Done Deal (Arcadia High Anarchists Book 5)

by Max Henry

  Tuck nods.

  Holy shit. “I…”

  “Assumed wrong?” he finishes for me. When I fail to answer, he jerks his head to the side. “Come ‘ere.”

  My gut churns while I turn and present him with all of me; only my bra and the cape of his shirt saves me from total nudity. I’m vulnerable in every way imaginable, body and soul, as I crawl over the roof to settle on his lap.

  I believed my first time would be so different: overstuffed bedding and a sweaty rendezvous with a boy under my parents’ roof. I imagined that it would be dark or barely lit, and the sense of accomplishment would be met with shame the following days once I realised it wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.

  But this. I give thanks that the late afternoon sun spills through the gaps in the trees to highlight every swell and flex of Tuck’s toned and muscular body as he adjusts himself beneath me. My mouth waters at the sight of his arm supporting our weight, his shoulders steadying our position, and the darkened eyes that stay fixed on my face while I indulge.

  “Look at me.” His request is low and fraught with need.

  I lift my eyes to his and draw a deep breath. God—he’s so beautiful.

  “I love you, Lacey Williams. You hear me?”

  “I hear you,” I whisper, too choked with emotion to summon my full voice. “I love you too.” My hand finds his chiselled jaw. “So much.”

  He leans forward to claim my mouth gently, his hand moving between us to rub my over-sensitive nub. I jolt against his palm, sucking in a deep breath and pressing my forehead to his. Hands braced on his broad shoulders, I stare between us in wonder as he slides first one and then another finger in my wetness and teases the sensitive flesh.

  Breaths growing shallow and fast, Tuck works me to the edge. His thick length pulses against his stomach; my sighs emit carnal responses from his body that neither he nor I want to deny.

  I’m a writhing, panting mess by the time he shifts his hips and lines himself with me. “Ready?”

  “Quit stalling.” I smirk, the motion of my lips morphing into an ‘O’ as he pushes the head of his erection inside.

  Every luscious inch, every tiny glide, I slide further into heaven.

  Oh. My. Fucking. God.

  “I heard first times are always fast,” he mutters, hands firm on my hips as he coaxes me to rise and fall.

  I relish the stretch, the burn, and the exquisite tingle the fullness sends down my limbs.

  “Now, I know why.” His neck cords, bottom lip between his teeth as he dips his chin and holds my gaze with hooded eyes. “Fuck, you feel good wrapped around my dick.”

  Instinct takes over. Neural pathways block any remaining pain, and I focus squarely on the high I get as I rock my hips back and forth, grinding against him. Our hands are everywhere, firm, demanding. His kiss is desire.

  I rush toward the apex, even though I want more, desperate to feel what completion does to my body and mind.

  Tuck tips his head back and groans, lifting my hips with firm hands to piston his beneath me. He holds my gaze like he promised, shuddering with his release seconds later. I follow after the first pulse, clamping down tight as I fall apart atop him, already counting down the hours until we can do this again.

  “Fuck, yes.” His fingers bruise as he forces my hips down, seating me deep to grind the last of my climax free.

  I collapse against his chest, sated, and whole, to catch my breath.

  “I fucking love you, Lace.” He threads his fingers through my hair, clasping the back of my head as he presses a kiss to my crown.

  “Not nearly as much as I love you.” Eyes closed, I let the rapid beat of his heart lull me as a sneaky tear slides free.

  I thought this would bring us closer together, but to my horror, it only instils a more deep-seated fear of loss.

  Now that I know what all of Tuck’s love feels like, I don’t know if I could survive without it.

  After tonight, I don’t know if he’ll be capable of feeling the same—no matter what he said.

  Too many skeletons between us and not enough time.

  Never enough time.

  COLT

  “Where the fuck is he?”

  Greer freezes beneath me, a rabbit caught in the spotlight. I lift my head from where I’d tasted heaven a mere second ago and turn my head toward the commotion.

  “I know he’s here,” Arthur shouts, his ire resonating down the hallway. “His car is out front.”

  “This is my goddamn house,” Christian roars after him. “Have some fucking decorum.”

  “Colt!”

  Greer’s palm finds my cheek, coaxing me to look back at her. “What’s going on?”

  I frown at her swollen lips, taunted by the heave of her chest, where I’d popped the buttons on her blouse. “I don’t know.”

  Bullshit—I do know. I just don’t need to break the news to her while Greer’s calves are hooked around mine, her heart beating solely for me.

  “Get out here, you spineless fuck!”

  “Sort it out.” She speaks low and level, urging me with her soft gaze. “I’ll be here when you’re finished.”

  Reluctantly, I drag my body away from hers and rock back on my knees. “This might take a while.”

  “You do know what it’s about.” Her brow pinches with accusation. “Why is he so angry with you?”

  “I know you’re down here.” Arthur grows near. “If I have to drag you out, it’ll be worse.”

  “The subject of his blackmail message,” I explain to Greer while I climb off the bed. “He’s mad about the picture I chose to send him.”

  “What was it?” She props herself up on her elbows. “I don’t even remember seeing any on socials with him featured.”

  “Because there weren’t any.” I wink her way and hold up a finger to indicate she should wait.

  I tug the door wide to find Arthur facing the one diagonally opposite with his hand on the knob. Fitting.

  “You fucker.” He storms the two steps toward me, rage pouring off him in waves.

  I lift a palm between us. “Now, before you pummel me into a pulp, how about we run over a few facts?”

  He stalls, fist flexing at his side.

  “You’re the only one who got that image,” I say quietly, gesturing to Christian approaching behind him. “None of these guys saw it because it didn’t go public. Beat the shit out of me now, and they’ll ask questions you don’t want to answer.”

  The conflict is clear in his rapidly blinking eyes. Arthur swallows hard, nostrils flaring.

  “Walk away, Rutherford.”

  Christian arrives, one hand slung in his pocket and top lip twitching. “What the hell is this about?”

  “Nothing,” Arthur snaps, gaze locked with mine. “A misunderstanding about the content leak.” He spins and storms away.

  Christian twists his head, watching our pal leave as he mutters, “Rather an intense misunderstanding.”

  Arthur lances him with a glare over his shoulder while I casually lean against the doorframe. Greer nestles in behind me, tucked against my back with her arm looped through mine.

  A beat passes where I’m convinced Arthur dodged a bullet before Christian’s brow dives. He whips his head from me back to where the broody little shit reaches the foyer. “Wait.”

  I stiffen. Greer tightens her grip on my bicep.

  “You never submitted to that page,” Christian accuses.

  Arthur freezes, gaze on the pristine polished concrete floor.

  Our host shifts from where he’d been casually waiting for this furore to unfold. “You told me yourself. I remember because when I teased the shit out of you and asked why you wouldn’t do it, you were panicked about what would happen if the submission surfaced when you were ready to go to university.”

  “You must think of someone else.”

  Christian laughs. “Hardly. Nobody else looks quite as pathetic as you do when you’re scared.” He takes measured steps toward his pr
ey. “What did you get, Arthur? What was your bribe?”

  “As I said, it was nothing.”

  “Really?”

  Greer tugs my arm to draw my attention to her. “What did you send?” she whispers, pushing up on her toes to rest her chin on my shoulder.

  I lean in, temple touching hers. “I had a special shot saved for him.”

  “What was it?” Christian asks Arthur again, a hell of a lot deeper and quieter as he leans down to level their faces. “You better fucking tell me if you want me to continue to watch your back, little Rutherford.”

  He’s concerned too. Interesting. It seems the stately son of a lawyer isn’t quite as calm under pressure as his old man.

  I can’t hear what Arthur says back, but the wide-eyed glance Christian tosses me over his shoulder is enough to say he knows. “Get my phone out of my pocket, Greer.”

  She slides her palm down my thigh, retrieving the device.

  “Unlock it and open the camera roll.”

  Both guys now stand at the far end of the hall like bulls ready to charge. The sheer terror etched in the lines of their faces would be hilarious if it didn’t lend to something more profound. The stunt wasn’t some drunken lark like I thought it was—they enjoyed it.

  Wow.

  “Here.” Greer passes the phone to me.

  I flick my thumb several times to scroll back far enough, tap the shot, and then pass it back.

  “Um.” I catch the gulp she takes without tearing my gaze from our curious friends. “That’s actually kind of hot.”

  A dare at a party. One we thought they managed to avoid. But one sometimes comes across curious things in the dark corners of the garden late at night.

  Things like two friends going at it, hands in places no heterosexual male dare explore.

  Christian shunts one leg forward, rolling into action as he strides toward where I await his pathetic excuses. I’ve known for quite some time that our friend was bi-curious, but to know that his pet experiment was one of our own?

  Gold.

  “You leave him out of this,” Christian growls. “Sharing the pictures from the Patreon site is one thing, but dragging up history like this?”

  Thumb caressing my bottom lip, I study him and ask, “Is it history?”

  “What sort of question is that?” His hand lashes out, fingers tangling in the collar of my shirt.

  Greer leaps back with a yelp, the evidence glaring in bright technicolour in her hand.

  “I mean,” I drawl, unaffected by the way he pins me to the doorframe. “Happened since?” I cock my head to one side, eyebrows raised.

  He jerks me forward only to shunt me back again, my skull connecting painfully with the sharp edge of the doorjamb. “You want me to drag up your history?” he taunts. “Oh, hold on. You already did that yourself.”

  “Guys,” Greer pleads. “Stop it.” She sets a hand to Christian’s arm. “Who cares if you guys made out?”

  “He does,” Christian hisses under his breath without breaking eye contact with me. “Do you two have any idea what his father would do if he knew?”

  “Can’t be any worse than how my mother treats me.”

  His hand tightens to the point the fucker chokes me. “This isn’t a pissing contest, Colt. He’d kill him.”

  “And go to jail for murder. Sure,” I drawl in strained tones. “Quit with the dramatics, Mayberry.”

  “Arthur?” Greer calls our lingering friend into the fray. “Is that true? Would your father hurt you if he knew?”

  He glances away before shifting out of view, heading back to the living room.

  “The prick beat him when he was five for dressing up as a girl at kindergarten.”

  “I never knew,” Greer says, answering for both of us.

  I literally can’t; the pressure at my temples is intense from the lack of suitable air in my lungs. Not that I’d let Christian know that and show weakness.

  “Arthur’s old man has made it abundantly clear what would happen if he found out his son was gay.”

  “Is he?” I croak, genuinely curious now that this tease has developed wings.

  “No.” Christian loosens his hold, setting me back on my feet properly. “He’s not. He just made a stupid drunken mistake.”

  I draw in my next breath carefully, blissfully aware if too much oxygen rushes my lungs, I may get light-headed and possibly pass out.

  “He’s the only one who saw it,” I explain as soon as I’m able. “Nobody else got it.”

  “But Willow saw, right?”

  I lift my hard gaze to his. “And she knows better than to use it for personal gain.”

  “As you did,” Christian spits, turning away.

  “How did you know she was involved in the blackmail?” I call after him.

  “I didn’t.” He lifts a finger beside him while still walking away. “I had a suspicion, and you just confirmed it.”

  Fuck.

  The bastard is just like his old man, after all.

  TUCK

  He knows. The unrelenting niggle that won’t leave me alone after Lacey and I step foot inside her house. Her dad, James, did no more than lift his head from where he’s seated in his armchair and say he’s glad we’re back, but was that an extra second he lingered his gaze on me? A flex of his fist where it rests on his knee?

  You imagine things. Fuck—I hope I am.

  “How did you get on?” James asks as Lacey settles herself in front of the fire.

  She appears so unaffected, her limbs languid and posture at ease while she talks to her dad.

  With my kiss still on her lips.

  Her body stretched and sore, where I took her as mine.

  Fuck. I need to get my shit together. It was sex, not genocide.

  “You alright, son?” James asks. “You look as though your dog died.”

  “I don’t have a dog, Sir.”

  He sighs, leaning back in the seat. “I told you not to call me Sir. We’re family.” He gestures to the armchair. “Sit your arse down and tell me what Dee said.”

  I catch Lacey’s eye and the way she sternly advises without a single word to pull myself together. Yeah, I get it. Who would have thought that I’d be the giddy girl after popping my cherry?

  Hopeless.

  “She’s still firmly under Amber’s influence,” I answer James, willing my mind to switch onto better things.

  “Amber was there, Dad.”

  He sighs. “If we need to contact Dee’s parents, we will. It’s difficult while they’re out of range, is all.”

  “That wouldn’t change the fact the invite is already circulating Riverbourne,” Lacey reminds him. “Mandy’s still there, and she’ll update us on what happens.” Her gaze flicks to me, the slightest touch of colour in her cheeks.

  She’s thinking about our riverside stop off.

  She ain’t the only one.

  “Good.” James fingers the edges of his phone. “If she has no luck, though, I’m taking charge.”

  “Understood.” I cut Lacey off before she can voice the protest seated on her tongue.

  “While you were gone, I managed to get hold of Derek.”

  Both of us swivel our heads toward James.

  “Greer’s mother teams up with Libby’s, and they’re collecting quite the wives’ club, it seems. They’ve contacted Marion, but obviously, she’s preoccupied with other things.” He lifts an eyebrow before continuing. “She’s promised to keep an ear to the ground, though.” He meets his daughter’s attentive gaze. “Christian has Greer. Apparently, she ran out on her mother and was headed back out to us.”

  “Is she okay?” Lacey shifts to her knees, seated on her heels.

  “She’s fine.” James sighs, as he does a lot of late. “But that’s not the worst of it.” I feel shit knowing his distress is all because of us. “You were right, Lacey. They broke Barrett out of rehab.”

  “I was?” She frowns.

  “And understandably, his parents are on the
warpath.” A smile ghosts across James’ mouth. “Riverbourne quite literally implodes.” He glances at both of us before adding. “Serves the bastards right.”

  Nobody dares to laugh, but the satisfaction is written across the ludicrous smiles on our faces.

  “Tonight, though?” Lacey asks. “We’ve barely got three hours or so before people will start to trickle into town. Has Derek made any progress?”

  “When I disconnected from him, he was calling Richard’s father.” James lifts the phone in his hand. “I’m waiting for an update, just like you.”

  “This sitting around on our hands frustrates the heck out of me,” I grumble. “We should have fixed this by now.”

  Lace’s dad spears me with a stern glare. “If there’s something I learned in my time working with those sharks, Tuck, it was that every so often you have to nudge the right piece into action and then simply stand back to let nature take its course.” He pauses, ensuring his next words hit home. “You can’t always be the hero of the story.”

  “But, you damn sure try.”

  Silence falls in the room.

  Lacey is the first to break the awkward stand-off, rising to her feet to pull her chiming phone from her pocket. “Hey. Where are you?”

  James and I watch while she conducts her conversation, one hand stuffed in the back pocket of her jeans. After the third response, it becomes undeniable that the person on the other end is Colt.

  “Uh, huh… Yeah… We tried, but she wouldn’t listen… Really?... Hold up. If I put you on speaker, then everyone can hear this. Okay?” She taps the screen twice, then settling her phone on the coffee table. “You can hear me still?”

  “Yeah.”

  James leans in at the sound of his son’s voice. “What have you got to tell us, buddy?”

  “So, as I told Lacey, I’m at Christian’s country house with Greer. Arthur’s here, Christian, and Willow.”

  “Barrett with you?” James lifts his gaze to ours as he asks the question.

  “You heard about that, huh?”

  “His father is livid. They paid a lot for that care.”

  “It was hardly what I’d call care, Dad. It was over-priced cold turkey.” He hesitates, clearing his throat. “Anyway. We’ve got an angle on Derek. Christian said he’s scrambling to salvage the marriage because if Marion walks, she takes half his fortune as per their prenup.”