Cruel Intentions : A High School Bully Romance (Eastern High Series Book 1)

Seeing Noah jerk himself off in the window shattered any illusion of control I had left. The heat pooling between my thighs wasn’t just desire—it was an ache, raw and fucking relentless, crawling through me like it wanted to consume every part of me. My chest felt tight, my breath sharp and uneven, as I stood there watching him, wanting him, hating myself for every second of it.

I shouldn’t feel this way. Not after what he did to me in the equipment room. Not after he touched me like that—fucked with my head, left me trembling, exposed—and then acted like it didn’t matter. But now?

Watching him take what he needed, his head tipped back, his jaw clenched, every movement deliberate and unrestrained… I couldn’t think about anything else.

I tried to fight it, but my body betrayed me. The memory of his hands on me, his mouth claiming mine, the way he made me feel like I was burning from the inside out—it all came rushing back, stronger, sharper, impossible to ignore. I didn’t want this. I didn’t want to feel this desperate, this weak. But fuck, he looked so goddamn good. His muscles taut, his cock in his hand, and I was unraveling just from the sight of him.

If that makes me pathetic, then fine. I’ll own it. Because watching him like that wasn’t just hot—it was devastating. He wrecked me with just a look, a touch, and now this. And the worst part? I know I’d let him do it all over again.

After barely two hours of sleep—because, yes, I stayed up like a idiot to finish an essay after taking care of myself—I drag my ass out of bed, already wishing the day was over. My body feels like lead, my eyes burn, and every step toward getting ready feels like a goddamn marathon.

I pull on my favorite jeans, the ones that hug my legs just right, and a tank top that’s more practical than anything else. Yesterday, I caught a few guys checking me out—Jace being the worst of the lot. After last night, I’m more determined than ever to steer clear of him.

I lace up my old, black combat boots—the ones with scuffed toes and frayed laces that no one else would be caught dead in at school. The girls at school all strut around in branded sneakers or trendy boots with shiny gold logos, and Tia, of course, leads the pack. Always perfect, always at the forefront of whatever glossy magazine told her to buy this week.

It’s such a far cry from the Tia I knew years ago, back when she didn’t give a shit about appearances or what anyone thought. Now, it’s like she’s a walking advertisement for everything I’m not.

Sure, my style doesn’t match theirs, but at least it’s mine. It’s real.

Back at my old school, there were always girls flaunting their designer labels, sneering at me and my friends like we didn’t belong in the same universe. Here, it’s different—or maybe worse. The pressure to fit in is suffocating, and everyone’s so damn eager to mimic Tia, like she’s the standard they all strive to reach.

I grab my homework and cram it into my bag, already pissed off at myself. The essay’s shit. I know it. I spent half the night trying to slap something decent together, but between working a shift, watching Noah through the damn window, checking my phone for a text from my mother that still hasn’t come, and, well, taking care of myself afterwards, my focus was shot.

Two days. I had two whole fucking days to get it done. And like a complete idiot, I waited until the last minute. What kind of impression is this supposed to make on my teacher? Real solid, Aubrey. Way to look like you give a shit.

All I can do now is hope for a passing grade, even though I know it’s barely scraping by. The thought of another disappointing result makes my stomach churn, but I shove it down and sling my bag over my shoulder. What’s done is done.

As I rush out of my room, the faint sounds of movement from the kitchen stop me in my tracks. My stomach twists. It’s been days since I’ve seen my father, and I’d been counting on that streak continuing. Every morning, I’ve timed my exit perfectly to avoid him. But today? No such luck.

The old floorboards groan as I step into the kitchen, giving me away.

His head snaps up, our eyes meeting for a split second before he glances at the window, like it holds all the answers to the mess we’ve become.

“Hey,” he mutters, voice low and clipped, like even the word takes too much effort.

“Hi,” I reply, my voice quieter than I intended, hovering in the doorway. I hesitate, half hoping he’ll say something more, half dreading that he won’t.

His eyes stay on the window, his tone flat and distant. “Okay, have a good day.”

That’s it.

No effort, no follow-up, not even a flicker of care.

I shouldn’t be surprised—it’s always been like this. We’ve never been close, not even when I lived here before. He was a shadow back then, especially when he drank. I stayed out of his way, hiding in my room or crashing at Noah’s.

Now… Being shoved back into his life, without warning or approval, has only made things worse.

“Yeah,” I mutter, forcing the word past the lump in my throat. “You too.”

I turn and slip out the door, the silence clinging to me like a ghost.

Outside, Sam’s tiny blue car is parked in front of my house, music blasting loud enough to wake the dead. A grin tugs at my lips as I head toward her. She’s unapologetically herself, and I love that about her—how she doesn’t give a shit what anyone thinks.

I climb into the passenger seat, and she lowers the volume just enough to talk.

“Hey,” she says, flashing me a smile. “So, how’d it go last night?”

She’s talking about the quick text I sent—about getting the job and, unfortunately, having Jace show me the ropes.

I shrug, keeping my tone casual. “It was alright.”

But as we pull away from the curb, my eyes betray me. They flick toward the house just as Noah steps out the front door. His gaze locks onto mine through the car window, and my stomach twists, heat surging through me at the memory of last night.

Him at the window, his cock in his hand. It’s seared into my mind, impossible to shake.

Even now, my body betrays me, warmth pooling low in my belly as I force myself to look away.

Once we’ve passed him, I turn my attention back to Sam, trying to force down the rush of emotions clawing at me. “My feet were killing me by the end of the night,” I say, hoping she doesn’t catch the slight shake in my voice.

She raises an eyebrow, sharp and curious. “And what about Jace? Was he his usual sleazy asshole self?”

I can’t help but laugh, the tension breaking just enough. “Of course he was. Wouldn’t be Jace if he wasn’t. But Wes—the owner—put him in his place. When Jace tried his shit with me, I shot him down. Then he insisted on walking me home.”

Sam’s head snaps toward me, her eyes wide. “You’re kidding, right? You didn’t actually let him walk you home?”

“Well he sort of invited himself. Biggest fucking mistake of my life. The asshole tried to pull some move on me, acting like he’s this supportive guy who’s there for me if I need someone to talk to about Tia.”

She lets out a dry, sarcastic laugh. “Yeah, right. After you give him a blowjob first.”

I grin. Sam’s bluntness is one of the reasons I like her so much. Since I’ve been back, she’s made me feel like it’s okay to be myself—like I don’t have to fake my way into a group. Around her and her friends, I can just be me. No pretense. No bullshit.

“It’s a wonder he didn’t try what he pulled with Jessica,” Sam says, her tone darkening slightly.

My grin fades. “And what was that?”

“Oh, girl, you won’t believe this crap,” Sam says, her voice dripping with disdain. “Bianca was stranded at a football game—car wouldn’t start, phone was dead. Jace showed up, and she asked to borrow his phone. You know what he said? That she could—if she gave him a blowjob first. When she said no, he just walked away and left her there. She was stuck for hours.”

I shoot her a look, my stomach twisting. “Are you serious? What an asshole.”

Sam snorts. “Come on, you’ve seen the way Jace looks. Him, Noah, and Reece—they’re hot as fuck and can practically get girls to do whatever they want. That’s why he tried it. He thought he’d get away with it, like he always does.”

She’s not wrong. They are hot—hot in that infuriating, unattainable way that makes it impossible to ignore them. Especially Noah. He’s always been like that. Even back when we were thirteen, I noticed how girls started looking at him. And now? It still pisses me off.

“Well, Jace didn’t try any of that crap with me,” I say sharply. “If he had, I would’ve punched him right in the dick.”

Sam bursts out laughing, the sound loud and unrestrained. “I’m sure you would’ve,” she says, grinning as she turns onto the main road leading to school.

I glance out the window, the scenery blurring past, but my thoughts are already drifting. “Speaking of Reece,” I start, keeping my voice casual, “what’s the deal between you two?”

Sam’s grip on the steering wheel tightens ever so slightly, her eyes fixed straight ahead. She doesn’t look at me, and the silence stretches just long enough for me to know I’ve hit a nerve.

“I don’t know what you mean,” she finally says, her voice clipped, like she’s hoping I’ll drop it.

But I don’t. “Come on, I’ve heard him call you Red. What’s up with that?”

She flicks the indicator, turning left into the school parking lot. “It’s just some jerk move to get under my skin, that’s all,” she replies, her tone deliberately flat, as if trying to shut the conversation down.

I watch her for a moment, noticing the way her shoulders stiffen, how her focus on the road seems a little too intense. It’s obvious there’s more to the story, but I decide not to push her. Not yet.

Sam pulls into a parking spot and shuts off the engine. She doesn’t move right away, just sits there, her fingers gripping the steering wheel tightly, her shoulders tense.

Finally, she lets out a long, frustrated sigh and turns to me.

“I just don’t want to talk about Reece,” she says, her voice quieter now, more raw. “I don’t want to revisit that. He’s an asshole, just like the rest of them.”

I nod, but before I can say anything, the roar of a car engine cuts through the air, drawing both our attention. My head snaps toward the sound, and my heart stumbles when I see Noah’s car pulling in, commanding attention without even trying. He parks near the front gate, and I find myself staring through the windshield as he steps out.

Dark jeans, a fitted black shirt that clings to his chest just right, and that maddeningly effortless way he slings his backpack over his shoulder—it’s too much. Then he runs his hand through his light brown hair, pushing it back from his face, and I’m gone, completely lost in the way every little movement feels meticulously designed to undo me.

So caught up in watching him, I don’t even notice Sam has already gotten out of the car until there’s a sharp knock on the window. I jump, startled out of my trance, and whip my head around to see her standing there with a shit-eating grin plastered on her face.

“When you’re ready,” she teases, her tone dripping with amusement. Her grin only grows wider when she sees the flush creeping up my neck.

Embarrassed as hell, I grab my bag from the floor and step out of the car, doing my best to ignore the heat still simmering in my chest. Sam’s expression makes it clear she’s not going to let this go anytime soon, and I brace myself for the inevitable teasing.

“Seems like Noah could talk you into anything,” Sam remarks as she steps away from the car, her tone playful but knowing. “They’ve got all the girls eating out of their hands.”

I shut the car door, and she taps the lock button, her smirk widening as she meets my gaze. “Don’t worry about it,” she adds. “He’s one of the hottest guys in school. All the girls can’t help but check him out, so you’re not alone.”

I roll my eyes, but a flush creeps up my neck, anyway. She’s not wrong, and the fact that I’m one of those girls isn’t exactly a well-kept secret anymore.

As we make our way onto the school grounds, the noise of the crowd shifts, drawing my attention back to Noah. He’s striding toward Jace, who’s leaning casually against a wall, a cigarette dangling from his lips.

Jace doesn’t even flinch as Noah approaches. Without a moment’s hesitation, Noah drops his bag and grabs Jace by the collar, yanking him forward until their faces are just inches apart. The tension between them is electric, sharp enough to slice through the murmurs of the crowd now gathering to watch.

I can’t hear what Noah’s saying, but his body language says everything—rigid, furious, the veins in his neck bulging as he spits out whatever angry words are boiling inside him. I thought they were friends, but this… This is anything but friendly.

Sam’s voice breaks through my thoughts. “I wonder what’s up with the Fuckboys. Maybe Jace hit his blowjob quota for the month before Noah did,” she quips, her tone thick with sarcasm.

I burst out laughing, the sound loud enough to turn a few heads, but I don’t care.

As we approach, Noah’s voice slices through the air, raw and furious.

“Stay the fuck away from her. Got it?” he roars, his tone leaving no room for misinterpretation.

Jace doesn’t back down. Instead, he smirks, his words dripping with sarcasm. “Hey, it’s not my fault she’s all over my cock.”

The remark ignites like a spark to gasoline. Noah’s fist clenches, muscles coiling as he pulls back, ready to strike.

But before he can throw the punch, Jace breaks into laughter—a sharp, mocking sound that grates on my nerves. “Relax, man. Nothing happened. I swear.”

Noah’s fist freezes mid-air, the tension between them thick enough to choke on.

For a moment, he just stands there, his jaw tight and his breathing heavy. Then, slowly, he lowers his fist—but his grip on Jace’s collar stays firm, his knuckles white with anger. “You better stay the fuck away from her,” Noah growls, his voice low and menacing. With a sharp shove, he sends Jace stumbling backward onto the grass. “That’s your final fucking warning, Cooper.”

Jace pushes himself back to his feet, brushing off dirt with a scowl. “Alright, I fucking heard you, asshole,” he spits, bitterness lacing his words.

Noah’s eyes linger on him for a beat longer. Then, without another word, he grabs his bag and stalks toward the school gates. His silence carries more weight than any outburst could.

Sam and I fall in step with the other students heading toward the entrance, the confrontation still buzzing in the air. But just as we near the gate, a voice cuts through the hum of chatter—sharp, cruel, and unmistakable.

“I always knew you were a fucking whore, but now I have proof,” Tia sneers, her words drenched in venom.

I stop dead in my tracks, my body stiffening as she steps directly into our path, arms crossed and smirk razor-sharp. She blocks the gate like she’s guarding a throne, her head held high with queen-bitch arrogance.

The noise around us dies down, replaced by an oppressive silence as the crowd’s attention zeroes in on the brewing chaos. Dozens of eyes lock on us, the weight of their stares suffocating.

I meet her gaze head-on, refusing to back down.

Enough is enough. I’ve tolerated Tia’s shit for days—her snide remarks, her smug little smirks, the way she revels in tearing people down to make herself feel superior. The lies, the manipulation, the cruel games—it’s sickening. She’s been poking and prodding, begging for a reaction, and now she’s going to get one.

I square my shoulders and meet her glare, unflinching. “Say another word, Tia,” I mutter, daring her to push me further.

Sam’s hand clamps onto my arm, her voice low but firm. “Don’t stoop to her level, Aubrey,” she says, her tone laced with warning. “As much as I’d love to see this bitch get what’s coming to her, she’s not worth it.”

She’s wrong. Tia’s been reigning over her little kingdom of lies and cruelty for too long. Someone has to put an end to it. My fists clench at my sides, my pulse roaring in my ears.

Tia’s gaze flicks to Sam, her lips curling into a venomous smirk. “Oh, and let’s not forget Samantha,” she sneers, dragging Sam’s name out like it’s a slur. “Biggest cock tease in school. Leading guys on and never putting out. Still a virgin, right? That’s the word going around.”

Sam’s grip on my arm loosens. She lets go, her voice raw with anger as she mutters, “Forget what I said.”

That’s all the fuel I need. I step forward, my pulse hammering, and plant myself directly in front of Tia.

“What’s your fucking problem, Tia?” I snap, my voice steady despite the storm raging inside me. “What is it? Do you get off on tearing people down? Does it make you feel better about your miserable excuse of a life? Or is this just your sad little way of finding worth in yourself?”

A ripple of murmurs moves through the crowd, an electric current feeding the tension. For a split second, something flickers in Tia’s eyes—surprise, maybe even doubt—but it vanishes as quickly as it came. She smirks, her fingers darting over her phone screen.

Then she holds it up, the glow of the screen lighting her smug expression as she spins it toward the crowd.

The reaction is immediate. Faces shift, eyes darting from the phone to me, expressions morphing into judgment, curiosity, and thinly veiled amusement. The whispers follow, quiet at first but swelling into a wave of speculation.

“Holy shit,” someone mutters, loud enough for me to hear. His voice carries a mix of awe and disbelief that sends another ripple through the crowd.

My stomach twists into a knot, my nails digging into my palms. I want to know what the fuck is on that screen, but dread coils in my chest. Because deep down, I already know—it’s something designed to hurt, to humiliate, to tear me down in the most public way possible. That’s who Tia is. That’s what she does.

Tia circles back to me, her phone still in hand. Her smirk radiates confidence, as the crowd shifts around us, hungry for the show. Without saying a word, she thrusts the phone toward me, a gesture that feels like a death sentence.

“Go on,” she purrs, her voice sweet but poisoned, “Take a look.”

Every part of me wants to look away, to turn and walk off, but my eyes betray me, dropping to the screen.

The sight slams into me, a gut punch that leaves me breathless. My name is displayed at the top of an Instagram account I’ve never seen. Below it is a nightmare—a series of photos I don’t recognize, photos I never took, ones I wouldn’t ever consider taking.

She taps her screen, flipping it back in my direction, her voice dripping with malice. The caption slices deeper, the words stabbing into my skin like a blade: prices for blowjobs, handjobs, every humiliating, degrading thing you can imagine.

The ground beneath me seems to shift, and for a moment, my chest tightens, the weight of the shame sinking deep, suffocating me from the inside out.

This can’t be real.

But it is. It’s fucking real, and I know exactly who’s behind it. Tia. The bitch’s cruelty isn’t some thoughtless act; it’s deliberate, calculated, designed to destroy me in front of everyone. This isn’t just some petty rumor or passing insult—it’s a public execution.

Tia’s voice rings out, light and playful, like she hasn’t just destroyed my life. “So, guys,” she says, “if you’re in the market for a blowjob, it’s only eight dollars.”

Her words echo in my ears. Laughter starts, cruel and guttural, like the sound of a pack of wolves closing in. It grows, building, feeding off my humiliation.

“Yo, where do I sign up?” someone yells from the back, the comment sparking another round of vicious laughter, a tidal wave of mocking voices that crash into me.

My stomach churns, nausea hitting in waves, threatening to swallow me whole. I can’t look at the screen anymore, but it doesn’t matter. The damage is done.

The whispers and jeers grow into a storm, swirling around me, closing in.

The crowd feeds on my pain, and Tia stands there, basking in the satisfaction of what she’s done, glowing with triumph.

My skin burns under their eyes, the weight of shame crawling under my skin, settling into my bones. I want to scream, to push through it, but my throat tightens. Tears sting my eyes, hot and furious, but I force them back. I won’t cry. Not here. Not in front of this bitch. She doesn’t get to see that.

But inside, I’m falling apart.

Every laugh, every whispered comment, every look from the crowd feels like it’s suffocating me, like a noose tightening around my neck. I can’t escape the images, the captions burning into my mind, each one making me feel filthy, exposed—like I’m drowning in something I can never wash away.

The hardest part? Tia wasn’t like this—she was someone I trusted, someone I would’ve defended with everything I had. That memory makes the betrayal even sharper, the knife she’s shoved into my back twisting deeper. Now, all I see is a stranger wearing her face—a monster who’s so consumed with hatred that she’ll burn everything down just to watch the ashes fall.

And here I am, standing in the fire, choking on the smoke.

I want to scream, to claw back some shred of control, to hurl the truth at her and watch her smug little grin crack. But the words are locked in my throat, crushed by the weight of the shock, the overwhelming numbness pressing down on me. My mind is a battlefield, thoughts colliding like explosions, leaving me standing there like I’m frozen, paralyzed while her vile words keep slicing deeper.

“Twenty dollars for anal? Damn, I thought you’d charge more for that shit,” she sneers, her voice cutting through the air with malice, each word designed to draw blood.

The laughter erupts again, louder this time, their laughter a cruel symphony that swallows the air around me. I glimpse Tia’s friends—faces lit with amusement, their laughter thick with victory, carving their enjoyment into the space around us like a sick, twisted banner of triumph.

I don’t even realize that Sam’s hand is on my arm until she’s pulling me away, guiding me through the crowd like a lifeline. My legs feel like they’re made of stone, heavy and uncooperative, but she won’t let go, won’t leave me to crumble under the weight of it all. We move toward the school building, but even as we put distance between us and Tia’s crowd, her voice still rings in my ears, loud and cutting.

‘Forty dollars for two cocks at once!’ she shouts, her voice sharp and loud enough to make sure I hear every word.

I flinch, my breath catching, the sobs rising in my throat. I clamp my mouth shut, refusing to let them out. Not here. Not in front of them.

“Are you okay?” Sam’s voice is quiet, heavy with concern. She doesn’t let go of my arm, her grip firm and steady, grounding me. “God, that girl is a fucking bitch,” she mutters under her breath.

She keeps guiding me through the hallway, her hand never leaving mine, like she’s afraid I’ll shatter if she does.

And maybe I will.

Because right now, it feels like the cracks are already spreading, threatening to break me into a thousand pieces.