His Brat: A Dark Bad Boy Romance Read online

  "You know grandpa left me that," I tell him firmly. "You have nothing to do with it."

  "Your little girlfriend, then," he tells me with a grin. "What about her?"

  For a second, I almost think he's talking about Lola Grace, but there's no fucking way he could've found out about us. The only girl he knows about is Quinn.

  "Don't fucking talk about her," I hiss at him.

  "Or else what?" he asks me. "You'll go to the cops, tell them she died because of you?"

  I pale, sitting at the table and gripping the marble so tightly my whole body tenses up.

  "You know I didn't kill her," I tell them.

  "No," mom chips in gently. "But you are the reason she is gone."

  I just stare at the table in front of me as my father pats my hand like I'm a fucking child. I can't disobey them. I can't do shit, even though I'm a grown-ass man, because they'll always hold this one thing over my head.

  And now I have Lola Grace to think about. She can never find out about Quinn. She would never look at me the same way.

  "Fine," I say through gritted teeth. "I'll do what you want. But for six months. Not a fucking second longer."

  "We'll see." My mother smiles pleasantly. "Did you want the Eggs Benedict, Max?"

  I just stare at her, the woman who raised me, the woman who loved me and nurtured me into the man I am today. I want to believe she still loves me, but through the years, it's become increasingly obvious that I am merely my parents’ pawn.

  And when they’re done using me, they'll spit me out like I'm nothing. It's a heartbreaking realization, and I have to look away from them because the pain is almost too much to bear.

  "Yeah," I reply softly. "Whatever you think is best."

  6

  Lola Grace

  Life becomes a nightmare in the blink of an eye. With my mother constantly stepping on my toes and the fact that I see Max every time I need to interact with her, I’m quickly getting more and more annoyed and ready to blow a fuse.

  Since the night he tucked me into my bed, he’s seemed oddly resigned from the whole situation. Whenever I grab lunch, dinner, or coffee with my mother, he’s there. His eyes don’t linger on me, though, and he pretends like I’m not even around. He’s distracted and focused on something else entirely, and as much as I want to convince myself I don’t care, it fucking hurts.

  It seems increasingly obvious that he just used me to get what he wanted, and I’m no longer entirely sure I buy the story he gave me about his parents forcing him to help out their family name.

  We’re having dinner for the first time in two weeks today, and I deliberately pick out an outfit I know I look hot as hell in. I’ve noticed small changes in the way I’m acting lately, and while I can’t say they’re really familiar, I don’t entirely dislike them, either.

  I feel more confident, and definitely brattier. I’m obsessed with getting my way with Max, and I’ll do things I’d never imagined doing before just to get under his skin. What hurts most, though, is knowing that there’s not much I can do to get him to notice me. He seems pretty damn determined to steer clear of me.

  As I wait for a cab in my red dress with a sweetheart neckline and a flared skirt, I look at my reflection in a glassed office across the road. My heels are high, the highest I own—velvet black peep-toes that make my legs look a mile long. The bodice of the dress is fitted tightly around my torso, and my hair is down, flowing in soft curls down my back. I even did my makeup accordingly for the fancy restaurant we’re going to—black cat eyeliner and a swipe of red lipstick, stolen from my mom’s collection.

  I arrive at the restaurant feeling simultaneously nervous as hell and excited, and I walk in, catching quite a few eyes and finding my mother and Max firmly seated at a table.

  Mom regards me with a cold expression, and I force myself to keep my eyes on hers and ignore Max. He’s not going to get to me, I repeat like a mantra in my head. Maybe if I say it enough times, it’ll actually come true.

  “Hello, parents,” I bite out cruelly, waiting for the maître’d to pull out a chair for me.

  “Interesting choice of clothes, Lola Grace,” my mother replies coolly, dabbing at her lips with a napkin. “You couldn’t have gone for a shorter hemline?”

  “I considered it,” I reply calmly. “But I figured you wanted to be the star of the show, not me.”

  She nearly chokes on a breadstick and I see Max barely stifling a laugh in my peripheral vision. Instead of reacting, I give my order to the waiter, who then disappears back into the kitchen, looking a little flustered.

  My mother starts talking about something or other to do with her campaign, and I drift off, mindlessly stabbing at the salad in front of me. I really have no desire to listen to her blab on for hours, but at least I’m close to Max, though I still don’t dare look at him. He’s too intimidating, even for my brand new come-hither attitude.

  After a while of my mom droning on, I get a brilliant idea and excuse myself to go to the ladies’ room. Max’s eyes follow me closely as I head there, and I grin to myself, knowing I’ve come up with the perfect plan.

  Once I’m in the washroom, I risk a look at my face and realize something.

  No amount of makeup in this world will hide the fact that I am still just an eighteen-year-old girl. Compared to my mother—a classy, beautiful woman in her prime—I am nothing but a child. Tears prick my eyes as I wonder if Max thinks the same thing.

  I almost change my mind about what I was going to do, but in the end I decide to be ballsy and head into the stall. I finish up and wash my hands, heading outside with a silly smile on my face.

  Seeing my mother and stepfather at the table makes my heartbeat quicken, and I reach them in a few steps, leaning over Max’s shoulder. “You have a crumb here,” I tell him, brushing the imaginary offender off his arm at the same time as slipping something in his pocket.

  He eyes me warily as I head back to my seat, realizing mom is still going on about the same story. I barely manage to stop my eyes from rolling, and I focus my gaze on Max instead.

  Discreetly, he reaches into his pocket and looks under the table, and once he realizes what I’ve done, his pupils dilate and he stares right at me. I assume my thong is still in his palm, and he’s clutching it quite tightly, judging by the protruding vein on his forehead.

  “Something the matter, stepdaddy?” I ask him innocently, and he blushes from the neck up. Adorable. I see why he likes it so much on me, now.

  “Eat your food,” he growls at me, getting back to his filet mignon. I giggle and my mom shoots me a confused look before launching into another story. This time, the main character is me.

  “And we really will have to throw a dinner party in your honor, Lola Grace,” my mom tells me, chewing on her leaf of salad for what seems like the millionth time. “You need to meet some people, maybe an eligible bachelor or two.”

  Max stabs his potatoes with such force it rattles the whole table, and it secretly pleases me, but my mom thankfully doesn’t even notice.

  “Why do you say that, mother?” I ask innocently.

  “Well, you’ll probably get married right after college,” she tells me, a thoughtful expression on her face. “I’ll want you to have known the guy for a few years, and I need at least a year to plan the wedding, so it’s high time.”

  “Does this plan require my approval? Do I get to sign on the dotted line?” I ask her sarcastically, and she merely glares at me.

  “What on earth has gotten into my sweet little girl all of a sudden?” she asks.

  Your husband’s dick.

  I don’t actually say it out loud, but I’m damn tempted to do it.

  I put my fork down once I’ve finished my food and sigh. “I think I’ll have to get going now. I have to study for tomorrow’s class. We’re taking the pre-Raphaelites now.”

  “Oh, you and your silly studies,” she replies, waving her hand at me. “Isn’t it ridiculous how seriously she takes them, Max? Darl
ing?”

  She has to physically poke him to get him to notice her and tear his eyes off me. He looks pissed, but so am I. I hate her calling him that, and I’ve had just about enough shit for one night. Max has proven he has absolutely no balls, and I don’t need to lust after a man like that.

  “Completely ridiculous, right?” I force a laugh. “I suppose it would be much better to have a fool for a daughter. All the better for you to run her life and string her along like a fucking puppet.”

  My mom’s eyes widen at me cursing, something she’s completely unused to, but I don’t give a shit. I get up from my chair and put my napkin down, and the waiter rushes over with my trench coat.

  “I’ll catch a cab outside,” I tell them both, my eyes lingering on Max.

  “I hope you lose the attitude you showed here today by the next time I see you,” my mother replies coolly.

  I smile at her sweetly. “And I hope you lose a few stitches, mommy. They’re really easy to see when you wear your hair up like that, you know?”

  I walk out of there, feeling like an enormous bitch. But I don’t care—I’ve had enough of their fucked up games. I’ll leave them to play them and get back to my real life.

  The wind is whipping my hair into my face as soon as I step outside, and I decide to seek refuge in an alley while I attempt to get an Uber. With my eyes stuck on the screen of my phone and my arms holding my trench coat together, I don’t even notice the figure approaching me.

  “You’re playing a dangerous game, kitten,” the all-too-well-known voice tells me, and I turn to face him. Max is wearing a coat over his shirt now, but his collar is open and I can see the tattoos coming up his neck from his chest.

  “What game might that be?” I ask him, trying to ignore the shivers running down my spine as he approaches me. “I spy with my little eye… two liars and a bad mother?”

  He approaches me slowly, stopping inches away from me and making me catch my breath. “Cat and mouse,” he breathes down my neck.

  And suddenly, everything’s forgotten as a need to feel our skin touching overwhelms me. His fingers tuck a strand of hair behind my ear and I gasp, needing him closer.

  “Max…” I breathe.

  “Not so brave now, are we?” he chuckles, then pulls out my panties and shows them to me. “Great gift, thanks for that. I was disappointed to not find them completely soaked.”

  I laugh, trying to hide how nervous I am, and he dangles them in front of me. “Going home without them?”

  “What do you care?” I taunt him, and he snarls. Suddenly, his hands are on my shoulders and he pushes me against the wall in the alley.

  “I care, Lola Grace,” he breathes down my neck, leaving my skin erupting in goose bumps in his wake. “Because that pussy belongs to me. And I don’t want you to flash your ass to someone on the ride home.”

  I whimper against him, my fingers threading themselves into his hair. I pull, hard, needing him closer and farther away at the same time. “I’m not your goddamned property,” I tell him.

  “Seems like you want to be,” he says with a dark chuckle. “And it seems like you’ve developed a fucking attitude since the last time I saw you. What’s that all about?”

  I glare at him but don’t answer. Not until I feel his hand on my thigh, sliding dangerously high, and a gasp escapes me. “Tell me,” he urges, and I shake my head, albeit not very convincingly.

  "I don't owe you anything," I bite out, and he shoots daggers with his eyes. Slowly, his hand snakes around my throat and his fingers grip my neck. I can feel my heart practically in my mouth, and while he's not hurting me, he's holding me in place firmly.

  "I hate seeing you with her," I manage to get out, my eyes pleading with his to let me go, have mercy on me. "I hate seeing her touch you. Hate how cold you are when you talk to me."

  He groans in response, running his free hand through that messy hair. "What the fuck else am I supposed to do, kitten?" he asks me. "I need to stick to my end of the deal."

  "I guess I thought I was more important than..." I start snarkily, but he jumps in.

  "My family? My future? My honor?" he offers, and I stare at him spitefully.

  Yes, I want to say. More important than all of that. But I don't say a word.

  "You don't know the whole story, Lola Grace," he says, his voice calm. "There’s more to it than you might think."

  "Like what?" I need to know. I struggle under his touch but he won't let go. "Tell me. I have to know more about you."

  "Just wait, kitten," he says, his eyes hopeful. "Just let these six months pass until I'm a free man once again. And then it'll all be better, and we can be together."

  "You promise?" I ask in a small voice.

  "Yes, kitten, I promise." His voice is rough, but honest, and it pleases me for the time being. "How am I going to stand it without you, though?"

  I giggle, wiggling under his heavy arms. Suddenly, he lets go of me and kneels down in front of me. "Put your foot up," he orders me. I give him a confused look, but I still do what he asks me to; I couldn't say no. I'm too obsessed with giving him what he wants.

  He slides my panties up my ankles, gently putting my foot down and moving on to the next one. Slowly, so excruciatingly slowly, he slides them up my thighs until he reaches the hem of my dress. He makes a move to step away, but a gentle touch of my fingers against his makes him stay. Our fleeting glances meet, and I lick my lips.

  "Touch me," I say, my voice low and breathy.

  "No," he says right away.

  "Fine," I reply stiffly, feeling bratty as ever. "I'll touch you, then."

  With my panties still around my thighs, I kneel in front of him. I hear him take in a sharp breath of air, and it sends an electrifying shiver through me. I have no idea what I'm doing, but I need to go through with it.

  My fingers find the button to his pants, and I open them. His cock is straining against his boxers, the outline bigger than I remember it.

  "Don't fucking do it, Lola Grace," he says, a tone of desperation in his voice. "You don't know what you're getting yourself into."

  I put my hands behind my back, crossed at the wrists, and I look up at him. He growls as he sees me like that, and I pull down the band of his boxers with my teeth. His cock springs free, slapping me in the face with its hardness and making me moan out loud.

  "Stop this right now," he says in a rough tone, his hands in his hair.

  "Walk away," I reply. "Walk away and I'll stop."

  We stare at each other defiantly, neither of us moving an inch. Then, I see a decision being made in his eyes. He leans down to pull up his pants, now pooled around his ankles, but I stare right at him as I suck the tip of his dick into my mouth.

  He doesn't get to make this decision.

  "Jesus fucking... shit," he curses out loud, his earlier decision to walk away from me forgotten. His fingers wrap tightly around my neck and I look up at him, always at those dark brown eyes, as I feast on his cock.

  I pull my hair over one shoulder and give it to him, and he grabs on to it like it's the only thing tethering him to the earth.

  "Pull if you want more," I tell him, his tip slipping out of my mouth. Right away, he pulls on my locks. Fucking hard.

  He doesn't say a word, but his eyes are dark and clouded with neediness.

  I'm ruining his resolve. I'm ruining his life.

  And I don't fucking care.

  My eyes remaining on him, I get to work on his cock. I've never had a dick in my mouth before, and the feeling is something else. I love feeling him get harder between my lips, feel his veins throbbing as cum runs down his shaft below the skin. And I want him deeper, so much deeper.

  He pulls my head back by my hair, and I make a small choking sound as his cock slips in even deeper, taking up my whole mouth.

  "Fucking shit," he groans out loud, looking around us. But there's no one here. Just us. Just my mouth and his cock, his hand and my hair, my eyes on his, my fingers desperate to go b
etween my legs.

  "Fuck yourself, Lola Grace," he orders me. "Fingers between your legs. Work that little pussy until you cream your fingers."

  I whimper, and I do what he says. Following his orders feels more natural than anything I've done before in my life.

  His cock is filling me up, throbbing more with each second as I explore it with my mouth. He tastes so good, so damn good, and I can feel his hands, his hips, and his cock stiffening as I run my tongue along his length, taking special care with the tip. I taste something on it, salty and strange and so incredibly taboo my whole body arches when I get it on my tongue. I'm moaning and my fingers slip deeper between my pussy lips.

  I don't care where I am. Don't care who could see.

  I can feel an orgasm building up between my legs, and I strum my clit to the rhythm of his thrusts. He's fucking my face, and it feels so dirty, but better than anything we've done before.

  "Look at me," he growls when I close my eyes for a second. I force them open, feeling tears pricking them; he's going in so deep. "Tell me, Lola Grace, what do good girls get?"

  He smooths my hair down as I stare at him with wide eyes and my mouth full. "They get rewarded," he says fondly. "Do you want to be rewarded, kitten?"

  I nod vigorously, bobbing my head against his cock, and I feel him ready to gush... Just as my phone starts to ring on the ground. We both glance towards it, and my mom's name flashes on the screen.

  "Fucking shit," Max groans. "Shit, shit, shit."

  He pulls out of my mouth and I moan in protest, but then my eyes widen, because he's throbbing, he's bigger than ever, and neither of us are touching his dick, but it's too late anyway...

  He cums with a curse and a spray of his seed all over my tits and the ground. I stare at him, partly mad because he pulled out, and partly turned on by his cum on my breasts.

  Before I can stop myself, I press them together, trying desperately to get a lick of his seed off my skin. I’m eyeing the ground, seeing how dirty it is. I must be fucking insane, because I want to lick it off there, too.