In the Arms of the Elite

by Stunich, C. M.

  “Come on,” I tell the other boys, moving around to climb into the hot tub on Tristan’s other side. He cracks a single gray eye to look at me and then lifts his head up.

  “Is that a bathing suit?” The sharp tone of his voice says he doesn’t think it is one.

  “No.” That’s all I say, sitting there in the hot, hot water as my body starts to tingle and I realize that this particular edible does not have a two hour activation time. Oh no, it’s much, much faster. Uh-oh. “Also, I just ate my first edible.”

  One of Tristan’s perfectly curved dark brows lifts up in surprise. Zayd tosses his shirt aside, peels off his jeans, and … I glance over and see his dick, right there in my face. Like, literally, he’s just gotten naked and is climbing in the hot tub. I see parts of him I’ve only dreamed of.

  I mean … did I say dreamed of? Haha, no. Err, well, in the interest of being truthful, I might have.

  Fine, okay, I definitely have dreamed about a naked Zayd Kaiser.

  He’s got a really nice dick, my mind supplies as I catch sight of a small piercing on the tip. My cheeks flame as he slides in beside me. This is really looking like déjà vu here, I think as I remember sitting naked on Creed’s lap in a hot tub very similar to this one.

  “You ate an edible?” Tristan asks, blinking at me. “You did?”

  “Yeah, so?” I shrug, trying to look cool. People are staring at me like maybe I am, tucked in a hot tub between one naked guy and another who … I look down and there’s this brief moment where the bubbles part, and I swear it’s like a pre-destined moment designed to show off Tristan’s cock.

  Oh.

  Oh my.

  I lounge back in my lingerie and run my tongue over my teeth to make sure there aren’t any lipstick smudges. Windsor, Zack, and eventually Creed and Miranda join us. Creed is desperately trying to wrangle his drunk sister, but I’d rather she sit on the edge of this hot tub than run off into the heat of the party.

  Lizzie stares at me like she’s never seen me before.

  “Oh, this is going to be good,” Tristan murmurs, smirking and giving Zayd a look. “I take it this is your doing?”

  “Might’ve had a little help from Creed,” Zayd says with a shrug, lighting up a joint with a lighter he pulled from his discarded pants’ pocket. He takes a puff and passes it to Windsor. The prince takes two puffs and continues passing. Zack is the only one who declines.

  “Drug testing blows,” he says, shaking his head. “And if all goes right these next few games, I’ll be scouted for … a university.” He trails off and looks away, face tight, like he’s deep in thought about something. He’s taken his shirt off and climbed in wearing his shorts. I swear to god, he’s got the widest, sexiest chest I’ve ever seen. It’s pretty obvious he’s a hardcore athlete.

  “We’re poisoning Marnye, slowly but surely,” Creed murmurs, grabbing onto Miranda’s arm when she tries to wander off again. She glares at him and takes another swig of her champagne.

  “Poisoning her, huh?” Lizzie says with a smile, resting a hand on Tristan’s shoulder. He stiffens up and his face goes very still, but she doesn’t seem to notice. It makes me afraid to touch him. Does he not want to be touched at all? Or maybe … he just doesn’t want to be touched by her? I can’t tell. I can’t tell! And it’s freaking killing me. “How so?”

  “That’s a secret, and not for you to know,” Zayd says with a smirk, and I see that cruel streak of his rising to the surface. Lizzie stares him down, narrowing her eyes slightly, and I remember the story about her dating all the boys one fateful summer. Surely that was just a sweet junior high crush sort of a thing, right?

  Lizzie opens her mouth to speak when Zayd’s green eyes lift up and widen. His mouth tightens into a flat line.

  “Boys, we’ve got trouble.” He shoves up and out of the hot tub, his dick shimmering with warm water and bumping against my elbow. I almost scream, but like, in a good way. Pretty sure the edible is setting in. I feel lightheaded and giddy, like I want to laugh at everything.

  “Trouble?” I echo, way too slow. Windsor is up, too. Even Tristan is standing up and whipping a towel around his body so quickly that I don’t see a thing.

  I glance over and find Harper, Becky, and Ileana standing beside the hot tub. They’ve got a full crew behind them, too.

  My list flashes in my mind, like it’s been burned into my brain.

  Revenge On The Bluebloods of Burberry Prep

  A list by Marnye Reed

  The Harpies: Harper du Pont, Becky Platter, and Ileana Taittinger

  The Company: Abigail Fanning, Valentina Pitt, Mayleen Zhang, Jalen Donner, and Kiara Xiao

  They’re all here, every last one of them, and then some. They’ve recruited plenty of new students, hungry for a view from the top.

  “What the fuck are you doing in my house? This is most definitely not an Infinity Club party. Get the hell out.”

  “Your door security could use some fortifying,” Harper says, her hair long and luxurious, fresh extensions in a juicy bloodred color trailing over her shoulders. She’s not the only one: all the girls are sporting either wigs or extensions again. They’re like dandelions, getting trampled down and springing right back up. “We’re here because we’re making a stand.”

  “Is that so?” Tristan asks, voice cool and even. I see his hands quivering as he struggles to keep from balling them into fists.

  “Quiet, Working Boy,” Harper snaps, her voice commanding authority as she sneers at Tristan. “We weren’t happy with one charity case at our school and now we have two? What are you trying to do, cheapen the reputation of the academy so the rest of us suffer?”

  “Oh, but darling, you’ve already done that.” Tristan folds one arm over his middle, resting the elbow of the other in the palm of his hand, so he can gesture at her with long, elegant fingers. “Your decorum is poor, your breeding substandard, and quite frankly, you’re a dumb bitch that nobody likes. If you consider yourself one of the best at the academy, then the great reputation of Burberry Prep is already suffering.”

  Harper sneers at him and steps forward, but Zayd cuts her off.

  “Get the hell off my property,” he snarls, his towel sliding down his hips. It’s about to fall completely off. I scramble up and out of the water to fix it for him. He shivers when my fingers brush his hips, but his eyes never leave the Harpies and their new Company of popularity slaves. Jalen, the last remaining guy, has been joined by a good half-dozen fourth years that I vaguely remember seeing around campus.

  “Oh, we will. Trust me.” Harper narrows her eyes on me, but I just stand up straight and put my hands on my hips, dripping wet and wearing lingerie. I don’t even care. Take a fucking picture. “I just wanted to stop in and let you all know that we do not accept the new status quo. If you think this year at the academy is going to be easy, you have another thing coming.”

  “And if you think,” I start, stepping forward and cutting off several of the boys as they start to argue, “that I’m going to allow bullying at my school, you have got a rude awakening coming your way.”

  “Your school, huh?” Harper asks, and the way she looks at me, I can tell she’s playing for keeps this time. She wants me out of the academy, out of her life, out of her way. And she wants to crush me in the process. “Well, we’ll see about that.”

  She hair flips (yes, expertly so) and then saunters off, taking a good portion of the Burberry students behind her. Not as many as I’d feared, but enough that I can’t quite write her off as a threat just yet.

  “I’m gonna fucking kill those security guards,” Zayd growls, but I curl my arms around his bicep and draw his attention down to me.

  “Don’t let them bother you,” I tell him, mouth pursed tight. “They’ll hang themselves with their own rope. We just have to wait.”

  The boys exchange cryptic glances that have me wondering what the hell went on at that Infinity Club meeting. Whatever it is, if their expressions are anything to go by, I
should be terrified.

  Only … I’m not.

  I’m not afraid of Harper or any other bully for that matter.

  Not anymore.

  “Come on.” I drag Zayd back to the hot tub, and the others follow.

  By the time the edible really hits me, the Harpies are long gone.

  I end up in a bed with Creed on one side and Zayd on the other. The music downstairs is still throbbing away, but the sheets feel so good beneath me, and I can’t seem to stop laughing.

  “You are so high,” Creed says, but then he grins because he’s high, too. Zayd is watching us from the other side, his head propped in his inked hand. His Never Again tattoo is visible on the side of his neck, and I feel compelled to reach out and touch it, just to see if the ink feels as nice as it looks.

  “Mm,” Zayd purrs as my hand slides up the side of his neck. He leans in for a kiss, and I swear, I’ve never felt anything quite like his mouth on mine. He tastes just enough like danger to be enticing, but also like surety. I’m positive Zayd is here for me now, really and truly. I don’t think he ever wanted to be anywhere else.

  “You taste good,” I tell him as Creed rolls onto his back and stares up at the ceiling. This is the first time I’ve ever really been intimate with one boy while another was close by. It’s … exciting.

  “Do I?” Zayd asks, getting this cocky look on his face that makes me squirm. I’m still dressed in my lingerie and nothing else. It’s dry now, but my hair still feels damp. The lead singer of Afterglow reaches out and curls his fingers in my hair, teasing the rose-gold strands and then leaning down for another kiss, one that goes much deeper, our tongues tangling.

  Next to us, Creed slides his hand in his swim shorts and groans, sending a hot flush through me that I don’t quite know what to do with. I’m still pretty new at this whole sex thing. I mean, a few times with Creed and a few times with Zack does not an expert make.

  Zayd runs his inked hand down my side, over the curve of my waist, resting his palm lightly on my hip. Every place he touches screams with pleasure, and I realize Creed was right: I feel ten times as sensitive now as I did when I was completely sober.

  A small moan escapes me as Zayd slides his hand back up, stroking my body and making me quiver.

  “It really is exquisite, isn’t it?” I ask, and Zayd laughs. The sound is as musical as his songs. I want to listen to them all on repeat, over and over and over again. I giggle, and he grins, leaning in to kiss me on the collarbone, trailing his lips down and along the lacy line of my bra. The pale rise and fall of my breasts belies my outward calm and shows how truly nervous I am underneath.

  I lean back a little and my body bumps into Creed’s. He groans, and I glance back to see his hand working furiously at pleasuring himself. As I watch, he finishes with a shudder and his body goes limp in the pillows. Pretty sure he’s asleep in like, a minute.

  “The golden rule is: smoke first, drink later. Creed always drinks then smokes then drinks again. That’s his problem.” I glance back at Zayd and find him smirking at me in the darkness. “See, I told him you wouldn’t be coming to him later.”

  “He looked like he was having a good time,” I whisper back, realizing in the back of my mind that I’ll probably be mortified to remember this moment in the morning. Right now, it all seems surreal and beyond exciting. I crawl over so that I’m straddling Zayd, putting my palms on his bare, inked chest and then sliding them down. He moans, lifting his hands up to cup my ass. We kiss again, these deep, long, exploratory kisses that feel like they go on for hours.

  But in a good way. In a I never want this to end sort of way.

  “This edible is amazing,” I breathe, and Zayd laughs, watching me curiously through the moonlight as I move back, putting my lips against the rock-hard lines of his abs. We’re in his bed, in his room, with the window open and a warm So Cal breeze stirring the curtains. I can hear people in the pool, but they’re pretty quiet, far away. They may as well be in another world.

  My tongue slides along the edge of Zayd’s jeans, and then my fingers are popping his fly. I look up at him as I take his shaft in my hand.

  “Holy fuck,” he whispers, but then he only lets me get so far as a single lick before he grabs me by the wrist and pulls me up toward his face. “Not when you’re high, not for our first time.” Zayd kisses me again and then flips me over, his tongue swirling around mine, his inked fingers sliding between my thighs. He touches one to my heat, and I gasp, curling my fingers around his shoulders. He doesn’t even put them in, just uses my own wetness to tease and stroke me, bringing me to a warm, shuddering orgasm that reminds me very much of Creed.

  Immediately, my eyes feel heavy, and I sigh as Zayd grins and kisses me again, his lip rings making my mouth tingle.

  “Sleep well, Charity. We’ll see about finishing this up in the morning.”

  Zayd relaxes next to me, and the last thing I remember is seeing his inked fingers curl around the base of his cock.

  After that, it’s nothing but dreams until the sun comes up.

  There’s a stage set up about a half mile from the house, and despite the heat, people start lining up before the party even really ends. There are students draped over couches and lying in piles on the floor, most of them hungover or still a little bit stoned. But if they want a good spot in the crowd, they better get up now because the entry line stretches as far as the eye can see.

  “You really are famous, huh?” I ask Zayd, glancing over my shoulder as he slips into a white tank with his band logo on the front. It says Afterglow in scrawling cursive with a half-moon, half-sun behind it, gleaming around the edges with, well, a glow.

  He flashes me that cocky smile of his.

  “Yeah, well, maybe just a little.” He moves over to stand beside me, and I feel myself blushing when I remember my tongue meeting up with his, uh, well … if I’m not mature enough to say it, then I’m not mature enough to do it: his dick. I almost gave my first blow job last night. “I’m heading over with the band soon to greet some of the headliners, but there’ll be golf carts and some backstage passes waiting for you.” Zayd stands up and splays a palm out on his chest, his sea green hair gleaming in the early morning sunshine. The wicked heat of the day hasn’t quite crept in yet, so it’s still cool enough to be pleasant. “And I’m such a nice guy, I even included extras for your other boyfriends.”

  “Nice guys don’t say that they’re nice guys,” I tell him, and he smiles, leaning in to pen me against the door with an arm on either side, the cluster of guitar pic necklaces he’s slipped around his neck swinging forward in the space between us.

  “Nah, you’re right: I’m a total asshole. Here’s the thing though …” Zayd pauses and presses a kiss to the corner of my mouth. “I like you enough to try. So,” he stands back up and folds his muscular arms over his chest. “Here’s me, trying. Probably failing, but at least the effort’s there.”

  “You’re doing great,” I tell him, feeling my cheeks flush. “I mean, as long as you’re being yourself. If you’re an asshole, you’re an asshole. Just don’t be a bully.”

  “If I were doing great,” Zayd says, pausing as he notices Creed working his way over to us in low-slung sweats, a towel flung over his wet blond hair. “Your tongue wouldn’t have even touched the tip.”

  “Touched the tip of what?” Creed snaps, but then Zayd is just laughing and climbing over the edge of the balcony railing before I can stop him. He quite literally dives into the pool and gives me a heart attack as I race over and curl my fingers around the banister, holding my breath until he pops up and swims over to the edge.

  Zayd hauls himself up and then rises to his feet before he shoves another dude in the water and then turns around to wave at me.

  “Still an asshole! Just not to you.” He presses kisses to his palms and then flings them my direction, green hair dripping into his face as he makes his way across the courtyard and out a side gate.

  “Tip of what?” Creed repeats a
s I glance over at him, tall and imposing with eyes like chips of ice.

  My face heats, and I look up at the blue, blue California sky.

  “Erm, would you believe me if I said … lollipop?”

  “No.” Creed narrows his eyes and huffs. “Unless by lollipop, you mean Zayd’s dick. Surely you noticed the stupid piercing? He’s such a showboating cocksucker.” Creed pauses, like maybe he’s reconsidering the use of that last term. He glances down at me. “Did you—”

  “No!” I choke out, flushing. “We were both high. He stopped me.”

  “He stopped you?” Creed asks, and then shakes his head, toweling his gorgeous hair before he tosses it aside, probably for some underpaid maid to clean up. It bothers me, so I pick the towel up and bundle it into a basket that’s already got some dirty clothes in it. “Interesting.”

  “How is that interesting?” I ask, and Creed shrugs lazily, slouching his way over to the bed to lie facedown on it. He doesn’t even seem to care that we’re in Zayd’s room. Or that he came in his pants lying right next to me last night. Apparently the pot doesn’t erase memories the way I’ve heard alcohol does.

  “Just … I mean, Zayd turning down girls is a new phenomenon.”

  “You mean like you being a virgin?” I ask, sitting down next to him. He cracks one heavy-lidded eye and looks up at me.

  “I’m not a virgin anymore,” he says, and this cavalier little smile takes over his mouth. “And neither are you. No matter what happens, you’ll probably remember me the rest of your life. I like that.”

  “You’re a cocky, arrogant, lazy dickhead,” I say, but Creed just shrugs again.

  “No arguing that. Should we take a nap before the concert? I don’t even know why we’re up at the butt crack of dawn anyhow. It’s not our show tonight.”