The Envy of Idols (Rich Boys of Burberry Prep #3) - C.M. Stunich Page 0,75

in Underland?

Oh well.

I’m still excited.

I bite my lower lip, and then watch as Creed approaches a scowling Tristan, putting his fingers on either side of the other boy’s face.

“Please,” Tristan snorts, pushing his hands away, and then grabbing Creed by the wrists. “We both know you’re a bottom, and I’m a top. We may as well as act the parts.”

“Screw you,” Creed snarls at him, pulling his wrists back. Tristan doesn’t let him go, and the two guys glare at each other. Tristan keeps one hand on Creed’s wrists, and puts the other against the side of his friend’s face. They both look over at me.

“This must be payback for all those times we made bets to get Infinity Club girls to make out with each other,” Tristan murmurs, and then, with his eyes still locked on mine, he leans forward and presses his mouth against Creed’s, parting the other boy’s lips with his tongue.

For five blissful seconds, I get to see a fantasy brought to life, two of the cruelest boys in the academy kissing one another, their legs partially tangled. Tristan’s fingers slide up and into Creed’s hair, and that’s when he puts a stop to it, shoving the Vanderbilt boy back with a scowl.

“If I didn’t know better, I might think you were really into me,” Creed says, shoving his arm across his mouth.

“You’d only be so lucky,” Tristan purrs as Creed washes his mouth out with vodka and swallows a generous amount of alcohol.

He waves his hand in Zack’s direction.

“You. Brooks. Truth or dare.”

“Dare,” Zack says, narrowing his eyes to slits and focusing his attention on Creed in challenge. “Give me your worst, Cabot.”

“I dare you to make yourself come. Right now. In front of everyone.” Creed’s face is absolutely wicked as he spits out his directive, and Zack lets out a series of mumbled curses, raking his fingers through his hair. He glances over at me, and my cheeks flush warm.

“You can tell him no, and do a truth instead,” I suggest, but Zack looks determined, and that scares me.

“In our version of the game, you get one chance to swap a truth for a dare, or vice versa. If you fail again, you lose, you’re out.” Zayd sits up, like he’s gearing up for a particularly vicious game. These boys sure do like making bets, whether or not they’re doing it in an official Infinity Club capacity. It’s a symptom of their privilege, their lack of ever wanting for anything. They need challenge; they crave it.

“What does the winner get?” I ask, and Zayd grins, shrugging inked shoulders at me.

“Bragging rights?”

“How about a trophy?” I counter, and he cringes, pretending to brush off a burn.

“Ouch, Charity, ouch.”

“I’ll do it,” Zack says, nostrils flaring as he pulls in a deep inhale, and then … spits in his palm. Holy crap. He slides his hand inside his boxers, his eyes focused on mine. I can’t see anything, but I definitely notice the change in his breathing, his dilated pupils, the sweat that beads on his forehead.

“Fuckin’ hardcore, man,” Zayd laughs, chugging another shot’s worth of rum. “Show us what you’ve got.”

“Shut the hell up, dickhead,” Zack grumbles, closing his eyes. I’m not sure how long it takes, but with the way my skin aches, and the way my core flushes with warmth, it feels like forever. I shift and wiggle on the cushion, glad that I’m not sitting on anyone’s lap.

With a deep, guttural groan, Zack finishes, and I can see his muscles going tight, body shivering with climax. He exhales sharply and hangs his head for a minute. Windsor digs into the bag by his side and pulls out a roll of paper towels, tossing them Zack’s way.

“I’ll … be right back.” Zack takes the paper towels, and I glance away so he can have a second of privacy. He then disappears in the direction of the bathrooms.

“Well, holy shit,” Zayd whispers with a chuckle. “He seriously did it. Maybe I don’t hate the guy quite so much after all?”

“Is there a reason you guys hated him in the first place?” I ask, looking between the three Idol boys.

“Besides the bet he made with Lizzie?” Zayd asks, shrugging his shoulders. “I don’t know. He’s just always been an asshole. He never liked the status quo.” His grin gets a little lopsided, and he reaches out to ruffle my rose-gold hair. “Little bit like you, I guess.”

“Yeah, sure,” I say, but my heart is still racing,