I laugh, but it comes out so breathless. My hand is shaking, and I’m not sure that I’ve ever felt so vulnerable in front of another person. A close second would be me and Oscar, on the couch in Aaron’s living room. My lips purse and the small rush of anger I feel helps steel my nerves.
I keep saying I’m not afraid anymore.
What I mean is, I’m not afraid of anyone on the outside. I’m terrified of the people on the inside. Each letter in that dark acronym is a possible bullet headed straight for my motherfucking heart.
“Victor,” I start, looking down at the envelope, even though I don’t really need it. “I was eight when I first saw you. Fifteen when I hated you. I’ve loved you for almost a decade. Do the math. Add me and you together and you get one. One heart beating in a broken chest. There is beauty in havoc, peace in chaos, and wisdom in anarchy.” I wet my suddenly dry lips. “God, this poem sucks,” I murmur, but Victor says nothing, watching me with half-lidded eyes. Pretty sure that whether the poem is crap or not, I’m getting my brains fucked out tonight. “Two broken people can’t fix each other, but there are six of us.” I pause, looking up at Vic to see if I can figure out what he’s thinking. As usual, he gives me nothing. “Six hearts, twelve hands, ten years of history. Make me your wife, Victor, and I’ll be as loyal as the tattoo on your forearm.” I point at the ink on Victor’s right forearm. The word Loyalty is written in black cursive, surrounded by a dozen other pieces, so that it blends into a swirl of color. It isn’t immediately visible, but it’s permanent, unmovable, inked into his flesh. Kind of like loyalty is in real life, huh? “Do you want me? Please say yes, even if you don’t. Feed me beautiful lies and say I do.” I stop and look from the envelope to his face.
“Six hearts,” he says, rubbing at his chin. It takes him a moment before he realizes I’ve asked him a question and he hasn’t responded. “All that I want is you, Bernie.” He grabs the envelope from me and shoves it into the left pocket of my dress before snatching me by the waist and throwing me over his shoulder.
“Vic!” I scream, but he ignores me, carrying me inside and kicking the doors to the outside closed behind him. “You never said I do,” I growl as he chucks me onto the bed, and I bounce briefly. His body is covering mine before I can take a single breath.
“I do,” he growls, biting my lower lip and making me moan. My fingers dig into the blankets underneath us as Vic undulates his body against mine. “You’re mine, Bernadette. You always have been.” He pauses and narrows his eyes, flicking them toward the bedroom door. “I should kill this David motherfucker.”
“Except, how many girls have you been with?” I ask, but really, I don’t want to know. Victor very slowly brings his attention back to me.
“I’m going to kill David,” he repeats, rather than answer me. “Then we can fuck in his blood.”
“Victor,” I warn, but the idea isn’t totally repugnant to me. My hands weave together behind his neck, pulling him down for a kiss. His tongue slides into my mouth, cracking the very small shields I still had up, opening me to him completely. Victor rocks his body against mine again, forcing my legs apart. The shimmery black fabric of the dress is like a shield between us, but that doesn’t stop him from running a hand up and underneath, fingers digging into my thigh. It hurts, but it also feels good too, the way he’s holding me like he owns me.
“I told you, Bernie: I need a way to let my demons out and you need a way to confront them. That’s what you’re going to get, the fucking demon inside of me.” Victor puts his lips against my ear and purrs this into me, making me thrash beneath him. I want more. All of him. Now.
Based on the feral expression taking over his face, I don’t think that’ll be a hard thing to convince him to do …
Victor Channing
Bernadette’s vows reverberate through my body, causing a seismic shift as I adjust my body against hers. Can she feel it, I wonder, the violence thrumming inside of me? I don’t want to share her with the rest of Havoc. Yet, I’m starting to feel like an animal backed into a corner. I get to make a choice: kill the other males after my female or … deal with them in a different way.
A growl escapes me as I drop my mouth to her neck, sucking on her skin and biting her just hard enough to make her cry out. It isn’t enough, so I bite harder, until she’s clawing at my bare back with her nails. She smells so sweet and soft to me, even though I know it’s an illusion.
My Bernadette Savannah Blackbird is one, tough bitch.
“You’re hurting me,” she whimpers, but she thrusts her pelvis against me, tilting her face to the side to give me better access. “Keep going.”
A sharp spike of lust shivers through me, and I find myself clawing at her dress, just to get it the fuck out of my way. Why did I want her to wear it again? Oh, that’s right, because she looks like a dark angel or a beautiful demon when she’s wearing it, not sure which exactly.
That day, the day after we got arrested by the Violent Gang Task Force, I got to see her in it for the first time.
Mmm.
If that isn’t a memory I’ll cherish until I meet an early grave, I don’t know what is.
“Tell him he can’t see it until the wedding,” Bernadette said, her voice groggy with sleep, her tone laced with irritation. “Not until I walk out the front doors of that goddamn creepy ass house.”
She couldn’t possibly know how scared I was though. Nah, not scared. Terrified. Shaken. Horror-struck. Hysterical.
If we didn’t have damn good lawyers on retainer, and a totally trumped-up charge made up by an angry daddy then … Don’t think that way, I tell myself, sitting up and pushing Bernadette’s dress up so I can see all of her. She hates it, being vulnerable and exposed beneath my dark stare, but I don’t give a shit. I need this; I need her.
Oscar keeps passing these little quips about how she needs a wax or some garbage. Really, I think it’s because he’s jealous. Because he dreams of her sweet, little cunt when he jacks himself off at night. As if he thinks I don’t notice the way his eyes follow her.
My jaw clenches as I bend down, pressing my lips to the porcelain smoothness of her inner thigh. She’s so pale, she may as well be made of moonlight. My tongue slides along her white flesh, tasting the pulsing of her femoral artery.
“Victor,” she pleads, but I’m taking my time here. This is my night. The other guys can think whatever the fuck they want: it’s also my honeymoon. After this … I cannot for the life of me think of what happens after this.
I bite down and Bernadette thrusts her hips up toward the ceiling. To keep her still, I hold her pelvis in tight hands, one on either side, wrestling her writhing body where I want it. Hael bought us a ton of sex toys as a wedding present, but I’m not using fucking any of them.
It’s just my body and Bernadette’s. That’s all I want tonight. That’s all the demon in me craves. My flesh in her flesh, owning her, marking her. Protecting her. Because, ultimately, that’s the only thing I want to do.
That’s why I had to see her in that dress as soon as possible, to make sure she was still here, that she was relatively unmarked, that she was mine.
So, sure, I shoved the door in and cracked the drywall with the knob, but I went in there, looked at her, and I knew.
She really is the queen to my king.
“Victor!” she’d ground out, not at all like the pretty, near-submissive thing she is now. “The fuck is wrong with you?” I was shaking, and I didn’t want her to know. I lit a cigarette. I took a drag, looked her up and down. Did she know how damn relieved I was? Could she feel it?
“Fuck me.” That was all I said. Maybe I managed to sound calm, but probably not?
Bernadette’s body swathed in glittering black, just like it is now. Her emerald green eyes gazing back at me, just like they are now. I lift my head up to look at her, and then I dip my face down and taste her sweetness. I’m fucking ravenous. My hands clamp down on her pelvis even harder, keeping her still as my tongue dives deep and
I take exactly what I want without bothering to ask for it.
“Vic,” she moans, thrashing around, fingers clawing at the bedspread. That’s where her words stop, and her true pleasure begins. I close my eyes, savoring her taste, lapping her up like candy. There will never be enough for me, a moment where I’m satisfied and ready to move on. Once you’ve found your girl, you just fucking know.
Bernadette asked how many girls I’ve been with. I have no idea. I didn’t count. I don’t care. There is only one girl in this world that I need, and it’s always been her. My tongue slides up between her folds to find her clit. It’s already swollen and desperate for my touch; I very purposely lick around it until Bernie’s quivering and mewling for more.
A smirk chases across my lips and triumph surges through me.
Mine.
It’s an urge as old as the sun, impossible to resist. Sometimes, I hate myself for it. Maybe I should be more … enlightened or something? But then I drop my mouth back to Bernadette’s heat, and my brain goes on hiatus. There is nothing but me, my demons, and the stiffness of my cock.
“I want to tell you something,” I whisper against her thigh, loving the way her hands push at my head, like she wants me to stop. It’s a bunch of bullshit though, just a game. Bernadette Savannah Blackbird most definitely does not want me to stop what I’m doing. I lift up on my forearms just enough so that I can see her face. Her eyes are closed, face flushed, one arm thrown across her forehead.
With her skirt pushed up around her hips, I can see the dragon tattoo on her hip, the one with all the lotus blossoms that turn into its pink scales. I scoot forward so that I can press my mouth against it, sucking and kissing my way across her ink. I want my fucking name tattooed on her body, somewhere prominent, like her chest.
It kills me that Aaron has her name tattooed on his body, and I don’t. I’ll need to correct that—and soon. Aaron. Little piss-ant scamming on my girl. I should beat him to a pulp, but I know that I can’t. Not if I want to keep Bernadette.
“What?” It’s the only word she manages to get out and even then, it’s strained as fuck. I grin, and I don’t hold back on the cocky since I know she can’t see me and get pissed off about it.
“When Hael said I don’t use condoms, you know he was teasing you, right?”
This gives Bernadette pause and she moves her arm away from her face to look at me.
“What?” she asks, panting, her beautiful thighs spread open for me. “Victor, don’t fuck around with me. You obviously don’t use condoms. You have never used a condom with me.”
“With you,” I repeat, looking her dead in the face. She has to know I would never blow my load in another girl. Not a chance in hell I’d put myself in the position Hael was in—despite his protests that he did use condoms with Brittany. But with Bernie … I’d love a baby. Maybe two or three. Maybe four. Maybe five.
“Fuck off,” she snaps, face flushing as she tries to kick at me. Too bad for her that I’m stronger, my muscles clenching as I hold her in place and she groans. “Vic, stop that. We’re already married; you can cut the crap.”
“No.” The word cracks the room like thunder. “You are the only girl I have ever fucked bareback. You tell me you heard me, or I’ll finish myself off in the bathroom with some Jergens and a tight fist.”
Bernie lets out a little scream of frustration as I drop my mouth back down between her legs, tongue flicking out to tease her clit.
“I heard you, okay?” she whispers, voice cracking. “I heard you.”
“Good.”
This time, when I go back to using my mouth on her cunt, it’s a full-on assault. I run my tongue from her taint to her clit and back again, nice and slow. She digs her fingers in my hair and tries to pull me up toward her, as if this is some kind of chore.
This is me-time, motherfucker.
Only a complete and utter moron would refuse his queen’s sweet heat. There’s a reason I hate the rapper DJ Khaled and it’s not just because his music sucks. Publicly announcing you don’t go down on women? Either you’re gay as hell—which is fine—or you’re a fucking idiot.
I chuckle and Bernadette groans, writhing as I suck her clit into my mouth. She accepts two fingers inside of her nice and easy, thrusting her hips in time with the rhythm of my hand. I work them in and out, enjoying the sight of her glistening juices against my tattoos. My lips tease her clit at the same time, increasing the gentle pulse of her body on my fingers.
When she comes, her entire body tightens up beneath my firm grip, her muscles squeezing my fingers. She isn’t shy about it when she cries out, raking her fingers through her hair as her back arches. Before Bernie even gets a chance to take a breath or relax, I'm sliding up and over her, removing my fingers from inside of her and then yanking down the top of her dress to expose the pale mounds of her breasts.
The tattoo on her chest draws my attention; it's a pair of pink demon wings with a skull in the center. I'm drawn to it with my mouth, running the sharp arc of my tongue across my wife's collarbones.
Oh.
I like that.
I like that a lot.
“What do you think, wife?” I ask, pushing my hips against hers. My cock slides between her folds, brushing up against the swollen nub of her clit. “Do you like your husband's body on top of yours?”
“Shut up, Victor,” she groans, trying to push at me with her palms. She may as well be pushing against a skyscraper; I'm not going fucking anywhere. I'm not done teasing her either. My left hand scoops up one of those full breasts, fingers kneading the soft flesh. At the same time, I tease Bernie's chest and neck with my tongue, undulating my hips in time to the thrusting of hers.
But I haven't given her my cock, not yet.
“Does this complete the cycle?” I whisper, nuzzling against her, feeling both affection and a desperate, frenzied need to possess. “To have the man you hate more than anyone in the world ride you into the mattress?” She shoves at me again, fingers clawing. I love the way her sharp nails rake down my back, and I thrust harder to reward her.
“Just fuck me, Vic,” she grinds out, but I shake my head. I want to hear her say it.
“Just fuck me, husband,” I correct, and she groans, throwing her head back and into the pillow. She bites down on it for a moment before exhaling sharply and opening her eyes. Two pools of emerald stare up at me, a fiery spirit trapped behind them, pounding its fists and begging for release. The demon inside my own body stirs and I adjust my hips, putting the tip of my cock inside of my wife. “Husband. Or no deal.”
“Husband,” she grinds out, and I laugh before I thrust in, nice and hard and fast. Hot heat envelops my cock as I slam balls-deep into my wife, loving the way her face contorts with pleasure, the way her breasts sway with the motion of my thrusts. We grind our bodies together, stirring up an inferno of friction.
Sweat beads on her forehead, on my chest, we drip and melt and fall into each other until there are no barriers between us. My balls get tight as I bite Bernadette's lower lip and pump into her, an orgasm ripping its way through me. I shoot my hot cum into her as she squeezes around me, in the throes of another orgasm.
We are in perfect unison, just the way I fucking like it.
“Stupid ass,” Bernie whispers as I lick the side of her neck. Her body breaks out in goose bumps as I roll off with another laugh, tucking her up against me. If she thinks we're done, she has another thing coming. But I might let her rest for a bit.
Might, being the key word.
“I've won, Bernadette,” I tell her, ignoring her snort of disbelief. “Just accept that you're mine, I'm the boss, and I hold the reigns of Havoc.”
“Just accept that I'm your wife, and I hold your reigns. Therefore, I also hold the reigns of Havoc. Get fucked, Victor Channing.”
“Oh, we'll see about that,” I growl back at her, but she isn't arguing. Instead, she's as soft as a kitty cat next to me. This moment, this view of her, it's for me and me alone.
&
nbsp; I take my time enjoying it before I get out of bed and leave.
“Having fun up there?” Hael asks when I pad down the stairs in bare feet, searching for a snack to bolster my stamina. If Bernadette thinks we’re actually done for the night, she has a few surprises waiting for her. We’re not quitting until the sun comes up. Maybe not even then. At best, she can get in a few short naps between sessions.
I’m going to fuck her until there’s not a male in Havoc that doesn’t know she’s mine.
I stare at my boys, slouched and slumped across the Vincents’ living room. They look ridiculous in here, all tatted up and fucked up and bored as hell. Assholes. We have a whole mansion to ourselves, complete with a goddamn swimming pool, and they’re sitting in here like they don’t have anything better to do?
“If by fun, you mean screwing the shit out of my wife, then yeah, I’m having bucketloads of fun.” I grab my balls as Hael snorts with laugher, following me into the kitchen and tossing some weird-ass glass bauble around like a toy. He drops it and it shatters, pieces of a dried starfish mixing with the glass. Some people need serious help with their decorating. It looks like a fucking fish morgue in here with all the dead, dried sea life scattered everywhere. I open the fridge and lean in to browse its contents.
“You try any of those toys I got you?” he asks, and I turn the most poisonous glare in my repertoire on him. Hael whistles and holds both palms up and out toward me in a placating gesture. “Jesus, you’re such a prickly fuck. What’s wrong with sex toys?”
“Well, you redheaded fucker,” I start, grabbing the sandwich shit from earlier and deciding I’ll make one for myself this time. My balls are empty, and I need to make some more sweet honey for my girl. “First thing that’s wrong is that you bought them.” I gesture at him with a knife, but he doesn’t seem to get the threat apparent in it.
Mayhem at Prescott High Page 7
