Victor very carefully closes the front door and turns around to look at me, dark gaze blazing in such a way that I can’t seem to help the soft gasp that falls from my lips. I’m not such a badass now, am I? Faced with the unrelenting magnanimity of his stare.

“Get your uniform on,” he tells me, and I can’t help the shudder that takes over me, making my skin ripple and ache from my head down to the very tips of my toes. Victor stalks off down the short hallway toward the bathroom before disappearing inside, and I let out a long breath that I didn’t even mean to hold.

“Jesus,” Aaron murmurs as I glance his way, studying the sharp masculinity of a face that was once boyish and sweet and now can only just barely teeter on that edge in the right lighting.

Several things occur to me then.

Aaron’s house is on the very edge of Prescott, straddling the official boundary of the Fuller neighborhood. He could’ve gone to Fuller High if he’d wanted, I bet. And Cal, he was talented enough that he could’ve run away all together, left this nightmare of a city behind. Hael could’ve quit school to work on cars. Oscar is too smart to be stuck in Prescott; he likely could’ve snagged the one and only scholarship spot that Oak Valley opens each year (each year there isn’t a school shooting, that is).

The only person who was truly and utterly stuck in Prescott High was … me.

“Excuse me,” I choke out, snatching the pile of bags and a single shoe box that Oscar has carefully gathered into a neat pile on the coffee table, and taking off for the bedroom nearest the bathroom. I slam the door behind me, putting my back to it and closing my eyes for a moment.

My heart races, and my spirit swells, and there’s nowhere for that energy to go but into my hands and fingers as I throw all the items in my arms onto the king-size bed against the far wall. It’s dressed plainly in white sheets, white pillows, and a matching down comforter. Is it wrong that my first thought is: will we all fit in here on this thing? Because the thought of being separated from any of my boys for any length of time makes me feel almost physically ill.

I shed my clothes as quickly as I can, yanking on a gray pleated skirt and a white button-down, a sky-blue satin tie, and socks that reach my knees. The shoes are last, these shiny black Mary Janes that remind me of the shoes Pamela used to make me and Pen wear on holidays, when we were still rich and she still pretended to give a shit about us, when Dad was alive and the Thing was a future nightmare I couldn’t have possibly fathomed.

As soon as I’m dressed, I tear out of that room like a bat outta hell and run straight into Victor’s strong, wet chest. He’s clearly just gotten out of the shower, beads of moisture clinging to his inked skin as he rests a palm on either side of the hallway, his obsidian gaze boring down into me.

“Bernadette,” he murmurs, and then he’s shoving me back into the room and pinning me against the wall. Victor’s mouth descends on mine, a slice of hot fury that burns me even as it soothes away all of my pain, all of my questioning, any lingering doubts that I might’ve had.

His tongue parts my lips like a spoken order, like he really is a king and I’m a loyal subject desperate to obey. Why I feel like this around him, I’m not sure, but I like it. When I’m with Victor, I don’t have to worry or wonder. He’ll take care of me, of us, of everything. In his arms, that’s where I feel the safest.

“Is there anything you need?” I whisper, trembling as he bands his strong fingers around my upper arms, making dents in the heather gray sleeves of the jacket.

Victor takes a deep breath, closes his eyes, and then opens them again, unleashing the hurricane force of his stare on me.

“You.”

The towel around his hips drops to the floor as he steps back to examine me in the uniform, swiping his hand over his face with a curse. His temper is barely restrained right now. I can see the edges of it in the veins in his arms and neck, a muscle working in his jaw as he struggles to keep that beast restrained.

For now.

First chance he gets to launch it at Ophelia, and she isn’t making it out of this city with a pulse.

“The uniform really cinches the deal, doesn’t it?” he whispers, eyes sparkling, and I can’t decide if he asked me to put it on just because he’s a fucking perv who wants to nail me in what’s essentially a Catholic schoolgirl uniform (although Oak Valley Prep has no religious affiliation) or if it’s something else, something more. Proof that he can take care of me. Proof that he can raise us all up. Proof that this will all be worth it in the end. “You look every bit as aristocratic as Trinity Jade. Or Ophelia. More so, actually.”

“Should I add the crown?” I whisper back, feeling that intensity between us stretch and quiver and pull, my obsession feeding into his obsession until we’re just an endless loop of need and want and possession. Victor Channing is mine, and I don’t care about the fake fiancée charade we have to keep up: I’m going to remind every student on this campus at every opportunity I can that I can kiss Vic, fuck Vic, own Vic whenever I goddamn well please.

Trinity is going to hate me for it.

“The crown would definitely add to the appeal,” Victor growls, stepping forward and sliding his hands up and underneath my skirt to cup my ass. “But I’m not about to let you leave to go look for it. You asked if I needed you? Well, I do.”

He drops one of his big hands between my thighs, lightly stroking up the seam of my cunt. He finds it easily, even with the barrier of my panties between us. I’m already wet, soaking the fabric and making him grumble in pleasure at the damp feeling against his calloused fingers. Because he’s an animal, because he’s the basic, primal male to the wild, unrestrained female inside of me, he can’t resist tugging the fabric of my underwear aside to get to my bare cunt.

With heavy bedroom eyes, Victor drinks me in, slicking a single finger between my folds and groaning when he feels exactly how hot and slick I am between the thighs. His cock pulses and throbs with the need to fill me up, to conquer that space and make it his own. I can’t seem to look away as he slips two fingers inside of me, making my lips part with a pleasured sigh as my head falls back against the wall.

It’s obscene really, to fuck in this uniform before I’ve even attended a single class in it, but what can I do? My boss needs me, doesn’t he? My husband. The king to my queen.

When Victor withdraws his hand from my panties, I almost scream. He smirks at me, like he can sense exactly how I’m feeling as he adjusts his grip from my most private parts to his own, using my lube to slick his fist up and down the length of his swollen cock.

“I know all the things you say about me,” he says, almost as if it’s a challenge, a smirk building on his mouth as he regains that control, pulling it around himself like a blanket. Watching it happen is nothing short of miraculous.

“What things?” I query back, my cheeks flushed, my nipples so hard that the lace of my bra feels suddenly like a torture device.

“That I’m basic,” he growls, dropping first to one knee and then the other, hand still stroking and playing with his cock. “That I’m an animal, that all I know how to do is rut like a dog in heat.”

“I never said that verbatim,” I retort, but it’s too late. Victor has to prove that he still has control over himself, despite his reaction to Ophelia’s taunts. He reluctantly releases the grip on his dick just long enough to drag my panties down my legs and then pull them off, tossing them aside and then encouraging me to spread my legs.