Page 119 of Victory at Prescott High (The Havoc Boys 5)
“I can be,” he murmurs, scooting back so that he can grab my sweats and slide them down and off, tossing them onto the floor before moving back between my thighs. He cradles my head between his hands and finally drops his mouth to mine, tasting me with a sweetness that reminds me of being fifteen again, before Penelope was gone, before Callum lost his dream of dancing, before the whole world shifted and tilted and broke.
I can’t say that I don’t wish things had been different, but I also can’t say that I’m not happy with where I am right now, using all of those broken bits to create a mosaic of stained glass that’s twice as beautiful as any solid piece I might’ve had before. When the light hits it, it paints the world in vibrant color.
Our tongues dance together as Aaron finds my opening, sliding forward so slowly that I ache and writhe and squirm, trying to get just a little more, impale myself a little harder. He keeps complete control of the moment, but not in a domineering way like Vic or an obsessive desperation like Oscar. He just knows what he wants, and he’s okay asking for it.
And what he very clearly wants is me. Us. This. All of it.
We start to move together, our hips creating this coordinated song and dance. Flesh against flesh, the sweet music of wet bodies, our fingers tangled, our eyes locked. I can hear other sounds, lewder ones, groans and curses. I can smell the tang of sex in the air as Aaron tastes my lips, making love to my tongue at the same time he does to my pussy. There are promises in his kisses, in the movements of his hips, the way his muscles tighten and quiver as he approaches his climax.
For the briefest of moments, it’s just me and him again, losing our virginities to one another in a suburban bedroom on the border of Prescott and Fuller while his mother cooks downstairs and the world keeps spinning the way it always does.
The climax takes me first, and Aaron keeps me pinned in place while I quiver and shudder, my silken inner muscles clamping around him and milking him like my body wants something I’m not ready for. But, well, I’ve been taking the pill at the same time every day for extra assurance, so it can do whatever it wants. It feels good anyway, to complete the primal dance of mating with the boy I first fell in love with.
My body goes slack beneath his, but I keep my thighs spread wide so Aaron can use me to find his own orgasm. He pulls back from our kiss, just so he can watch me as he comes, his lids fluttering, my fingernails digging into the tight muscles of his ass he pumps hard and fast a few last times and then collapses on top of me.
I close my eyes as his breath flutters my hair, listening to the chorus of ragged breathing in the room, trying to see if anyone else is still going. But no, it’s nothing but panting and a faint chuckle from Hael’s direction.
“The family that jacks it together stays together,” he says, and Victor lets out an annoyed groan, chucking a pillow in his direction as I open my eyes and Aaron rolls off to lie between me and Vic.
“Thank you,” I tell them, and the playful bickering ceases right away. Nobody asks what I’m saying thank you for—they know it isn’t as simple and stupid as me thanking them for performing a group masturbation. It’s because they love each other as much as they love me, and there’s nothing but death that could ever pull the six of us apart.I manage to last two weeks at Oak Valley Prep before I give in to one of my many obsessions.
Pamela Pence.
Mother.
Murderer.
Sitting inside the county jail, I rest my elbows on the scratched surface of a small white table and wait for Pam to be brought in. Meanwhile, I tell myself that everything is okay when … none of it is, really. None of it.
She murdered Penelope, I tell myself, but despite holding onto that knowledge for over a month, I don’t believe it. Rather … I don’t want to believe it. My stepfather was the Thing, right? This awful, evil, barely human monster. It only makes sense that he would be the one to end my sister.
Yet …
Pamela sits down in front of me as I raise my gaze from the surface of the table, the fingers of my tattooed left hand tracing a word scratched deeply into the plastic. HAVOC, it says. Because I scratched it there just now, without any of the officers in the room noticing.
“Bernadette,” Pam says, smiling when she sees me. But not like she’s happy I’m there, more like she’s relishing the idea that I might be suffering. She must be able to see it in my face. “I’ve been telling that pretty young officer everything I know about your little gang.”
