Victory at Prescott High (The Havoc Boys #5) - C.M. Stunich Page 0,145

the rope over to me.

“Try it,” he commands, so I do. It isn’t as hard as I first thought. After a few tries, I get it. While I’m in the process of doing that, Callum is stroking himself with long, easy movements of his fist. The way his blue eyes go hooded, the way his pink lips part, it’s almost too much.

I shift a bit as I hand the rope back, and the towel falls off, plopping to the floor as Oscar goes very, very still.

“Shit,” he grinds out, but he doesn’t stop moving the rope around. I realize after a moment that I’m supposed to still be watching his hands, not his silver eyes, not his dangerously beautiful lips. I drop my gaze down. “The overhand knot.” He finishes his demonstration, the soft whisper of the rope as he ties it making my heart thunder. “And the double overhand.”

I watch his inked fingers moving, but I promise at this point, I’m not paying much attention to the lesson. I just like the way he moves. He shows me the square knot and the surgeon’s knot, and then moves onto half-hitches.

“Now,” he commands finally, gesturing over at Callum. “Help me tie him up.” Oscar turns his cool gaze over to Cal, but he can’t hide the bead of sweat that trails down his inked throat, between his biceps, and down to the belly button darkening his perfect abs. “Put your back against the headboard, Cal.”

Callum complies, allowing us to tie him without complaint, hooking his ankles and his neck and wrists to the slatted headboard. The obscene color of the red rope against his pale skin, against his scars and tattoos and long, lean dancer’s body, that makes me so wet and swollen that when I shift backwards on the bed a bit, my thighs rub and pleasure radiates through me in a wave.

“Holy fuck,” I murmur, studying Cal’s bound form, his cock thick and swollen and throbbing with need. He can’t do shit about it either. He’s at our mercy. Wouldn’t surprise me if he used the safe word right now.

Callum just closes his eyes and shudders for a moment before lifting his lids again and staring at us. I turn back to Oscar and he shoves his pajama pants over his hips, slicking a thumb over the moist head of his cock. He drags his fingertips down, playing with one of his piercings. It’s incredible to me that someone who hates to be touched so much has so much ink, such intimate piercings. He’s alluded to the story behind that, about the physical pain chasing the emotional, but I need more.

Whenever he’s ready to tell me, I’ll be here.

“Come, Bernadette,” Oscar says, and even though I’m his queen and I give the orders, I can sense that he needs moments to be in charge, too, to quell some of that violent, icy anger inside of him. I crawl over his lap, but he encourages me to prop my cunt against his thigh instead of over his shaft. He grabs me roughly by the back of my hair and licks the shell of my ear once before whispering, “move.”

I do as Oscar tells me, rubbing the swollen heat of my cunt on him. Right now, wrapped up in all of this, my worries are as distant as shooting stars. There isn’t anything more important than being in the moment, of seeing Cal twisted in Oscar’s rope, of slicking along his inked, muscular thigh until he’s wet with me.

My own inked left hand grabs his cock, pleasuring him as we stare into each other’s eyes and our mingled breath fogs his glasses. My clit is hitting in just the right spot, and that brilliant beyond brilliant gaze is searing into me, making my body feel liquid, weightless. My eyes go half-hooded as I tear my attention from Oscar to see Callum moaning and shifting, trapped in that beautiful, red rope.

The orgasm hits me like a punch to the gut, making me groan, making my insides flutter. As soon as it hits me and my muscles go taut, Oscar adjusts me, moving my hips and spearing me on his cock as the climax takes over my entire body. The long, low moan trailing from my lips is soon joined by his as he spills himself inside of me and then rolls me onto my back beside him.

“Please make me come,” Cal murmurs, his eyes squeezed shut tight. “Please fucking god.”

I sit