Victory at Prescott High (The Havoc Boys #5) - C.M. Stunich Page 0,63

color: Broke-ass Bitch. It’s the shade of obsessive love and irrational desire, caught somewhere between gray and purple. I swipe my tongue over it as Oscar fucks me in a pink-lined casket in some broke-ass funeral home in the worst neighborhood in town.

I come so hard that I actually bite my lip and make it bleed, my body shuddering and spasming as I struggle to stay upright. My inner muscles clench around Oscar’s inked cock, his piercings stroking me and making me purr like a kitty cat.

The orgasm rips through me and I collapse, my cheek pressed against the soft interior of the coffin as Oscar uses my body however he pleases. He fucks me until his hands clench so hard around my hips that I bite down on the pink cushion beneath my head. Oscar spills himself inside of me with a long, satisfying groan and then collapses on top of me.

We stay like that for several minutes, panting, catching our breath, readjusting to reality. Because when you get fucked like that, it’s as if nothing else in the entire world matters but for the joining of your souls.

Eventually, Oscar stands up, fixes his slacks, and then offers out a hand. This time, I take it, letting him pull me out of the world of the dead and right back into the nightmare of the living. He yanks me close, much closer than I expected, and actually holds me there for a moment, looking down and into my face.

“I don’t understand it all,” he says with a slight shake of his head, reaching up a hand to rub at the side of his face. There’s a smudge on his glasses right now, an actual smudge. And if you know Oscar Montauk, you know that he doesn’t allow simple human error like smudges on his fucking glasses. It’s monumental, that smudge. Life-changing, really. “Why you like me, that is. Or any of us.” He cups the side of my face with his pretty inked fingers and my eyes close of their own accord. I lean into his touch with a small sigh, feeling the proof of his obsession trickle out of me. “You could’ve been a model … or something.”

I smile and open my eyes.

“Or something. I’d much rather be a Havoc Girl.” I press up to my tiptoes, plant a lipstick smudged kiss against his cheek, and then drop back to my heels just in time for a tentative knock to sound at a door marked Employees Only. “Come in,” I say as the funeral director hesitantly cracks it open and slinks into the room like a kicked dog. I point back at the pink-lined casket behind me. “We’ll take that one.”

“Yes, miss,” the man murmurs, refusing to make eye contact. If he knows we fucked in his funeral parlor, he doesn’t have the balls to say a thing about it.

I take Oscar’s hand in mine, the way Callum has no problem doing with me. “It makes me feel human.” He was so damn right about that. There’s like nothing like a coffin-fuck followed by some chaste handholding to put the human experience into perspective.

“Hey,” I start as I lead Oscar to the exterior door. The way he looks at me, it’s a pinch of wariness mixed with overwhelming confusion—and tainted by love. He really does love me, doesn’t he? This knave known as Oscar motherfucking Montauk. “Do you think you could show me a little of your knot mastery?”

The look he throws me is full of innuendo, but that’s not the only thing I have in mind.

Murder is right up there alongside it.

The feds know exactly where our safe house is. There was no way to hide our move across town from Sara Young. It’s always a possibility that they’ll leak our location to the GMP, but that’s exactly why we’re here. If Maxwell sends his goons into the heart of Prescott, they’ll see exactly how influential our crew can be.

“Bernadette,” Sara says after I open the door wearing pajamas and a yawn. Today is Stacey’s funeral. There’s always the possibility of trouble there, too, but we have to attend. We owe that much to her girls, at the very least. “I’m sorry, did I wake you?”

She offers me up a Styrofoam coffee cup with a plastic lid. Since it has no logo and looks jank as shit, it’s likely from my favorite coffee shop two blocks over. The place doesn’t even have a name, just a neon