Dirty Wicked Prince (Court Legacy Book 1)
Dirty Wicked Prince: Chapter 15

Dorian

“Good work today, man.” I’d give credit where credit was due, taking Bruno Sloane’s hand. I shook, then snapped it after practice. “Good hustle today.”

The kid was actually pretty decent on the field. He kept up with us, and what had started as a way to get under his sister’s skin, might actually turn out in Windsor Prep’s favor. At least, when it came to football. The kid was fast, strong, and caught everything I threw at him.

He could stand a good chance at becoming quarterback next year after I left, and where Thatcher and Wells might disagree with that (they’d always been aiming for the spot), they may not mind. They were getting along with the kid too. I always saw them talking with him, in the hallways and at lunch and shit. The three’s teamwork on the field was impeccable, and something told me I wasn’t the only one who didn’t completely hate the kid.

Even if I wanted to.

My hate was obviously reserved for his sister, but it was harder to pass off to her brother, who actually took direction and did so humbly, respectfully. It was easy to want to treat him as an equal. He was a genuinely nice guy and did enjoy the game. Most people around here looked at me and the other Legacy guys as gods, completely enamored and were a bunch of follower fucks. Bru was more of a leader, though, which was rare with all this alpha shit running around on the field.

“Thanks, man,” Bru said, and like stated, humble. It sucked I was trying to drive him out of this town, but he was a casualty. Noa Sloane was still in my fucking way, and we hadn’t managed to break her yet. She was around, still in the way, and didn’t seem any closer to leaving.

I apparently wasn’t laboring hard enough, but in the meantime, we at least had a good player on the field. I slapped Bru’s back in the locker room, letting him go. He left the locker room, but Wolf caught our exchange as he’d been coming out the showers. He had a towel cinched at his waist, the other drying all that crazy hair.

“Don’t get too fucking attached,” he grumbled, tossing the towel he’d been using for his hair. He opened his locker. “Kid has a target on his head.”

He didn’t need to fucking tell me that. I was the one who put the target on it. I smirked. “Just taking advantage of the fact that we have some decent fucking support on the field for once.”

“Fuck you,” Thatch stated, coming into the room. His hair wet, he had nothing on but a pair of jeans, and Wells flanked him. They both shouldered past me, obviously in their feelings about what I said, and I rolled my eyes.

They must have not been too sore about it, because they did tap my fist on their way out after they’d dressed. I told them not to be late tomorrow since they’d been dicking around before practice. This was something else Bruno Sloane didn’t do, and I reminded them of that.

They both jostled me, and after they left, I tugged a shirt on. “They could learn a lot from the target. Bru was hustling his ass out there, unlike them.”

“Maybe.” Wolf stood. Fully dressed, he closed his locker. “But the guy’s still a target.” His eyes narrowed. “His sister is still the enemy.”

We kept our enemies close, hence the connection to Bruno, but I didn’t need him to remind me of the rules.

I fucking made them.

“Right, Wolf,” I said, turning away. It was all I could do not to start some shit with him. Ares Mallick may be my best friend, but I had to check his ass more often than not. We were two guys filled with testosterone and malice, a deadly combination. Wolf had his own reasons for that, and though I respected him, I didn’t put up with it. Nor did he put up with my bullshit. Honestly, between the two of us, we flew off the handle just to start shit, but I really didn’t have time for it today.

He tapped my back since I didn’t give him my fist, pretending to be busy getting my belt on. He left after that, and a sophomore player came in to get me after I was all alone.

“Hey, Prinze. Your mom is looking for you out by the field.”

I didn’t think I’d heard him right. Neither of my parents came to practice, but I nodded at him. I honestly expected to find a fuck buddy or something when I got out there, maybe someone using the excuse of my mom as a way to get me out of the locker room quicker.

Girls had attempted crazier things to get my attention, so imagine my surprise when my mom was standing out near the field. She was on the sidelines actually, still dressed for work in her heels and pantsuit. She was pacing the track surrounding the field when I jogged up to her.

“Mom.” I went quick, worried. She didn’t come to my practices. In fact, the last time I’d come upon her pacing like this, things had been bad.

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My family had experienced more tragedy than what should be humanly possible, most of which had occurred before I was even born. I’d heard stories, tales of murder and darkness and a chilling family legacy well before any breaths I’d breathed. I was experiencing the backlash of it now, but even with as numb as I started to get to bullshit occurring in my life, I hadn’t been prepared to come outside and see my mom pacing rogue on the racetrack.

And with flushed cheeks.

She’d looked like she’s seen a ghost, and I pulled her off to the side. “Mom, what’s going—”

She wrestled around in her purse, moved things around like crazy. She seemed frazzled, panicked, and when she pulled out a bag holding a long skinny object, I fucking panicked. I didn’t know why she was showing me this.

“This was delivered to my office,” she said, holding it up. She waved it at me. “Why was this delivered to my office, Dorian Prinze?”

I eyed what she had in the bag with no words. I mean, I knew what the thing fucking was.

She shoved a note in my face.

“It came with this,” she huffed, gazing around, and I read the note while she took the bag back.

“Ask your son about this,” the note said. “Thought you should know.”

No sooner had I read the note than she was shoving the bag back in my face. Inside was a long stick.

A pregnancy test with blue lines.

My mother was basically on the football field showing me a pregnancy test, and the note she apparently got to go with it. She shook it. “What is the meaning of this, Dorian?” she asked, her voice low. “Did you get a girl pregnant?”

The words came out whispered, thick and loaded with emotion. I had no idea what the fuck was going on, but whatever it was had nothing to do with me. I shook my head. “Mom—”

“Don’t you lie to me, Dorian.” She gazed around. No one was out here because practice was over. Everyone had gone home, the field cleared. She hugged her arms. “Dear God, are you making me a grandmother?”

My jaw dropped, fucking shocked to hell. “No, Mom. No—”

“Then what is this?” she whisper-shouted. “Why did someone have this delivered to my office via carrier instructing me to ask my eighteen-year-old son about it!”

Shaking, she shoved her hand in her hair, and I took the note from her, reading it again. This was a goddamn mistake. I hadn’t gotten a girl fucking pregnant.

At least, I didn’t think I had.

“Dorian—”

“I use protection, Mom,” I gritted. I couldn’t believe I was actually having this conversation with my mother—on the football field. I homed in. “Dad would fry my ass.”

“I will fry your ass.” My mom cursed all the time. She did because sometimes, I’d overhear her, but she always tried to act like she didn’t around me.

This time she hadn’t bothered.

“Dorian Prinze, if you’ve made me a grandmother, I’m going to ship your butt to boarding school so fast you won’t even know what girls are.” She directed a finger in my face. “Now, tell me the truth.”

“I am, Mom,” I said, kind of panicked now. “I didn’t. I wouldn’t. I’m responsible.”

“Yeah, well, honey. Sometimes responsibility doesn’t cut it.” She gazed around, even though no one was there. “Sometimes good intentions aren’t good enough. I know things have been hard. I know I haven’t always had it together. I know you’ve been left to fend for yourself these past few months after…” She paused, her eyes shining. Like she was on the cusp of tears but fighting it. “After everything with Charlie.”

My stomach clenched.

“I know that, more often than not lately, I’ve needed you and your father’s help to keep things running smoothly, but…”

“You’ve been fine, Mom. I swear it.” I looked around, hating to see her fucking cry. It was only worse because it was something I’d potentially done. I didn’t make my mom cry. I only made her smile, a promise I made because she had been struggling. But it hadn’t been a big deal. Dad and I filled in the gaps and would always be there for her. She’d do the same and always did. I faced her. “Mom, this is a mistake. Probably someone working up shit.”

“Dorian…” Her faced scrunched up, and she covered her mouth. I assumed so I couldn’t see her cry. She shook her head. “I need to go.”

“Mom—”

“I said I need to go. We’ll talk about this later with your father.”

Shit, when Dad found out…

He really would fry my ass. My mom would have nothing left to fry.

Mom started walking away, but when I chased after, she told me we’d all talk about this tonight. We needed to have my father there so we could discuss things, her words.

What the fuck just happened?

I grabbed my legs after she left, scanning the grass.

“Maybe you shouldn’t mess with people’s lives so much.”

I turned, righting. Noa Sloane sat in the middle of the bleachers.

She frowned. “Because it sucks, doesn’t it? People working shit up in your life? Causing chaos?”

My words stated back to me, I saw red.

She waltzed down the bleachers in her little booty shorts, the confidence of a queen in her stride. She thought she’d gotten something over on me, paid me a lesson. She lifted her chin. “You fucked with my life, Prinze. You’re fucking with my brother, and because you are, you’re fucking with me.” Her frowned deepened. “You’ve slashed my tires, had your friends manhandle me, and turned the entire school against me.”

I’d given her an option to leave. I’d told her to do that, or I’d make her disappear. I’d given her an option. I’d been generous, gracious even.

She was going to wish she’d taken the fucking deal.

I’d shown her mercy before. She stumbled upon shit bigger than her that night she got in Wells’s way. I’d given her the benefit of the doubt.

My mistake.

I ran at her. I could get across a football field in seconds, and there was no getting away once I gained momentum.

Noa fucking Sloane didn’t have a chance.

She screamed when I grabbed her, but there was no one to hear her, all lifelines gone, and it was just us out here. Her chest collided with mine, and I took her with me into the bleachers, lodging her between them on the creaking metal.

“Get the fuck off me!” She kicked, clawed me. She scratched the shit out of my arms and neck, but I wasn’t letting her go. She was mine, my ass to own.

My ass to take when I wanted.

I’d promised her she was going to scream for me, my cock instantly hard at the thought. This was probably some kind of real sick shit, pinning her outside where whoever wanted to look could fucking come along and look. All reasonable and logical thought evaded me. This girl had become my obsession in little more than a tango with me, a vice with her little shorts and bare midriff top. Her naked shoulder eased out of one of the sides, strikingly tan and luscious. She’d gone home first, obviously changing before coming back to witness what she’d believed would be my demise. She’d clearly set this shit up.

I grinned. “You get off making people hurt,” I hissed. I jerked her to me. “Making my mother fucking cry.”

“Dorian—”

Her slender body quivered beneath me, soft hips and an even softer ass. I got a handful beneath her booty shorts.

“Don’t touch me,” she ground out, but she had a poor poker face. Her eyes rolled back the instant my hand slipped beneath her cutoffs, breaths panting and belly trembling. She was reacting to me.

She liked what I was doing to her.

I was fucking steel beneath my jeans, the fact she was fighting me making me even harder.

“How bad do you want this cock inside you?” I asked, sounding manic to even myself. I didn’t take girls like this, fighting me like this. What was the fucking point? I got a lay in under a minute with a text. I growled. “How much do you think about me when you’re using those dildos?”

“Fuck you,” she snapped, and I bit my teeth at her. It made her lips quiver, her body tremble.

“You’re a bad liar, little fighter,” I said, my finger tracing the line of her fly. I started to play with it, but I grabbed her hand instead. I made her touch me through my jeans, and she hissed again.

Hell, I fucking did too.

I took a chance. She could have easily snapped my dick off.

She didn’t.

I forced myself into her palm, made her cup me until the tension eased out of her hand, and she was squeezing me back.

“Dorian,” she warned, but still stroked me. “I—”

I kissed her, borderline fucking manic. We were playing a dangerous game here, one I wanted to win.

She kissed me back, melded beneath me when she not only rubbed my dick but forced her hips up to meet me. She was a greedy little thing, this little fighter.

“You want this cock in your mouth?” I grunted, and I didn’t care if she wanted it or not. She was going to get it, take me. I owned her. I bit her lips apart. “Open your mouth.”

She did, letting my tongue in, her taste exploding around me. It hazed my head until I couldn’t see straight, and all I could taste was candy lip gloss. This girl was making too much noise fucking everywhere. Especially in my mind.

I unzipped my fly, taking myself out and guiding her up. She looked like an erotic vision waiting there to receive me. She may not have wanted this at the start, but the lust in her eyes told of something different now.

“Beg me for it.” She was going to submit to me. She was going to admit I owned her. “Beg to suck my cock.”

Her eyes hazed, charged with heavy need, and I nearly forced myself on her. I waited. She was going to take it because she wanted it, the real win here. I’d own her because she’d want me to own her.

Her lips parted. “I want it,” she panted, blinking like she wasn’t even sure if she knew where the words were coming from. She nodded. “I want to suck you. I want to taste you.”

I blinked, shocked myself. In fact, my dick kicked against my hand, and I nearly rolled off her. I didn’t know if I liked how readily I was reacting to her.

I angled forward instead.

She came up to meet me, on her elbows, and when I pushed the head past her full lips, I nearly blew my load.

Holy fuck.

I shifted, in my own fucking haze as this girl not only took me to the back of her throat but tongued my shaft on retreat. I growled, easing her hair out of her ponytail and coiling it tight around my fist.

“Open up for me,” I gritted, trying to maintain a semblance of control. I felt like I was on the brink of losing it, literally about to spill into her mouth like I didn’t jerk myself off at least three times a day. Most of the time, I didn’t need assistance, a groupie bitch wanting a taste.

Noa Sloane wasn’t a groupie bitch. Her perfect fucking lips around my cock sent me into ecstasy. Never-ending strands of silk hair clenched beneath my fist as I gripped her to hold on for the ride.

She moaned over me, holding my hips, and bobbing her head below. She was goading me to spill into her mouth, even more when she palmed and played with my balls. She knew what she was doing, releasing my shaft to slide one into her mouth.

Holy shit.

I gripped the bleachers, needing to push this chick off me. I was losing my goddamn head and didn’t like it.

I came in seconds.

At least it felt like it, my roar into the bleachers as I pumped into her throat again and again. At one point, I believed I hurt her. Her eyes swam in tears, but even still, she continued to suck me off, suck me down. She drank my seed greedily, but before she could finish, I pulled her mouth away.

I kissed her again. I shouldn’t have, so fucking dangerous, but the need to taste her mouth hit me like a goddamn train, and I lost it.

What the fuck?

I tasted myself on her, a lethal combination me and her. It made me think about her taste and if her pussy tasted as good as her mouth did.

I couldn’t take the chance in knowing.

I just knew I’d lose my mind again, and this game we were playing I would lose.

Her eyes were closed when I came away, her chest trembling, her lips pinked and angrily bruised. She wanted more, and she wanted me to give it to her.

I didn’t.

Instead, I tucked myself away, zipping up my fly.

“Not bad,” I said, not missing the twitch in her eye. I stood. “I’ve had better.”

A bald-faced fucking lie, but that didn’t mean what I said sounded like it.

I didn’t catch her response to my words in the end. I left. She had a terrible poker place, and I wasn’t about to stick around.

I didn’t need her seeing if mine was just as shitty.

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