In the Arms of the Elite (Rich Boys of Burberry Prep #4) - C.M. Stunich Page 0,39

he purrs, leaning in close, a huge grin plastered on his face. I can smell his sage and geranium scent mixed with the faint whisper of tobacco as he presses up close against me. “Are you daydreaming about all the naughty things we did?”

“Fuck off, Kaiser,” I choke out, but my mouth twitches slightly at the same time Creed scowls. We didn't just have sex, we were downright fucking naughty. My body tingles as I remember Zayd's tattooed hands on my hips, his pelvis grinding me against the speaker …

If the Marnye Reed I was three years ago could see me now, well, she would be well and truly shocked at the transformation. The thing is, what we did was fun. It was consensual. It felt good. There's nothing wrong with that.

“I'm surprised she didn't dump you immediately after seeing your tiny dick,” Creed drawls on the end of another yawn. “It's so little, at first I thought a girl with a weird clit had snuck into the boys' locker room.”

“Aww,” Zayd purrs, putting his hand over his chest, “that joke might've worked before we slept together, but now that Marnye knows how skilled I am, some virgin boy is going to have serious trouble catching up.”

“Better to be a virgin than some diseased man-whore,” Creed snaps back, but Zayd just throws his head back and howls with laughter. “Seriously, man, screw you.”

Zayd stops laughing just long enough to catch his breath, leaning back against the window that separates us from the driver. He rests his inked fingers against the side of his face and smirks in this smug, satisfied male sort of way that would be infuriating if it wasn't so damn sexy, too.

“Don't be mad that we all know your secret. You kept it well. I was convinced you were an even bigger man-slut than Tristan.”

“Please and kindly, shut the fuck up,” Tristan says, tapping his fingers on his thigh. Lizzie is sitting on his right, but I can't decide if that was by her design, his, or just purely accidental. I remember sitting next to him in the limo last year, and my heart clenches painfully.

“His majesty is trying to think,” Windsor says, speaking up and tapping the side of his head with a single finger. “It's not easy for him, so please, quiet while he concentrates.”

Windsor's newest favorite thing to do is call Tristan his majesty in the most dry and sarcastic voice known to man. It's really heightened the tension between them, and I'm left wondering yet again how long I can do this, keep this ragtag little group of ours together.

“Be nice, Windy,” I tell him, feeling this rush of anxiety sweep over me as the car pulls up to the courtyard steps. The Towers loom above us with their white stone walls, and the flags on the side of tower one whip in the wind. There's an American flag, a California state flag, and a flag that features the academy crest on it. In the center of the courtyard, the bronze stag statue stands proudly, water pouring into the serene circle of the fountain.

“We've got this,” Zack whispers, noticing my expression. He shrugs out of his letterman jacket and passes it over to me, making me smile. I take it and slip into it, his grapefruit and nutmeg scent surrounding me like a familiar hug. All the boys are watching, and none of them looks particularly happy. Even Miranda has her eyes slightly narrowed. Lizzie looks … kind of thrilled, actually.

“Don't show weakness in the halls. Save the squabbles for behind closed doors,” Tristan says as the limo comes to a stop, and Lizzie climbs out ahead of him. He's right behind her, with Miranda, Windsor, and Zack following behind.

“Don't stress,” Creed tells me, his eyes heavy and half-lidded. He curls his fingers through mine and runs his tongue along his lower lip. “Just focus on kicking Tristan's ass in the class rankings again.”

I nod, exhaling and letting Creed pull me from the car while Zayd follows along behind us.

I have to say, we make a fairly impressive entrance, all of us lined up in all black, bookbags held at our sides or over our shoulders as we march across the courtyard and the other students part like a wave.

That is, until we get in the hall and run into my sister.

Half-sister, or otherwise, I can't tell because Dad won't talk about it, but there she is, standing with a group of other