Page 78 of Victory at Prescott High (The Havoc Boys 5)
“Oh, Hael,” she groans, her hips rising up to meet my mouth. I lift my head up just enough so that I can look at her, her lids squeezed shut, her fingers digging into the Cadillac that I put so much work into. Just for her. This is a gift that I’d only ever give to my one and only.
A smile curves across my lips as I move my left hand—yeah, I’m a leftie—to her pussy, slipping a single finger inside of her and feeling the silken heat of her wrap around me.
“Shit.” The word escapes my lips before I drop my mouth back to her clit, adding a second finger and then a third, Bernadette’s body stretching to accommodate me. It’s so goddamn warm inside, so slick, the walls textured in a way that my cock full-well remembers. My hand pumps in and out as I use my tongue in a slow, languorous rhythm, my own hips grinding against the seat. With nothing but my boxers between me and the leather seat, I have no problem finding a spot that gets me just right.
As Connie sings about where the boys are, I only have one girl on my mind.
“Please, please, please,” Bernie moans, her back arching as my fingers slide in and out in that same, slow, perfect pace. She gets fucked enough. Girl needs to just relax into this. I ignore her cries for faster, harder, more, and take my time, loving the fine beads of sweat that cling to her white skin. It’s a cool February evening, but if the sex is good, you always sweat, even just a little.
The couple in the Ford are really going at it now, their voices raised in pleasure, mixing with the crooning nostalgia of the fifties radio station that Connie started for us. When I feel my own climax sneaking up on me, I adjust my hand, removing one of my fingers from Bernie’s pussy and slipping it into her ass.
With a shudder and a soft cry, her inner muscles wrap my fingers, pulsing and throbbing as she comes, spilling more of that sweet juice over my hand as I lick and suck at her clit. My hips pump faster against the seat until I’m coming apart with a desperate, searing relief, like that first hit off a joint, or that first sip of coffee in the morning. My orgasm is like … falling into bed after a long trip or cracking your knuckles or snorting a line of the purest coke. It’s almost as good as falling in love. But not quite.
We stay where we are for a moment, panting and shivering as the cool air brushes across our sweat-soaked skin.
“Jesus, Hael,” Bernie murmurs and I chuckle, sitting up and grabbing my discarded shirt again to clean my hand off. I’ve thoroughly fucked my boxers and honestly, I’m real glad I went with leather for the seats. Have you ever tried to get cum off a fabric seat? Fucking sucks.
I sit up and drag my jeans on with shaking hands, slumping back into the seat as Bernie yanks on her panties and forgoes her pink pants entirely. She curls up against my side as another Connie Francis song starts up.
“This … was not what I expected from you,” she whispers, tucked close to me. I glance back just in time to see a familiar maroon Subaru driving away. Huh. Hadn’t even noticed the VGTF assholes joining us on the Butte. Hope they enjoyed the show.
“In a good way?” I ask, feeling my stomach knot as I wait for her answer.
“In the best way,” Bernie agrees, and I sigh, my head falling back so I can look up and see the stars. “The absolute fucking best.”
And with that, I’m damn near certain that I could die happy.Bernadette BlackbirdConvincing your five possessive alpha-dick lovers to let you dress up like a whore and raid a gang-owned strip club is one of the hardest things a girl can go through. Frankly, I’m starting to run out of patience here.
“Listen to me,” I start as Aaron leans back in his chair at the admittedly cute vintage table in the kitchen. Fifties era, linoleum top, aluminum legs and banding around the edges. Bound to be a classic someday. I might steal it when we leave. Not sure where I’d put it, but I like it. The look Aaron gives me is one-part irritation and two-parts terror. He knows that once I’ve latched onto something, I’m like a bulldog with a bone. He already knows he’s going to lose.
Vic, on the other hand, could use a memo.
“Listen to you talk about an idea that isn’t happening?” Victor quips, spraying testosterone in the air like a dragon breathing fire. My mouth tightens, and I feel myself getting all southside pissed off at him. “You’re not going into that club. Bernie, did you hear what Callum said? He couldn’t beat Mason Miller. No offense, but if Cal can’t do it then you can’t do it. I can’t do it.”
