Bully Boys Page 2

  When we pulled up to the Chrises’ apparent bachelor pad—did they have parents, or was it like all the popular superheroes who were orphans? With great bodies came great responsibility? Anyways, I dove out of the Jeep like I was dodging a rodent of unusual size.

  The house was in a standard clone neighborhood, you know those ones with super strict HOAs and the colors were basically all the same.

  “So you guys live in the neighborhood where the serial killer definitely lives?” I grumbled and shivered at the eerie similarities of the houses. No one else was out, and honestly, I was distracted by the Evans impersonator, who was leaning against the hood of the jeep.

  “What? Never thought we might be the ones to lock up unsuspecting women in our basements?”

  I raised an eyebrow. “You don’t have an obsession with lotion and dogs, right?”

  “Just pussy . . . cats,” he quipped, and I blushed hard. I rolled my eyes and jerked my head towards the house.

  “I’m like a vampire, I need to be invited in.”

  “What? Vant to suck our blood?” Pratt-Attack said, wiggling his eyebrows. But he bounded up to the door and opened it anyways, gesturing me inside with a dramatic bow.

  “I just want to get this over with.” I stepped around him, repressing the shiver at his heated gaze. I could feel Captain Sex’murica and the Australian Norse God behind me but I concentrated on the room in front of me.

  Maybe I’d read too many billionaire romances, or really just binged 50 Shades too much—hey, yeah the writing might not be up to par and Christian was definitely a dick, but damn that Audi R8 had my engines revving—and I looked back at the Cocky Bulls dicks and realized maybe I had a thing for toxic attractions. Because healthy masculinity they were not. Fuck, I was probably going to the Special Hell for finally embracing my attraction to them.

  Anyways, back to the room—it was disappointingly normal. Normal living room with a large sectional couch and a flat-screen TV mounted on a wall above the fireplace which had clearly never been used.

  “Did you guys just go to a store and order an entire living room display?” Because that’s seriously what it looked like unless . . . I turned to look at them through the archway that led into the kitchen—no way any of them actually liked interior design.

  I followed them into the kitchen and dumped my bag on their table. Again, the kitchen and dining area looked straight out of an Ethan Allen catalog. “So are we doing this?” I turned to look at them and felt my mouth go dry, or really my whole body went dry—because every drop of moisture went right to my lady bits like a threat of a Niagara Falls level of arousal when they fucking simultaneously pulled their shirts off.

  “Holy amber waves of abs, Batman,” I whispered, in awe. I felt like Peggy Carter after Steve Rogers stepped out of the beefcake oven. I forced myself to swallow as I bravely met Evans Impersonator’s smirking eyes. “Needed to slip into something more comfortable for the tutoring session?”

  “You keep using the word tutoring,” Pratt-Attack said and cocked his head. “I don’t think it means what you think. It’s more along your own catch-up lessons with our esteemed French professor.”

  I blinked hard as my mind whirled as it finally clicked. Oh god. Okay. They wanted me . . . like Professor Sexy had me. And dammit, that waterfall between my legs was building up. They started walking towards me, prowling like predatory cats, and I wanted to run or purr or freeze or scream. I grabbed the hem of my shirt and pulled it up over my head as I toed off my shoes. I threw the shirt on the floor and glared at them.

  “The oompa loompas better get ready for their next song ’cause I’m about to go to the Special Hell.”

  5

  The Geologist

  “Oy, Sheila Baby,” Thunder Dome nudged me while shoving his phone in front of my face. “Watch this.”

  I scowled. “Not my fucking name, dude.” But I turned on my side and watched the video he had pulled up anyways. My scowl turned into a frown of confusion.

  “Really? I just let you do the mambo number seven all over this house and you’re showing me a video of a bear?”

  “Definitely did mambos five through fourteen,” Evans Impersonator said, my head bouncing with each word since he was currently my pillow. “I liked twelve.”

  I blushed but didn’t have time to be embarrassed as a caption popped up on the video in a thought bubble for the bear. Why do people collect fucking rocks? They’re rocks! The person, decked out in forest gear, turned and looked at the bear as if she could understand the bear. “I’m a fucking geologist, Crystal.”

  Thunder Dome cackled as if it was the funniest thing he’d seen. He pointed to the bear. “The bear’s name is Crystal. She’s obsessed with the geologist and follows her around and always looks like she’s judging her.”

  I rolled my eyes and patted his head. “You’re like a silly golden retriever, you know that, right?”

  “What about me?” Pratt-Attack asked as he swaggered back into the room, a half-empty water bottle in his hand. Somehow we’d made it into one of their rooms between mambo number ten and eleven. Or maybe it was during. I couldn’t really remember.

  “A slow loris,” I said, grinning savagely. “They are tiny and adorable and always look surprised.”

  “I think I proved I am the opposite of little,” he growled and leaned over me to slap my ass. “Time to get you home though, Little Miss Tutor. We’ve got a party tonight and people will show up soon.”

  “Oh.” A feeling of unease washed through me. Right. They couldn’t be seen with me. Not even after all those mambo tango moves. I pushed myself up and wrapped my arms around myself self-consciously. “Anyone seen my glasses? And maybe my clothes?”

  “Kitchen counter for the glasses,” Australia answered helpfully, but he stayed where he was, absorbed in more videos of Crystal the Bear and the geologist. “Clothes are all downstairs.”

  “Thanks,” I whispered and made my awkward retreat as they apparently decided to stay in the room. As I crept around the house, not wanting to risk being seen by a nosey neighbor through the curtains, I dressed and felt the shame flooding me. I didn’t know if the Special Hell was worth this. Shoving my glasses on my face and pulling my hair into a messy bun on top of my head, I grabbed my bag and realized I didn’t know how I was getting back to campus where my car was.

  “Shit.” I looked upwards, as if through the ceiling. Dare I risk going back and asking for a ride from one of them?

  “You’re still here?” Evans Impersonator came down, dressed once again, but not in his Cocky Bulls jersey. In a comic book shirt of all things, I think it was Iron Man, from the red and gold scheme. He was twirling a set of car keys on his finger.

  “I realized I hadn’t figured out a way back to campus,” I said with a shrug even as I headed towards the front door. “Whatever, I’ll just hitch a rideshare or a bus.”

  “I can take you,” he said. I looked back, stunned. Honestly, from his expression, I don’t know who was more surprised at his offer—him or me.

  “Thanks?” I said, taking him up on it before he could renege on the offer. He followed me out of the house and we got into the Jeep, me in the passenger seat this time.

  The ride passed in silence, the radio humming softly but indistinctly. I tried to keep my eyes on the road in front of us, but I couldn’t help stealing glances at him, my body burning as I recalled the things he’d done to me. Like, holy shit balls, even just doing the nasty with him would qualify me for the Special Hell. I didn’t know it was possible to do the things he did with his mouth.

  But he didn’t even look at me once, or if he did, I didn’t notice. My heart sank as we got closer to the school parking lot, and I knew he’d go back to being a jackass. Reputation and all that, of course.

  I pointed towards my car and he pulled into the empty parking spot next to it. Great door-to-door service. I reached for the handle and froze when I felt his hand on my thigh. I looked back, unable to speak.


  “This was fun,” he said, his voice low. He’d used that voice whispering really dirty filthy things in my ear not even an hour ago. Things that made me ashamed to think about in public. His hand trailed up my jeans, teasing me. What the shit. Was he going to try to finger me in the school parking lot? I had zero resolve; my ticket was already booked to Special Hell so why not get in the express lane? I let my legs fall open a bit more and he slowly grinned and increased the pressure. I hated him but loved his hands on me. A quick flick of my button and his hand was in my panties, finger fucking me in public. “You’re going to be the best dirty little secret we’ve had. Maybe we should take you into the locker rooms and fuck you over the benches in there. Or maybe we could go to the library, and hide you under the tables while you suck us off?”

  I moaned as his words pushed me closer to the edge. He nuzzled my throat, his lips nipping at my skin.

  “We’re going to make you hate us,” he whispered, “but you’re going to beg us for more of this.”

  I was so close, my hips pumping up greedily to meet his fingers . . . and then suddenly his hand was gone and I wanted to scream. I heard laughter from outside and realized a group of people were heading towards us.

  “You should get out now,” he said, his voice hard. He wasn’t looking at me, and both of his hands were on the steering wheel, even the one covered in my slick.

  “Seriously?” I gaped at him. I buttoned my pants back up and I wanted to cry. “You’re a serious asshole.” I shoved the door open and pulled my bag out. I glared at him. “I won’t fucking beg you for anything.” I slammed it shut and dug out my car keys. If my hands shook, no one would know.

  Once I was in my car, he whipped out of the parking spot, the people who’d interrupted us waving and cheering at him. Vaguely I heard mention of the party, but my blood was rushing in my ears. Fuck them. Fuck the Cocky Bulls jackwads.

  Never again, I vowed. Never a-fucking-gain.

  6

  Power of the Babe

  Walking through the halls, I could feel everyone’s stares. I didn’t know if it was real or imagined, but it felt like they knew what happened yesterday. Should I just wear a huge scarlet letter “A” on my sweater? Maybe owning it would make it better, but somehow I doubted it.

  How was it those motherfucking Chris clones could make me feel like this? I’d seen them twice, once passing them in the halls. Pratt-Attack slapped my books out of my hands, and when I bent over, Australia slapped me on the ass. Evans Impersonator just leered and gave me a shrug before wiggling his fingers at me. The fingers he’d used so well in the damn Jeep. He was right. It was easy to hate them, even as much as my lady bits wanted to be reintroduced to their man bits again.

  I told my ovaries to chill—their DNA wasn’t worth it—and just went on with my day. Which would have been easier if I didn’t share class with them. Professor Sexy seemed to have known exactly what our tutoring session was comprised of but weirdly didn’t make me feel bad about it.

  Wait, had he basically pimped me out? I frowned but thought it out. I didn’t think any money exchanged hands. And they might be assholes, but were they like ...illegal stuff assholes? Nearly regrettably, I had been totally willing, so if the cops came to bust me for prostitution, I could only hope they believed me.

  “Emma?” Professor Sexy’s voice interrupted my thoughts and I realized the rest of the class had emptied out around me—even the Chrises.

  “Sorry, just lost in thought.” I said, my face burning in shame as I stuffed my notebook in my bag.

  He was at my side in a moment, his hand on my back, steadying me.

  “Did you know?” I asked, glaring at the desk. I couldn’t look at him, even if he’d had his head between my legs yesterday. “Did you know what they expected out of me?”

  “Did they force you?” His voice was hard, a quiet anger hidden there. It made me look up at him, my brow bent.

  “Would that actually matter to you?” I demanded, crossing my arms. The action pushed up my breasts and he definitely was distracted by it. I wanted to be pleased but I reminded myself that I was angry with him.

  “Of course it would, Emma,” he said, his eyes bright blue with sincerity. “I expected them to treat you with respect.”

  “But you also expected them to fuck my brains out?” I raised an eyebrow. I was shocked at my own bold accusation.

  “I feared my own tutelage wasn’t effective enough for you,” he said with a shrug. “You deserve respect, but you also deserve, how did you so eloquently put it, to have your brains fucked out.”

  “Well, it won’t be happening again,” I said. I sighed. “At least not by them. They want me to hate them, but they want me to go crawling to them and beg them for their attention.”

  “Hmm,” Professor Sexy hummed as he gathered me in his arms. My ovaries tapped me on the shoulder, curious if they were allowed to get excited about this one. “I have an idea, if you will trust me.”

  My nerves wrangled their hands as if each one was an anxious old woman certain her neighbors were up to no good. “What are you thinking?” I asked evenly.

  “They still need to get their grades up so they can play in the big homecoming game this weekend,” he said. He was rubbing his hands up and down my back and I was relaxing into him. Each time his hands went lower on my back, until his fingers were brushing the top of my ass. Yes, ovaries, we can get excited now. “What if I invited them to a study hall with you in exchange for extra credit? For them, of course, you certainly don’t need it. And instead of you begging them, we’ll get them to beg you for the privilege of baise ta douce chatte.” Fucking my sweet pussy, my brain translated eagerly.

  I pulled back to look up at him thoughtfully. “If I say no, they can’t play?”

  “If they don’t please you well enough, nor get to the point of sincere begging,” he answered as he titled his head down, his lips just above mine, “they will not get to play. You, mon chere, have all the power over them.”

  7

  Study Hall for Awful People

  The classroom was dim, the blinds had been lowered and rotated shut, but enough of the afternoon sun filtered in to cast a soft haze. I sat on Professor Sexy’s desk, my body on display to the three footballers sitting in chairs before me. The professor stood at my side, his arm around my shoulders, his hand twirling in my hair. I shivered, but it wasn’t from the cold, even though I was only in my bra and panties.

  The three young men watched me with wary but hungry eyes. I could already see their evident interest tenting their pants.

  “Gentlemen,” Professor Sexy got their attention. “It’s come to my attention that you are not treating Emma with the respect she deserves. I am also inclined to remind you that you still are ineligible to play this weekend’s game.”

  They looked to one another nervously and I gave them a shark-like grin. Professor Sexy tapped his fingers against my shoulder and I leaned in to him.

  “You three are quite fortunate,” I said, and I became the center of their focus and damn, it felt like the heat of a thousand suns. “You wanted me to hate you, and I must say I am fairly close to that. But I have the power over your fate, and I refuse to beg. Why should I, when I could make you beg me?”

  “I don’t understand,” Australia’s hottest expat said, looking like a confused puppy. Of course he wouldn’t. But Evans Impersonator and Pratt-Attack did. Pratt-Attack looked annoyed and Evans Impersonator gave me a congratulatory nod.

  “You will pay your respects to Emma,” Professor Sexy instructed, reaching over and pulling my legs apart. I should have felt ashamed to be as aroused as I would, but the power over these three would-be assholes had gone to my head and to my ovaries. I leaned back on my desk, grinning. “You will apologize to her with your hands and mouths, under my supervision. And you will not stop until she is utterly satisfied, and when you beg to fuck her—if you’ve pleased her enough to earn her body, only then will you have the credit you need to play your game
.”

  “You want us to beg her?” Pratt-Attack rolled his eyes; he was denying it even as much as I could see his pants straining to keep his dick down.

  “What?” I met his eyes in challenge. “Am I too scary for the big bad football player?”

  He growled as he stood, marching over to me until he stood between my legs. If he wanted me to be sad he didn’t rub his cock against me, he had another think coming. I walked my fingers over my thigh and up my stomach before tracing the line of my bra. I licked my lips and felt my stomach swoop with victory as his eyes followed every movement.

  I nodded towards the floor, indicating he should get on his knees before me. “Well, go on then, Mr. Tough Guy, and apologize to me.”

  “Perhaps the others should watch?” Professor Sexy murmured in my ear and I turned towards him, capturing his lower lip between mine. He kissed me thoroughly, his hands delving into my hair and coaxing a moan from me. When we separated, I stole a look at the other men and I knew they were close to . . . apologizing to me.

  I hooked my ankle around Pratt-Attack’s leg and dragged my foot up the back on his thigh, coaxingly. “Is an apology or two really not worth playing in your big game?”

  His eyes were blown wide with desire and he palmed his definitely not small cock through his jeans. It was adorable and sexy. They had wanted me to think I was powerless, but I was their Jabba . . . but a lot sexier and less slug-like.

  He grimaced as he slowly sank to his knees, the other two moving to flank him. He leaned forward, his mouth nearing the wet spot on my panties when I put a hand on his head to stop him. He looked up at me in question and I grinned evilly.

  “Oh, also there’s a rule—none of you are allowed to touch yourselves.” I wanted to cackle at their dumbfounded look. “You’ll either beg me to fuck you, or you get nothing at all.”