Page 129 of Victory at Prescott High (The Havoc Boys 5)
“I love you, Bernie,” Cal says, surprising me. He nips my ear, and I nearly collapse, my body so boneless and full of emotion and pleasure both that I’m basically sitting on his hand. “Maybe I don’t say it enough, but it’s true. It’s the only truth I adhere to. It guides me in all things.”
He starts to move the fingers of his left hand faster, the heel of his hand making my clit harden and thicken with the need to come. His hips continue to rock against me, but he isn’t moving them much, mostly he’s bringing us both toward a climax with his fingers. Teasing his own dick. Teasing my pussy. Making me see stars.
My second climax hits much harder, digs its nails much deeper, and I end up dragging my fingers along the stone wall until they bleed, a long, low groan slipping past my lips as my body contracts and throbs around Callum’s fingers. The feel of that, plus me rubbing my ass back against him drags out his own orgasm, and he sags against me, body shuddering. Callum spills himself inside of me and then tucks me close against him, panting hard.
For god only knows how long, we just stay where we are, frozen, gasping, the evening air prickling at our bare skin.
The sound of footsteps gets us both moving quickly, but I can’t stop the groan that slips from my throat as Callum very slowly slides out of me. Fortunately, the person that’s emerging around the corner isn’t a member of the GMP about to catch us with our literal pants down—it’s Oscar motherfucking Montauk.
“That was brilliant, really,” he drawls in that board, aristocratic tone of his.
“And you were watching, why?” I retort, yanking my sweats up but stumbling just enough that Cal has to catch me by the arm. My skin burns where he’s touching me, and I can’t help but shift my attention up to his face. His cheeks are slightly red, either from the cold or the exertion of a good fuck, I’m not sure but the effect on his pale skin is nothing short of glorious.
“It’s been longer than thirty minutes,” Oscar retorts back, and I remember the words Cal called out before we left through the door of the apartment. Oops. I straighten my tank top out as Callum takes my hand and we follow after Oscar after he turns on his heel to lead us away.
“Did you enjoy the show?” I ask, because I just can’t seem to help myself. Cal lets out a chuckle, meeting Oscar’s eyes when he glances back at us.
“Well, O, did you?” Callum challenges, but Oscar just gives us a tight-lipped smile and keeps walking. Cal and I exchange a look and catch up to him, breaking apart from each other with great remorse. But now that we’re flanking Oscar, it’s much easier to see the frantic beat of his pulse in the side of his tattooed neck.
When I glance down, I can see the firm approval of his enjoyment in the hard bulge at the front of his slacks. He notices me looking and reaches over to tap my chin, drawing my gaze back up to his beautiful face.
“Enough of that, Bernadette Blackbird,” he chastises, pausing outside the door of the staff apartment building to swipe our keycard. The staff always glare at us like blights on the perfection of their indefectible school; it’s even worse in here, since we’re invading their living space, too.
Nobody here understands how we got in, how we get to live in an apartment together, how we get away with all the shit we do. But that’s okay. It’s none of their fucking business, now is it?
A brunette woman with sharp frown lines cut into the lower half of her face sniffs derisively as we pass by, and I mime giving a blowjob, pointing at the two boys with me and then hooking a thumbs-up.
“Should be a fantastic night!” I call out, giving her a little wave before I bounce into the elevator and watch Oscar press the button for our floor. He still won’t look at me, so I get in his face instead, peering close at him until he finally turns his attention over to me. “Just admit it: you were watching us and getting off on it.”
“O has a problem with intimacy,” Cal says matter-of-factly, earning himself a glare made of gravestones and dead things.
“My father threw me into a shallow hole with my dead mother’s arms wrapped around my neck; I’m allowed to have issues, Callum Park.”
A ripple of violence and despair washes through me as I think about baby Oscar, with his blond hair dyed, lying in the dirt with bruises on his neck. Let’s just say, his father made a good choice by putting a gun to his own head and pulling the trigger. If he were still alive, well, I’d be plotting to kill him the way I’m plotting to kill Hael’s dad.
