One last thing before you go on. If this book inspires you to explore the world of BDSM and power exchange, I cannot stress enough to seek out educational, non-fiction resources if you want to learn more. Many of the kink activities depicted in this book contain significant risk of bodily injury, and while we all love the smutty fictional filth (I mean…that’s why you’re reading this, right?), what we DON’T love is folks getting hurt by delving into the deep end of BDSM without taking the time to learn. So be risk-aware, be responsible, and do your due diligence for yourself and your partner/partners.

Now, on to the fun stuff!

Happy reading!

Harley

To the losers, the freaks, and the outcasts.

Keep chasing sunrises.

1

Jessica

High School - Senior Year

“Let me make one thing clear. The only way Manson Reed leaves this school tomorrow is on a stretcher, got that?”

There were nods of affirmation from the boys gathered around Kyle’s red Ford Raptor. The parking lot was nearly empty; even the principal’s Mercedes was gone. If it had been any other group of five boys lingering in the lot after school hours, the security guard would have dispersed them already. But it was quarterback, Kyle Baggins, and his teammates, and they could do no wrong.

Except they could, they did, and they were going to again. And this time, it was entirely my fault.

“It was just a kiss, Kyle,” I muttered, hanging out the passenger side window. I had my cheerleading uniform on, and even in the crisp autumn air, my skin was sticky with sweat from practice. We’d been arguing earlier, and he’d made me so upset I’d blurted out the one thing I knew would hurt him.

I’d kissed Manson Reed, the school outcast, the freak, the boy everyone loved to hate.

“Fuck that.” Kyle shook his head adamantly, his hands gripping the truck bed as if he wanted to tear through the metal. His jaw was clenched, his broad shoulders rigid with tension. “Unless you’re trying to tell me you fucking enjoyed it, Jessica.”

I huffed and sat back in my seat with my arms folded, staring straight ahead. There was no reasoning with Kyle when he was like this. I didn’t dare tell him the truth.

I’d enjoyed it. I’d wanted it. Manson never would have laid a finger on me if he thought I didn’t want him to. He never would have kissed me if I hadn’t kissed him first.

But admitting what I’d done — what we’d done — was social suicide. It had slipped out to Kyle, because I was so angry he’d left me for Veronica Mills, only to come sauntering back a month later. What better way to hurt him than to tell him I’d kissed the boy he’d bullied relentlessly since freshman year?

Kyle’s friends dispersed, and he got into the truck, turning it on. The engine roared as we sped down the road, whipping up leaves in a flurry behind us as he took me home. I was gripping my cell so tightly my fingers ached, knuckles gone white.