His hands cup my ass as his face falls between my thighs, his tongue sliding hot and wicked across my cunt in just such a way that my knees quiver. Shit, fuck, son of a bitch. He eats me out like it’s a pleasure, a rite of passage, something to be savored and enjoyed. It most certainly isn’t a chore, the way Vic goes about doing it.

My eyelids droop, but I force them to stay open so I can stare down at his crown of purple-dark hair. When my fingers find it and grab hold, he growls at me, his face still pressed tightly to me, sucking and licking and nipping at my clit and folds.

Victor bands an arm across my belly when I start to collapse, effectively pinning me to the wall. It’s insane how strong he is, how the muscles in his arm lock in place and keep me there even as I push at him with my hands, my nails cutting grooves through his tattoos.

“Vic,” I murmur, as he keeps his head beneath the pleats of my skirt, mouth working against my body like a starving man. His tongue is hot and vicious, carving valleys through my flesh that make my lids flutter closed. My hands spasm, digging into the fabric of my skirt and, conversely, the top of his skull. “Fuck, I can’t do this.”

A sound escapes that I struggle to control, echoing in the nearly empty bedroom as I dig my fingers in even harder, the orgasm riding me the way I’m sure Victor wants to but that he won’t allow himself to do. Not right this second, not when he’s feeling this way. Even though the thought of him riding me in wild, unrestrained abandon gets me so hot that I can barely breathe through the idea.

“Maybe I could … I could lay down …” I pant, but he ignores me.

Damn if I can stop him when he’s getting what he wants.

With his right arm still banded over my midsection, Victor works the fingers of his left hand into the scalding heat of my core. At the same time, he makes sure to work his tongue around my clit, gently sucking the hardened nub into his mouth before grazing it with his teeth. My hips buck up against his face, but he holds me still, pinning me in place until a climax rips through me like those flames I saw in his eyes just a few minutes earlier.

My body spasms around his hand, a groan slipping past my lips that I can’t control. But there’s certainly no rest for the wicked as he shoves up to his feet, grabs me by the skirt, and yanks me forward. I’m tossed onto the bed, face-first, and then Vic is doing exactly what he wants to do by mounting me from behind.

His cock is scalding and almost too thick at this angle, making me scream as he drives into me hard and fast. That’s when his control finally reaches its tipping point, and he fists a hand in my hair, yanking my head back and fucking me with just a fraction of that violent, unrelenting rage.

The insistent friction of his cock burrowing into me, and the wild, masculine sounds he makes sends me over the edge yet again, and then I’m coming clamped around him, my muscles working his body until he spills his seed inside of me.

With a final thrust and one, last agonizing groan, Victor collapses on top of me, breathing hard and curling his fingers through my own on either side.

“Feel better?” I whisper, and he gives a dark chuckle, his huge body crushing me into the mattress just the way I like. I could live in this position, with him still inside of me, pinning me down like a butterfly who has no wish to escape.

“You always make me feel better, Mrs. Channing,” he murmurs, nuzzling against the side of my head before climbing to his feet and leaving me feeling cold and needy and irritated all at once. How is it fair that I have to conquer a whole new school today when I just became queen of my last one? How is it fair that I can’t spend all day in bed with these boys when that’s the only thing in the world I feel like doing right now? “Come on, wife. I’ll help you clean the cum off, so you don’t have it running down your legs on the first day of class.”

“I seriously fucking hate you sometimes,” I grumble as I push myself up into a standing position and find myself facing down Victor Channing the way I did in the hall that first day of school, when he called me a ballsy bitch, and I snapped right back at him. He captures my chin in his fingers and stares me down with such a genuine look of love and affection that it’s impossible for me to say anything snarky or cranky or distinctly south Prescott in nature.

“Well, I seriously fucking love you all of the time,” he tells me, and I groan, letting my lids fall closed because I just know that I’m not getting out of this room without saying it back.

“I love you, too, you fucking asshole,” I grumble, and he chuckles, planting one last kiss on my overheated mouth before sending me off to face an entire school full of spoiled rotten prep school brats.

Because I’m just that much of a south Prescott ho, I decide to slip a tampon in instead of showering down, so I can carry a little piece of Victor Channing around with me all goddamn day long.

Alright, let’s do this.

I push open the doors to my first class of the day and I swear to you, there isn’t a student in that room who doesn’t turn to look at me. First contact. Earth has finally been visited by aliens.

Trinity’s expression doesn’t change as she takes in the ring that’s now sitting pretty back on my finger. Take a good, long look bitch, I think, wondering if she ever really wanted to fuck my man or if it was just her brother she was into. For all I know, she’s just an extremely talented actress.

Good thing I’m more than familiar with those. Oscar is a master thespian, of course.

I move down the steps toward where her majesty sits, pausing beside her and planting my hands on my hips. I’ve rolled the waistband of my skirt up the way the Prescott High cheerleaders do before they kick the Fuller girls’ asses and tear out their extensions with nails that could make Michelangelo cry. That shit is art.

“Mind if I sit here?” I ask as the teacher—this uptight man in a gray suit—stares at me like I’ve just taken a shit on his classroom floor. I smack my gum, content to wait in silence as Trinity takes me in from my feet to my bloodred hair to my eyes, half-lidded and lazy. I’m not afraid of her, and I’m certainly not afraid of any asshole in this school.

“If you must,” is Trinity’s only response as I slide onto the bench seat beside her. The room is tiered, like an auditorium or a gymnasium or something. The teacher stands up front like he’s on a stage, shaking his head as he goes back to his lesson plan. He doesn’t bother to introduce me to the class, doesn’t even acknowledge me. Glad to see that classism runs thick in this place.

I smack my gum again and Trinity cringes.

“Could you not do that?” she asks finally, after I do it three or four more times. I glance her direction, noticing the way her hand shakes as she attempts to answer some questions on her iPad, tapping the stylus against the screen as the teacher’s voice drones by like so much background noise.

I’m not here for the education, y’all.

“I’m surprised you’re not in mourning for poor James,” I say, and just the sound of his name makes Trinity’s skin prickle with goose bumps. She hates me so much that I can see her repulsion in her skin, written there the way the story of my life is written in ink across my own body. I lean back in the seat and my pleated skirt rides up dangerously high, exposing the tail of the dragon tattoo that graces my hip.