laughing.”

  She gasps, her face blooming with heat and a shiver trembling through her before her hand slips from mine. She swallows, panting quietly before she steps away, biting her lip as her eyes lock on mine. She gives me one last sizzling look before she turns on her heel, her red hair fanning out around her and her skirt lifting up high on her long, tantalizing legs before she melts into the party.

  “See you soon,” I growl, giving her one last look before I turn and push my way through the crowd.

  3

  Porter