Page 137 of Victory at Prescott High (The Havoc Boys 5)
My face scrunches up as Oscar’s tightens in a rare show of sympathy.
“I know how you feel,” he says, surprising me. He isn’t one to offer up his emotions freely. “For years, I felt the same way about my own father. He took his life and left me with no recourse to punish him. In a way, you’re glad that person is dead and gone, because they ruined your life in ways that can never be fixed. In the same breath, you mourn. In the next breath, you rage.”
I just stare at him for a moment before setting the whisky bottle aside and crawling through the circle yet again. This time, I’m not searching for booze. This time, I’m finding the warm comfort of Oscar Montauk’s lap.
The incredible thing about it is that I’m the only person in the known universe who’s allowed to touch him like this, cuddle him and feel his long fingers tangling in my hair. He lets out a long sigh, and even though I know he would never ask for something I don’t want to give, his cock thickens beneath my cheek and I find myself rubbing against it.
“My list is done,” I say, and Oscar’s fingers pause for a moment before he strokes one down the length of my nose, traces my lips, memorizes me with the one sense he used to be most afraid of but which is the most powerful of all: touch. “It’s all done.”
“It’s done,” he agrees, stroking me as I close my eyes and I listen to the other boys pass the whisky bottle around the circle. “Sometimes, when you finish something so important, it feels both good and bad. You wish you were still working on it, but you’re relieved that it’s behind you.”
I roll onto my back and open my eyes, so that I can stare up at him. He very carefully reaches his fingers up to his loosened tie and begins to undo it. We’re going to have sex in this crumbling old house tonight. He knows it; I know it; I’m sure the rest of the Havoc Boys know it.
“Don’t let the last name on my list be so … anticlimactic,” I murmur, feeling my hands shake as I lift them to Oscar’s face. It was born in drama, right, that list? And so it has to go out with the same fashion, with a bang, with a spark that burns too bright and too hot to ignore.
“I promise,” Oscar murmurs, leaning over to kiss me, “that it will not be anticlimactic.”
His rapier of a mouth slices against mine, so sharp and so painful that I’m sure I’m bleeding, but yet, I can’t stop. I crave this pain because it matches my own, because it sings the same tunes and paints in the same colors.
Oscar’s tongue gives a hot swipe over mine before he pulls away, sitting up and undoing the buttons on his shirt as Aaron crawls over to me, moving between my legs to undo the black leather pants I’m wearing. They’re so tight that he has to peel them down the molded curves of my hips, past my pale silky thighs, and tug them from my feet.
The tattooed god above me tosses his tie aside, throws off his shirt. And then Aaron is flipping me over so that I can watch Oscar free his cock from his black slacks. With the tattooed, pierced length of him bobbing in front of my face, there’s nothing more I want to do than take him into my mouth.
His breath hisses out, almost like he’s pain, but he kneads my scalp with his fingertips in a very clear message: do not stop. At the same time, I feel warm hands encouraging me to put my ass in the air. When I heed that call and do as Aaron’s asked, I can feel his hot mouth taking my cunt, tongue slicking along my folds as I groan with my own lips pressed to Oscar’s cock.
He continues to knead my hair with his fingertips, encouraging me to continue what I’m doing as Aaron slips two fingers inside of me. He fucks me nice and slow with his hand while my head bobs up and down on Oscar’s dick.
Victor is the only one of the boys that I can see, and he stares down at me like he’s the ruler of this entire room, like this is a gift that only he could ever give me. I should be grateful to touch Oscar the way I do, to feel Aaron between my thighs. Because he’s the only one that could grant me the right to do that.
It feels like, with the way he’s looking at me, that if the other boys are gods then Victor is the king of the gods and we all belong to him. When Oscar flicks a slight glance in his direction, I can see it and I know: these boys belong to Vic just as much as they belong to me. The idea of that makes me sting with jealousy, but only for a split-second. Then it thrills me, it thrills me so much that I really and truly feel like part of a ruling pair.
