Page 96 of Mayhem At Prescott High (The Havoc Boys 3)
I keep my eyes closed for a moment, but when I open them, I find Oscar with his jacket off, tie loose, and slacks undone. He holds his inked and pierced cock in that gorgeous hand of his, stroking his fingers along its length.
“Sex is such a strange concept, don't you think?” he asks, his voice as smooth as that thirty-five-thousand-dollar cognac we drank at the Vincents' place. It goes down nice and easy, making my belly burn with the taste. Fuck, fuck, fuck. The tension in that room is so thick that I'm surprised it doesn't fog up the asshole's glasses.
“I think it's a double-edged sword, a perfectly awful execution of the soul in the wrong hands … and a melding of souls in a different set.”
“Which set of hands do you think I have, Bernadette?” Oscar asks me, slicking his thumb over the tip of his cock and making it shiny with pre-ejac.
“The hands of the devil,” I whisper back, closing my eyes. Oscar grabs me by the hair and yanks my head back, leaning down to put his mouth near mine. I can practically taste him, a strange poison that reminds me of night-blooming flowers and pain. He doesn't kiss me though, just laughs against my lips and pulls my hair a little harder.
“The hands of the devil is right,” Oscar agrees and then he pushes me back and onto his bed. He parts my knees with his pretty hands and kneels between them, looking down at me with gray eyes and an expression that cuts. My chest rises and falls in rapid motions, sweat beading between my breasts. My arms are trapped underneath me, leaving me to wait for him to bestow his wicked mercy upon me.
Oscar runs his HAVOC tatted fingers down my throat, and I groan, remembering the feel of my own hands on his inked neck. He was underneath me, cut off from oxygen, and I really thought he was giving it his all. What a stupid assumption to make. Sure, the hardest hearts are forged in fire, but the most wicked are the flames that smelt that metal.
“You're not going anywhere, are you?” he asks me, absently stroking my throat with one hand and teasing his cock with the other. “No matter how hard Aaron and I try, we're undermined at every turn. Callum undermines us; Hael undermines us.” Oscar scowls violently and his fingers curve around my neck, pinning me to the bed. “Victor undermines us.” He presses down a little harder, and I gasp.
Still, I'm not afraid.
He’s trying his best to throw everything he has at me, get me to freak out, to run away.
But I won’t.
Oscar needs someone he can trust, someone he can unfurl in front of and not be afraid that they’ll run away. He truly thinks I’m going to abandon him; I’ll prove him wrong.
“You.” Oscar spits this last word out on the end of another sneer. “You undermine me most of all. Why can't you see that this isn't the life you were supposed to lead? I am not the prince in your dreams.”
“Do you remember the paper dress you made me in elementary school?” I whisper as Oscar squeezes just a little tighter, not even to cut off my words, but enough that my heart starts to pound in response. Run! my body screams, while my soul knows to stay put. “Or the apples you gave me every day in junior high?”
“Quiet.” Oscar puts a little more pressure on my neck, yet he never cuts off my flow of oxygen. “Just be quiet, Bernadette. Let me mourn the person you could've been if you'd left us all behind. We were more than happy to be your dark angels. Why did you have to come back to us? Once you've given yourself to the devil, you can never have your soul back.”
It's quite clear that he doesn't want me to say anything at all. Instead, I lay there with his lean body between my thighs, his dick precariously close to my wet heat.
Oscar adjusts himself, pushing the tip of his cock against me. My eyes squeeze shut as he pushes his way in, inch by inch. The pressure on my throat never ceases; he keeps it firm and steady, pinning me to the bed.
Once he's fully sheathed inside of me, he lets out a low groan, the very first human-like sound I've heard him make today. I open my eyes to see him above me, our bodies joined together, the tattoos on his lower belly peeking out at me. I want him naked; I want to see everything.
I'm doubtful that's going to happen today.
He wets his lips with his tongue and studies me carefully, relaxing his grip just enough on my throat so that I can talk.
