But, but, but … that being said, we do all look forward to that Friday before Christmas break. In fact, we’ve readjusted our traditions here at Prescott High so that ‘the winter formal’ is now known colloquially as ‘Snow Day’.
Here’s what happened: once, in the early nineties, this stuck-up dickface from Oak Valley Prep decided he wanted to get into a coveted Prescott party. Back then, Prescott students didn’t allow Fuller High or Oak Valley or anyone else to attend their parties. You’d have to be invited by someone who knew not only where the party was being held but also someone at the door, so you could get in.
Anyway, this too-rich-to-shit asswad bought a ton of cocaine, drove it out to the party in his sportscar and used that as a bribe to get himself and his dickhead friends in.
Ever since, we’ve been tolerant of other schools at our parties—provided they behave. Oh, and provided Oak Valley Prep ponies up and brings the goods to Snow Day. They donate a shitload of money, too, so that we can have our gym decked out with a DJ, catered food, and decorations.
The only thing that stays rachet are the Prescott students.
Freshman year, I wore an adorable pink dress that Penelope stole for me from Pamela’s closet. But junior year? I wore red leather pants, a black leather bra, and a black denim jacket with stilettos. Stacey Langford stole a four-hundred-dollar gown from Nordstrom, but her best friend got caught and lost her gear. She came in her PE clothes, hair and makeup done to the nines.
Where am I going with all of this?
Well, unlike last year, I have people I can actually dance with on Snow Day. In freshman year, I had Aaron, and not having him the two years in between … that killed me. Not having Penelope around … that wrecked me. She was just a year older than me, so at least this time, I can pretend like she graduated and that my senior year is everything it’s supposed to be …
I shake my head and rub my hands down my face.
I’m standing outside the hall to Studio C at the Southside Dreams Dance Company. Last time I was here, I was furious. I threw Oscar’s iPad at the wall, broke the mirror, nearly rage-screwed Callum Park … Okay, Bernie, focus, focus, focus. It’s only been four days since Vic gave us the go-ahead.
None of the other boys have touched me since Tuesday morning, but the tension is starting to get thick. I feel it every night when I crawl into Victor’s bed and let him mount me like an alpha in heat. Gah! I shove open the doors to the studio and find Callum stretching on the floor in the middle of the studio.
“You going to teach me to dance today?” I ask, heart thundering. Now that we know Sara Young is following me around, we have to be extremely careful with what we do. Having me come here to dance, now that’s a great way to throw her off our trail.
“More like … I’m going to show you how to find the dancer inside of you,” Callum murmurs, leaning over and folding his body in half. He presses his chest into his thighs, hands wrapped around his feet. Impressive. “Get changed and start the playlist on my phone.”
I nod, and head up to the front of the room to dig through his duffel bag. He’s packed me some pink leggings with a matching sports bra, and a loose black tank to go over the top of it. The ballet slippers with the ribbons are in there, too, just waiting to kiss my toes and carry me across the dance floor.
“I feel like I haven’t seen you all week,” I say, facing the mirror as I strip down, watching as Cal lifts his head up from his stretch so that he can watch me right back. We’ve been here, done this before, but now … things are different.
Now, he’s the only letter in that dark acronym I haven’t fucked.
Now, Victor’s given his blessing and there’s nothing shady or underhanded to this.
So why the hell do I feel so nervous? I guess getting harassed by cops at school could be part of it. Or it could be because Sara Young follows me every-fucking-where I go now. But … it’s none of those things, is it?
It’s because Cal and I both know we’re not just here to dance today. If we were, I wouldn’t be sweaty, and my hands wouldn’t shake as I yank the sports bra over my head and do my best to wrestle my breasts into it.
“This feels like a tourniquet for my tits,” I choke out, trying to lighten the mood. Callum chuckles, and the sound feels much closer than it should be. When I lift my head up suddenly to look in the mirror, I can see him standing right behind me. “Jesus, Cal, how the fuck do you do that?”
“Do what?” he asks, tilting his head to one side and smiling at me. Ass. He knows exactly what he’s doing, and he gets a kick out of it, too.
“Move like that,” I say, turning around in my new outfit. Callum looks me over appreciatively and then pushes me gently back into the wooden chair near the mirror. As he kneels down to help me with the ballet slippers, I tie my hair up into a bouncy pony. “It’s like … you teleport or some shit.” He presses his mouth to my foot and chuckles, so that the sound reverberates up my entire leg and right into my crotch.
Yep.
Oh yeah.
This is happening.
I need it to happen. Some part of me feels like the most pressing bit of business that Havoc has to deal with right now is this: me claiming my boys. I have one left, and I have to make him mine. I just have to.
The feel of Callum’s fingers as he slips the pink shoes onto my feet and carefully ties the ribbons is exquisite, like the opening of a slow, sensual track meant for dancing in the rain or reuniting after a tragedy. The way the touches me tells a story, one that I never want to end.
“Hey Cal,” I start, grabbing my discarded pants from the floor and pulling out my lip gloss. I apply it, but only so that I can pretend I’m not scheming here. Pretty sure he knows that I am, that I’m quite literally gunning for his dick, but I can at least try to be subtle, right?
“Yes?” he queries back, lifting that cerulean gaze of his to my face. There are scars on his throat that catch the light from above, turning silver as he sits back into a crouch to look at me.
“I’m sorry if I make you feel like you’re part of the background, or if I hurt you by letting Oscar—”
“No,” he says, voice much firmer than usual. That distinct gravelly tone of his comes across even stronger, and I shiver. “I like to be in the background; I like to sit in the shadows. That’s where I feel comfortable.” He rises to his feet and holds a hand out toward me. A slight smirk works its way across his pretty pink mouth. “And Oscar is … well, I can’t say I’m not a little bit jealous, but he needs you, Bernie.” Cal pauses as I lift my hand up and place it in his. He curls tattooed fingers around mine and hauls me to my feet. “We all do.”
Callum holds me for a moment before stepping away to start up his playlist. He waits until I move into the center of the room before hitting play. As soon as the music begins to trickle from the speakers, I know what I’m listening to.
This is it. The song I’m going to fuck Callum Park to.
Redemption by Besomorph, Coopex, and RIELL.
“Just follow me,” he commands, and here, in his kingdom, in his domain, I’m powerless to resist.
We circle each other, heads down, gazes locked. Callum is so fucking intense; I do my best to meet him tit-for-tat. It’s hard though. He blends into the shadows, makes himself invisible, and yet … he’s an eruption waiting to happen.
Our slippers whisper across the floor as we move together in nearly perfect unison. It isn’t easy, but I do my best to match his steps. Callum can feel the beat in a way I never could; he understands so much more about his own body.
I feel like I never got to really know my body. After all, it was hard to remember that it actually belonged to me. So many people wanted to take it from me and use it for themselves. I guess I just sort of disconnected my brain from all of that.
Callum steps forward and I do the same, holding up my palms the way he does. We press our hands together briefly before he turns and does a little spin, holding his hand out for me. I look at it for a second befor
e I prance forward on my toes and grab hold. He yanks me close, until we’re face to face, drawing his fingertips along the edge of my jaw. There’s sweat dripping down the sides of his face. Mine, too. I’m soaked in it.
His arm bands around my waist, lifting me just a few inches off the floor and then turning the pair of us around in another circle. He sets me down, but only for a second, and then he lifts me up higher, catching me by the pelvis and turning us around in another circle.
When Cal lets my body slide down along the length of his, I can feel the hardness of his cock beneath his sweats. That, and his spirit; it’s like our souls are dancing at the same time as our bodies, brushing up against one another and pulling apart. It’s how we’ve been for years, me and him. Together and apart, a delicate dance of feelings and circumstance that only now is coming to a head.
“Focus,” he breathes as my fingers trail down his bare chest. I feel light-headed and strange as Callum lets go of me and does a series of impressive leaps and spins, his legs coming up above my head. He dances around me as I turn, trying to keep my eyes on him at all times. He moves so quickly that it isn’t easy. My breath quickens, my heartbeat thunders, my vision narrows down to a single pinprick.
He’s very clearly performing for me and me alone; this dance is meant for no other woman.
Callum holds out his hand again and this time, when I grab him, he pulls us together for a formal waltz. His feet meet mine, pushing them back, drawing them forward with subtle physical cues. He turns his head away from me though, forcing us to turn in a circle and then another. Another. Another.
When he clasps my right hand with his own, fingers woven together, and holds my hip with his other, I hear the drop in the song coming. Callum straightens his arm, forcing me back and then yanking me forward. He drops me back and sweeps the floor with my hair, back and forth, lifting me up again and grabbing both of my hands.
He slides me forward, my legs between his, until I’m nearly underneath him. I manage to keep my muscles tight, so I move like he wants me to. Cal lifts me back up, pulls me close and then kneels down, laying me out beneath him, my legs still between his.
He undulates his body above mine several times, my right hand still locked with his, his blue eyes on mine.
Cal rolls off of me and then sits up on his knees, his body now perpendicular with mine. This time, when he offers his hand, I crawl to him. He slides me the rest of the way across the floor and I wrap my legs around his waist.
I fall back and he chases me down, straddling me and looking into my eyes. A bit of sweat drips off of him and onto me, but I don’t care. I just want him to fucking kiss me.
The song slows again, and Callum pulls back, rising to his feet and dancing around me like he’s worshipping at some dark altar. I just didn’t expect to be his wicked goddess. My breathing fogs the floor as I roll to my side to watch him. He’s so darkly beautiful, so twisted and complex. Why don’t I know more? That’s all I want, to know everything.
He comes back to me then, hauling me to my feet as effortlessly as one might take a breath. Cal pulls my body to his, encouraging me to grind against him, our hips moving together like we’re fucking. I am beyond soaked, my nipples hard points, my heart thundering.
“Callum,” I murmur, because I just want him now. It shouldn’t have taken us this long to be together anyway. And I really, really should’ve slept with him before Oscar. “Please.”
He doesn’t reply to me, running his hands down my sides and then stepping forward so that I very naturally take a step back. Callum takes my waist in both hands, and I dip back naturally, letting myself go weightless in his arms. He lays me down again, covering my body with his, undulating on me again.
“If it cost me my body, and my future in dance, to be with you, then it’ll have all been worth it.” The song ends as Cal presses his lips to my clavicle, tasting the sweat on my skin. Another one starts right up—this time it’s the remix of “Sweet Dreams” by Besomorph—and the tone of it is perfectly somber and sensual at the same time. “Worth every broken bone,” Cal whispers again, his voice husky and low. He kisses down my chest until he gets to the sweat-soaked tank top I’m wearing.
So much for dance lessons.
Looks like I’m about to get a lesson in something else.
Cal very carefully slips the shirt off, leaving me in my sports bra. He tosses the tank top aside and keeps going, his mouth trailing kisses down my belly.
“Worth my voice,” he continues, kissing along the seam in my leggings. He starts to suck and kiss on my clit through the fabric, driving me absolutely up the goddamn wall as he nibbles and teases it with his teeth. “Worth my innocence.”
“Stop that,” I groan, grabbing at his blond hair. As soon as my fingers tangle in those golden strands, Cal lets out a throaty moan that has me writhing beneath him. The sound of it is like the kiss of night, a dark chocolate truffle that melts on the tongue. All of a sudden, that’s all I can think about: how to make him moan for me like that again.
With shaking hands, I unzip his hoodie and splay my fingers on his chest, teasing his scars and then rubbing my thumbs over his nipples. He groans for me again, clasping his hands over mine and encouraging me to touch all of him, to trace every scar, to understand every imperfection.
Even this, what we’re doing together, it feels like a dance. Callum works his body for me, rubbing against me, making his muscles ripple as he thrusts and rubs me in all the right places with the hardness beneath his sweats.
“Touch all of me, Bernie. All of me. It’s yours. You can have it.” He drops his mouth to my neck, kissing all the sore places that Vic and Aaron left. My fingers can’t seem to stop touching the pretty gold strands of his hair, massaging his scalp, finding the scars on his throat. It’s why he has this voice, this darkly beautiful twist of menace that matches the creeping in his spirit.
Cal rolls us over, so that I’m on top, sliding his palms up my waist. I take the sports bra off for him because, let’s be honest, it’s like wrestling two boulders to get these tits free. One of the disadvantages of having large breasts. Frankly though, I feel like the benefits are more than worth it, especially when Callum’s eyes light up and he cups the pair of them in his hands.
“I want to see you move for me,” he tells me, and my stomach muscles clench in anticipation. I can feel him hard beneath me, his cock straining for what’s just tantalizingly out of reach. Reaching my hands up and into my hair, I start to ride him, rocking my hips in time with the music while he looks up at me. This time, I’m the one doing the performing, a show meant only for this man. “Look at you,” he whispers, voice strained. “You didn’t need lessons at all, did you? You move like you were made to do this.”
I grind harder, move faster, dropping my palms down to his chest, digging my nails into those silver scars. He better not ever tell me the names of the boys who did this to him because I will kill them. He says he took enough from them to be satisfied, but I’m not. I want to turn them into dust beneath my feet.
“Oh, Bernie,” Callum groans, and the sound is the most perfect of all nightmares. Whenever I close my eyes, I’ll be able to hear it. It’s etched into my brain. Harder, faster, more. I move my hips until Cal’s crying out beneath me, his hands locking on my hips as he comes in his sweatpants, his pelvis thrusting up to meet mine.
Panting, I look down at him as he grins up at me.
“Sorry about that,” he murmurs, but there’s no sorry at all. It was hot as shit. Anytime I can get a boy to ruin his pants for me, it’s a win. Just … so long as he isn’t finished …
Callum Park
I am not done with Bernadette Blackbird, just because I come.
Instead, I roll us over so that I’m on top. She reaches up to cup my cheek, and I press my face into her skin.
“I am your monster,” I tell her, and I mean that with every syllable. “Command me as you choose.” I drop my mouth to hers, tasting her pain and loving it. I meant it whe
n I told her that pain is pretty to those who have too much of it. It must be; it has to be. It’s a defense mechanism for the soul. Bernadette Blackbird is swimming in pain; it’s that grief and melancholy that makes the ties that bind us.
“Fuck me,” she groans, and she’s damn lucky because we’re young and I’m desperate for her, and I haven’t had sex in almost six months. I’m ready for this. My body seems to move of its own accord, like it often does, like it knows better than I do what’s to come next. Works the same way with dance or violence; I just go. My muscles and my blood and my bones, they know better than my brain it seems.
“Yes, mistress,” I murmur, my body coming alive at her command. As quickly as I can, I strip off my pants and my hoodie, yanking her own leggings off and chucking them aside like they’ve pissed me off. My hands worship her soft flesh, my lips her lush mouth, my cock her sweet pussy. She caresses me with her body, legs wrapped around me, hands in my hair. After this, I know for certain that no other woman will ever be allowed to touch me.
Bernadette has just inserted herself into the eyes of a monster, and there’s no escaping after this. If she were to run from me, I would follow at a distance and watch over her. It’s the only way I know how to behave anymore, the only thing I understand. I’m confident that I was born a little bit broken, and then twisted into what I am now by the world.
Most definitely.
I fuck Bernadette into the dance floor of my studio until she’s screaming, clawing at me, drowning in my kisses. Until she is most definitely, assuredly mine.
For a while after, we lie there and listen to my playlist. It’s fairly dark, definitely damaged; it reflects me perfectly.
I stare at the ceiling with her wrapped up in my left arm, her head on my chest. Her breathing slows enough that I know she’s truly asleep. Even though my body aches like crazy lying on that hard floor, I don’t move. I’ll sacrifice whatever I have to in order to keep her happy.
Mayhem at Prescott High Page 21