The Forever Crew (Adamson All-Boys Academy, #3)

by C.M. Stunich

As the cups fall forward, I reach up to cover my nipples, blushing furiously. Ranger sighs, but not in a bad way, in a longing sort of way. “You're so goddamn cute,” he murmurs, turning my skirt around on my hips so that the zipper's in the front. “Even as a boy, with your dirty glasses, your floppy hair …” He unzips it and lets it fall to my feet, leaving my matching panties, garter belt, and knee-high socks exposed. “Jesus Christ.” “There you go with that word again,” I choke out, but I'm finding it very hard to breathe. “I've always liked cute things,” he says, moving his hands down my sides, his gaze almost too intense to look at. And yet, I can't pull myself away either. “Soft, vulnerable things.” “I'm not soft or vulnerable,” I huff as Ranger pushes the hair back from my face. His smile is lascivious,

“It's okay to be soft and vulnerable sometimes. That's why I like that shit. It reminds me that I don't have to be on top of Mark Grandam, beating the shit out of him, to be happy. Life is balance, Chuck. Hard and soft. I'm too fucking hard sometimes; I need something to take the edge off.”

“You put your panties on over your garter belt and thigh-highs,” he remarks, his smile turning several levels away from cute and charming, and much closer to lascivious. “Only a naughty girl knows you put the panties on top, so you can take them off without removing the rest.” “I read it in a book somewhere!” I howl, but it's too late:

I do as he asked, bending down to dig through the jeans when I realize that the room's gone completely silent. Glancing over my shoulder, I see him staring at me with wide eyes and realize what I must look like. Naked, wearing shiny shoes and thigh-highs, a frilly apron aaaaand … nothing else. The view must be, um, intense. I barely have time to stand up and turn around before Ranger's there, pushing me up against the first island, his forehead to mine, his breathing harsh and ragged. “Goddamn it, Chuck,” he murmurs, rubbing his face against mine. With a shudder, I close my eyes and grab onto the front of his apron. I'm not the only one trembling, apparently, and I can't get enough of this, of him.

“The twins and Church,” I start, swallowing hard as Ranger grinds against that fervent heat between my legs, “they were afraid for you to find out my secret; they were afraid you'd turn me into your sister.” The laugh that escapes his throat is best described as bawdy, this dark sound that has my nipples tightening to hard points. “Does it seem like I consider you a sister? Because if so, then I've either fucked up royally, or you've seen some kinky shit in your day.” I snort a laugh, but the sound is cut off when Ranger crushes his mouth to mine. Holy mother of unicorns,

He likes me! My brain squeals as we gasp, coming up for air and looking right at each other. “What did you say?” he asks me, as I blink stupidly back at him. “Did I say that out loud?” I choke, flushing from head to toe. “I did, didn't I? Oh my god, I'm so freaking embarrassed. Why am I always blurting out random shit?” Ranger gives me a feral grin, capturing my lips with his, the faintest hint of lemons and sugar on his tongue. “He does like you,” Ranger growls out, sucking my lower lip between his teeth. “A lot. He's just hoping you like him back.” “I love him,” I blurt, and then we both pause. Swear to the God of Dark-Holes-For-Embarrassed-People-to-Crawl-Into, I better not have just messed this all up. But instead of pulling away from me or acting like I’ve just committed the worst cardinal sin known to man, Ranger takes it in stride. “I love you, too, Chuck,” he replies easily, the edge of his mouth turning up in a genuine smile. “I have since the moment you asked for that hug at the Valentine's Day dance.”

“I thought you were kidding,” I whisper as he dumps some out on the counter and then powders his hands in white. “I want to see all the places I've touched you.” His voice is dark with a possessiveness that I'm not sure I'm going to like … until he touches me again, putting white handprints on my hips. When he pulls back and cracks me across the ass with his palm, my breath hitches, and my fingers curl against the surface of the stone countertop. “Jesus, I've been wanting to do that for an entire year. You're such a brat, Chuck. You needed a good spanking.” “Hey, I resent—” I start, but then he spanks me again, and I shiver, goose bumps breaking out across my skin. We're on campus, in a classroom, naked. That thought doesn't deter me from my course of action though. No way, no how. It only makes me want it more.

Ranger slides himself slowly inside of me, groaning under his breath as he fills me up with his body. “Holy fuck.” “Good?” I ask, because for some reason, I think that makes me seem cool. In reality, I was never that good at being ‘cool’. No, that was Monica's thing. Actually, I preferred being nerdy, weird, blurt-y Chuck the Micropenis. With an exhale, I relax into Ranger's touch and close my eyes, changing the narrative. “Your touch makes me feel like I'm on fire.” “Beyond good, Charlotte,” he whispers,

Ranger slows and bites the curve of my ear. “I want to see your face when you come.” “You're not serious,” I choke out, because apparently, even in the throes of passion, I'm a dork. He pulls away from me and then gently turns me around by the shoulders, cupping my face in his warm hands. “Deadly,” he murmurs back, taking my mouth with his, his control a heady sort of aphrodisiac that I never expected to like. Vaguely, I remember that conversation I had with Ranger, back when Spencer didn't know my secret and thought his friend was topping me. I'd argued I could've easily been the one in charge. But nah. Nope. I don't think so.

This is most definitely not sanitary, I think, but then I also don't care. There's something about fearing for your life that really puts that kick in your step, makes you realize that tomorrow isn't guaranteed, and that it's okay to be happy now.

“That was amazing.” “You think so?” I ask, and he raises a dark brow at me. “You don't? Please tell me I'm better than Spencer, at the very least.” “Oh my god,” I groan, rolling onto my side and putting my face on his chest, enjoying the wild rhythm of his heartbeat. “You guys are the worst, you know that?”

Ranger pulls me onto his lap as soon as we get there, and Spencer rolls his eyes. “I know you two just did it for the first time, but come on, the lovesick puppy dog eyes are killing me.” “Jealous?” Ranger taunts,

we only did hand stuff. Although hand stuff is sex. If anyone tells you otherwise, they're either ignorant, delusional, or else they subscribe to a hetero-normative view of sex that's antiquated and weird. Ahem.

“It's so weird that you guys are banging now,” Tobias remarks, looking at the two of us like we're alien creatures with purple tentacles coming out of our crotches. He watches that kind of porn sometimes. Trust me, I know, I've seen it. I played the twin game and stole their key the other day, snuck back into the room to surprise Tobias when Micah was with Church, and caught him masturbating. That was fun.

Oh, shit. Oh, shit is right. Because the only thing that could possibly convince the students to vote out their only party drug supplier … is a hot chick in a skirt.

“Mark Grandam for secretary. The dude can't spell the word idiot to save his life. And then adding Gareth in as treasurer? What a joke. He can't even count the number of balls he doesn’t have.”

“It's our fault,” Spencer says, climbing over a grumbling Ranger first before he scales my lap and flops into the seat on my left side. “We took the only girl in school for our own, so she doesn't have as much sway over the student body as she should.” I snort, but that's pretty much the gist of it. During my first week in female form, the boys were a tad … vicious. How stupid is it that I like their ridiculous caveman behavior? “And thus, we are all animals,” I say aloud, and everyone turns to stare at me as I cough and choke into my hand and pretend I've got some level of social decorum. Church smiles, one of his big bright smiles that I realize was never actually fake, and then taps his knuckles against the glass of the window.

When I glance his way, at his turquoise eyes and silver hair, I feel my body react in the same way it did when I looked at Ranger. Yep. Yep. In love with every boy. My cheeks and ears heat up, and Spence raises a questioning brow.

“Mm,” Church muses, but doesn't reply. Either he doesn't think I'm following the right train of thought, or else he doesn't know. And that scares me. Because if Church can't figure it out, then nobody can.

“I am Sherlock. Ranger is Watson. You'd both be lucky to be our faithful bloodhounds. Now shush.”

“My father bought my mother's engagement ring from here when they were seventeen.” He looks around, using what little light is trickling in from the orange streetlamp outside to see. Subconsciously, I rub at the ring on my finger and Church smiles. “And yes, that one, too.” “You bought a used ring?” Spencer asks, giving Church a look. “You? Of all people? How much was it?” “In some instances—rare instances—tradition is more important than price.”

Fellowship of the Divine or whatever the crap they’re calling themselves. Rightfully so, I might add, considering the body count.” “Let’s not grace them with a proper name,” I suggest, trying to break the tension. “Let’s call them … Fellowship of the Dirty Toilet Brushes.” “What is it with you and toilet brushes?” Micah asks, getting an elbow in the chest from me as payback. “Let’s call them the Dick Cheese Initiates.”

“The people who are after Charlotte are young, inexperienced. They’re not hitmen, they’re not professionals. Think about it: the school board’s denied our requests for extra security. Why? Because they want this to be a challenge. Jenica wrote it down plain as day: this is an initiation.” Church’s nostrils flare, and I realize then just how fucking smart he really is. He could run circles around the rest of us if he wanted to. “Even that quote about the foxes, the one from the Bible: Catch for us the foxes, the little foxes that plunder the vineyards; for our vineyards are in blossom. It’s a metaphor.” He gestures in my direction. “Jenica, Eugene, Jason … Charlotte. They’re the foxes. The vineyard is the interests of the cult—whatever those might be.”

I stand up to go after him, forgetting that I’ve still got the packer penis in my underwear. It flops out onto the floor and bounces over next to Church’s bed, ruining the dramatics of the moment. Without skipping a beat, Ranger reaches down, picks it up, and stuffs it into his pants before standing up and pointing at the rest of us.

But me, I can’t stop thinking about the way Church’s eyes met mine when he said the word love.

“Let me guess? You’re going to Harvard or Stanford or Oxford or something. Old money, fancy school.” Church doesn’t bother answering. Instead, he just gives me another one of those blinding smiles, the ones he learned from his family. “Maybe. Why? Is that where you want to go? As husband and wife, we should probably attend the same university.” I grab one of his discarded, fancy-pants pillows, and smack him with it. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“When are you going to tell them?” “Tell who, and what? Do we need to talk about clarifying subjects, my darling?” My eye twitches, but I’m not going to be phased by a little verbal whiplash.

“You’re the only one I want to tell. I love the boys, but there are just some things a man should share with his wife and no one else, don’t you think?” My cheeks flush, but in that small room, with the roaring fireplaces, and the storm outside, it feels awfully cozy and intimate; if I give into my embarrassment, I may very well shrivel up and die. So I try humor as a deflection technique. “If we’re really going to be husband and wife, then why haven’t you put the moves on me yet? I mean, we are sharing a room and all. The opportunities for seduction are ample.”

“When your father was writing me up and, might I add, tarnishing my perfect academic record, he made sure to let me know that if I laid a finger on you, he’d expel me, and that he didn’t care who my parents were.”

My eyes rove a bit past his ankle to the bit of calf muscle showing beneath his pants, making me feel like some sort of Victorian pervert. Dear me, I saw a flash of ankle! How scandalous.

“You had a dramatic coming out of the closet moment to go from boy to girl, and now you’re all dressed up as a man with a big dick?” Ross leans in and squints at the screen, pointing in the general direction of my crotch where, of course, I’ve stuffed the packer penis. We’re close now, me and this floppy silicone dick. “All I can say is—I approve.”

Church sprawled on his bed, dressed as Fred Jones from Scooby-Doo. I won’t lie, he looks pretty damn hot with his hair coifed back like that, wearing blue jeans and a white shirt with an orange ascot tie. The guys have a theme going on here, dressing up like the full cast of mystery solving teens: Ranger is going as Daphne (I cannot wait to see this in person), Spencer as Velma (okay, also really excited to see this transformation), with the twins going as Shaggy and Scooby. I’m the only outlier, as per usual.

“Not a word,” Ranger growls, dressed in heels, pink tights, and an orange wig. His makeup, however, is pretty damn flawless. Lots of sparkle around the lids. Spencer doesn’t look any happier, wearing glasses with no lenses, a short brown wig, and a pleated red miniskirt. Tobias is outfitted with a faux goatee and brown bell bottoms while Micah is swimming in a big, furry Scooby-Doo costume. My composure only lasts a moment before I’m howling with laughter.

“We’re not killing anybody.” “If we have to kill to keep you safe …” Spencer starts, shrugging one shoulder. But there’s a look in his turquoise eyes that says he’s not fully comfortable with the idea. Church, on the other hand, doesn’t look like he has any reservations at all. I almost believe he would kill to keep me safe.

“You want to dance?” Micah asks, giving me this lascivious look from under the hood of his costume that makes me grin. “With a furry?” I retort, looking him up and down. “I don’t know, man. You’re pressing your luck.” “How about I promise not to proposition you for sex while I’m wearing this thing, and we’ll settle on some grinding instead?” “Deal.”

“I’m pretty sure that’d be a dream come true.” I wrinkle my brows and then move my left hand between us, so I can stare at the pink Asscher cut diamond that Church gave me. “But how would it all work? I’m … just assuming that at some point, you’re going to want me to choose?” “Choose, what?” Tobias asks, but before I get the chance to answer, I see Spencer waving us over.

God, teenagers are sort of gross, huh? All hormone-y and shit. Damn, Spencer’s legs look fine in those knee socks. I facepalm but nobody’s paying any attention to me.

Mark’s dick is even smaller than Cody’s which, believe it or not, is smaller than any of the five boys in my … err, harem. Spencer, surprisingly, is the biggest. Then again, I haven’t gotten much of a look at Church …

“You’re joking, right? They’re after your fucking girlfriend. Each initiate has to get blood on their hands, and it has to be the person the cult’s chosen. No exceptions. She’s dangerous man, stay away from her. They only locked you in there to get you out of the way, but don’t think they won’t kill you, too, if it suits them. Pretty sure the only person they’re scared to touch is that one.” Jack flicks his hand in Church’s direction

“You guys are in danger because of me,” I say, thinking on Jack’s words for a moment. The boys might actually be better off if I left for good, huh? “You’re worth it, Chuck-let,”

And honestly? She did me a favor. I’d take any one of my new beaus over Cody any day, let alone five deliciously rich assholes. Wait. Deliciously rich asshole? That sounds gross as fuck, like … a butthole covered in chocolate sauce or something. Gag. Vom.

“Please. The only magic I bring with me is an innate talent for pissing people off, a habit of blurting inappropriate things, and an obsession with romance. I’ve fallen in love with every boy on the Student Council.”

“If you need to talk shit about me, I understand. Just make sure you let her know that I do, in fact, have the biggest dick of all the guys.” “I haven’t seen enough of Church’s yet to know for sure,” I blurt, and then I groan and fall back into the pillows. “Okay, I’m hanging up now. You bring out the ho in me.”

“Every girl has a ho inside, waiting to liberate her from the puritanical shackles of our modesty-based society that shames women for having natural pleasure and dominion over their own bodies. Enjoy all that dick, and we’ll talk soon!”

“I’m testing out extra nicknames, just so I’ve got fun things to call you from across the room. Babe seemed pretty tame, but knowing how much you love insults like condom face, ass pig, and toilet brush, I figure I’ll get creative next time. I’m playing around with my little slice of hot sauce toast, in homage to your favorite breakfast food.” Aww, he remembers that I like to douse my French toast in hot sauce … Too freaking cute. “You want to yell hey, hot sauce toast! across a crowded room, then that’s your choice. Just don’t expect me to answer.”

“You know,” I begin softly, looking down at my lap and forgetting about my split lip for a second. “I always wanted a boy who’d love me in a ballgown and a face full of makeup, but also love me just as much in sweatpants with a pimple on my nose.” “Like the one you have now?” Spencer says knowingly, and I balk at him. “I do not have a pimple! What is wrong with you, Spencer Hargrove?”

“I’m trying to be poetic and romantic and—” “I was getting ready to suck your dick, Charlotte Carson. I was looking up the ins and outs of anal sex, and if silicone lube was better than water-based—it is.” He pauses and smiles at me in a way that breaks my fucking heart and sews it back together all in a single glance. “If you think that I wouldn’t love you in sweatpants and pimples, then you’re just not paying attention.” “Love me, huh?” I ask, and Spencer lifts a dark brow.

“You know I love you, Chuck.” He shrugs his shoulders again, like it’s no big deal. But it is. It is a big deal. I lean forward, placing one of my hands on his legs, lips parted gently, waiting. “Shit, you can’t look at me like that.” “Say it again,”

“I’m not afraid of the L-word,” he says, flashing a foxy smirk in my direction and then reaching up a single finger to brush down the side of my throat. “I love you, Chuck-let.” “Even if your love for me gets you killed?”

“I’d rather die for love than live without knowing how bad it hurts,” Spencer says, smiling. “Now say you love me back, and let’s do it before those other assholes show up.” “I love you, Spencer Hargrove,” I say, and I mean it, I do. The thing is, I’m pretty sure I love all five of the boys. Equally. What’s a girl to do?