Page 75 of Victory at Prescott High (The Havoc Boys 5)
“Your smiles are like Cal’s hoodie or Vic’s chain-smoking,” she says as I lift a single brow in question. “Just a tic that you don’t know how to function without.”
“Oh, I see.” I grin back at her, even though I’m quite literally doing the exact fucking thing she just accused me of. “My beatific fucking smiles are just tics, huh?”
“Be. Real. With. Me.” My girl stares me down with bright emerald eyes, their color enhanced by the liquid gold of the setting sun. I’ve never been much of a poet—my vocabulary is half-slang, the rest curse words—but something about this woman makes me want to try to be better.
“I’m pissed at Victor,” I admit, and Bernadette nods yet again. She’s too smart to have not seen it. “I’m pissed because he kicked me out, and then he fucked you with Aaron. That should’ve been me. He owes me an apology.”
“So tell him that.” She slips out of her pink leather jacket and tosses it into the back seat, reminding me that there’s no bra underneath her shirt. Her nipples are peaked points, straining against the fabric, and I find myself rubbing a palm over the growing erection trapped inside my jeans. Bernie notices, of course, but all she does is hook a mischievous little smile. “Tell me that. Are you mad at me, too? For letting him get away with that crap.”
I think about that for a minute. Am I? Could I ever be mad at Bernadette for anything?
“No.” I pause for a moment and then shake my head, raking the fingers of my right hand through my hair. “Maybe. Just a little.”
Her smile gets just a bit wider, a bit more real.
“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry,” she tells me, and I feel a bit of that hot ache buried deep in my chest cool a little. Her beautiful lips, those words … it’s too much. I can’t help myself when I reach out a hand and cup the side of her face, bringing my mouth to hers. The first kiss is almost … sweet? Wasn’t even aware I was capable of such a thing. But it’s like pressing a flame to dry kindling. Just a few brushes of lips later and we may as well have doused our mouths in gasoline and set them on fire.
“Eight minutes,” she murmurs against my lips, and then I’m yanking her onto my lap, encouraging her to rub that hot cunt of hers against my erection. The pink leather of the cigarette pants dips beneath the hard press of my fingers as I kiss along the edge of her jaw toward her ear, savoring the sweetness of her pale skin. “Let me make it up to you.”
Bernie’s inked hands drop to my button and fly, undoing my pants with sure, steady movements. I watch her with slightly parted lips, hunger roaring inside of me. How many times did I imagine this girl when I was with somebody else? Pretty much every fucking time.
Obsession.
We wear it and perform it well in Havoc, now don’t we?
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” I say, pausing her hands before she gets the chance to free my cock from the confines of the tight denim. “If you’re planning on sucking me off, Miss Blackbird, then I’d like to remind you that you already owed me. I made you come first when we fucked in the driveway, so this is hardly making anything up. This was mine to begin with.” I fist a hand in her hair and then kiss away the sharp gasp that tears from her throat.
There’s one other vehicle up here—a classic Ford F100, 1955 I think—with a couple sprawled out in the bed of the pickup. Their moans create a sensual background song to the sweet murmurs spilling from Bernadette’s pink-painted lips. The color on her mouth matches her pants, and I get this hot thrill from imagining it smeared across my face and neck.
The sun is very quickly disappearing into the horizon, and the night throws up a blanket of stars that are only slightly obscured by the lights of the city. Springfield isn’t that big of a town, after all. Just big enough to hold onto. Just big enough to rule.
I hit the button to bring the top down, glad that I added that little extra. Nobody wants to put the fucking thing down manually. Kills the mood. Cool air sweeps in around us, but it doesn’t matter; there’s enough heat in our bodies to make up for it.
“Then I guess I’ll fulfill my end of the bet with my mouth and make up for my mistakes with Victor by using this tight little pussy.” Bernadette grinds herself against me before grabbing my phone and checking the stopwatch once again. “Thirteen minutes,” she murmurs, and then she starts up “Cherry Pie” by Warrant.
