In the Arms of the Elite (Rich Boys of Burberry Prep, #4)

by C.M. Stunich

“At first, I think you're right,” he says, his English accent softening a bit at the edges. “You're bloody right. I didn't want to lose, not to the other boys, and not to the Infinity Club bastards. But … it's not like that anymore.” “Why not?” I'm studying him at the same time as he's studying me, drawing his fingers down the side of my face. “I've applied to Bornstead, you know. I'm as hopeless as the rest of those arseholes.”

His kiss is just as possessive as Zack’s, but in a completely different way. Zack kisses like an alpha in need of a mate, while Wind … he kisses like a royal giving a decree. He commands me with his mouth, tasting me and offering up an exquisite burn of pleasure that has me gasping and backing away.

“Make me, Marnye Reed. Tame the bad boy. That’s what you like, isn’t it? The chase, the challenge.” “It’s not like that,” I tell him, but maybe he’s right. Maybe I do have a thing for the broken ones? I like to fix things, make them right again, study the world and learn how it works. What makes this any different?

He reaches down with two fingers and pulls a condom from his boot. His boot. He was keeping one in his fucking boot. “You’re a monster,” I whisper, but I mean that in the most affectionate way possible as he finally leans down and nips at my panties, getting my clit just enough that my hips buck up involuntarily. “Maybe, but I’m your monster. You should see what I’ve got planned for that bitch Ileana Taittinger. When we get back to school, I’ll hand you her head on a plate as a Christmas gift.”

voice tight and clipped with jealousy. Jealousy. How the hell am I going to manage an entire harem of bullies for the rest of the year? Guess only time will tell that.

I glance down at whatever it is that Tristan left, and then flush ten shades of crimson when I see it’s his test results, just like I saw with Zack, Zayd, and even Windsor. He emailed me his, and I just happened to have Charlie standing near me when I opened it … Needless to say, we had a small birds and the bees sex talk that ended with him giving me a book that looks like it’s from 1982, all about how people in love can make each other happy with their bodies … Gross.

“I had you on my list, you know, for revenge.” I stand up and gather my things in my arms, my bookbag clutched in tight fingers as I look over and meet Lizzie’s eyes. “But you were so heartbroken when you saw Tristan and Harper engaged that I couldn’t do it anymore. That was it. I thought you were hurting enough. But if I’d wanted to, I could’ve gone a lot further. Look, I’m giving you a fair shot at him because I want him to be the one to make the decision, but what you did to me was wrong. I hope you truly realize that.”

“What did you do?” “I posted Ileana’s private messages to Harper on Becky’s Facebook page. Becky …” He pauses again as Becky Platter rages past us, barely glancing in our direction. “As I was saying, Becky shoved her down the stairs and poor Ileana landed chest first. I think … you wouldn’t say pop …” Wind snaps his fingers and smiles at me while Miranda gapes at him. “I think you’d call it rupturing. Her breast implant ruptured. I know you abhor violence, but to be fair, even I couldn’t have predicted the outcome.” “Her boob … ruptured?” I ask, and then I wipe my hands desperately on the front of my uniform. “What was I just touching then?!” “Oh, that? When they got in a fight at the bottom of the steps, Becky snapped Ileana’s bra and tore it off. I simply picked it up. The wetness is just bottled water that Becky threw on her first. Like you said, let them hang themselves, right?” He shrugs. “I couldn’t have done a better job myself.”

When he takes off that time, I know he’s up to no good. And that his no-good … actually looks really good on him.

I click the email, and nearly choke. Tears spring to my eyes, and I curl forward around the tablet, squeezing it close to my chest. “What? What is it?” Creed asks, his half-lidded eyes open wide. They look like saucers in his pale, handsome face. “What the fuck did it say?” I close my own eyes for a moment to catch my breath, and then sit back up, breathing heavily, my heart pounding. I turn to Creed first, and he lifts his brows up. “I did it. I’m in. I got in. I’m in.” His mouth opens in shock as Miranda squeals, and I soon find myself in Creed’s lap. He’s a sloth sure, but when he wants to be, he’s lightning quick.

Now the bullying and behind-the-scenes manipulation from Harper, that’s expected. Seeing the king of the school in my room eating popcorn? That’s the shock of a lifetime.

Sometimes things aren’t perfect, but we do the best we can with what we have.”

He’s all serious and shit until he notices the reindeer antlers on my hood. “Are you … dressed up like Rudolph?” He flips the hood up over my head, and then leans down to peer in at me with those dark, brooding eyes of his. “Rudolph would imply a red nose,” I grumble, reaching up to rub at my own. “Is it that red already? Because I seriously thought I was just dressed up like Blitzen … or something.” Zack laughs, this low, soft sweet sound that’s so at odds with his big, broad shoulders and imposing stare that I smile. Despite everything, I actually smile. “Come on, let’s get inside before your nose starts glowing. Cute as it is, I’d rather hang out with you than watch Santa hook you to his sleigh.”

Mm. Football player, rich boy, baking Christmas cookies in my house at midnight on Christmas Eve-Eve, that is, the day before Christmas Eve. Maybe I’m the only person in the world that calls it Eve-Eve?

“Why do you like those boy-on-boy comics so much? Do you have fantasies you haven’t told me about?” “Yes, I’d love to see you topped by Tristan Vanderbilt, but that’s not going to happen. What will happen if you don’t study, is me going to college with your sister, and you going home to sleep a gap year away in the Hamptons.” “You’d go without me?” he asks, sighing and sliding his fingers down the row of buttons on my top, popping a few of them wide.

“You’re up to something, aren’t you? I can practically smell it.” Creed folds his arms together behind his head, watching me with curiosity and no small amount of glee. He loves the kill, just like all the rest of them do.

“I’ve got Harper under control,” I say, realizing how ridiculous that sounds considering her recent attack on my college applications. “Becky … I’m not sure about.” “I think Zayd is working on Becky. You know, he feels like Windsor let Ileana off the hook too easily. That, and I think he’s jealous of the prince.” “Zayd is?” I ask, glancing over at Creed. “Zayd, the rock god is jealous?” Creed shrugs his shoulders, and I narrow my eyes. “Just Zayd, huh? Nobody else.” “No, definitely not,” he replies, raising his eyebrows and then smiling sweetly as we pass by Mrs. Collins.

“If you insist on teaching me math, I’ll accept—provided, of course, you sit in my lap while I learn. I study best that way, with a giant boner tucked into my slacks.” I facepalm and shake my head, but his crudeness is refreshing somehow. It’s better than a bouquet of lies, now isn’t it?

“Windsor York has asked me to marry him. On more than one occasion. Don’t you think if I were to become a prince’s bride and find myself suddenly swimming in billions that I’d be welcomed with open arms?”

It's a double-edged sword, that's for sure. He can defend me with it … but he can also cut me if he wants, make me bleed. And boy, would I bleed for this man.

I feel like all my inhibitions are being shed like a banana peel, stripping right down and leaving my pale yellow flesh quivering. Whoa. That was a totally weird metaphor. Scratch that. Pretend I never said anything at all.

“Right. So why are you so pro-Lizzie?” he demands, and I blink back in confusion. “And why do you smell so damn good?” he adds, almost under his breath, glancing to the side for a moment before looking back at me. “I'm not pro-Lizzie,” I tell him, and there it is. All these feelings come rushing to the surface, and I can't seem to hold them back. “I've … I wanted to be friends with her. And I felt selfish. She loves you so much, and I'm dating five guys, and …” “So fucking what?” Tristan slams his palm against the bookshelf, still clinging to my wrist with his other hand. “You're dating five guys because we all refuse to let you go. What does that have to do with Lizzie? You want to trade me like a baseball card, so she doesn't feel left out?”

He's the cruelest boy I know. He really is. He'll never be perfect. He'll never even be good. But maybe … he's just right for me?

“I just wanted you to choose me,” I whisper, and I see his silver gaze move from my mouth back up to my eyes. “That's all. I was just … waiting to see if you'd pick me.” “Maybe I was waiting for the same?” he whispers, and I close my eyes.

“You were waiting for me …” I start as he looks up at the tin ceiling tiles above us. “I was waiting for you to fight for me,” he says, turning back to look at me, his gaze slashed through with violent heat that seems to ripple in the air between us. “What's that old saying? Don't be so sweet that people will eat you up, and don't be so bitter they spit you out?” He pauses and exhales. “Sometimes I think you're too sweet. But then I wonder if it's my job to be your bitter.”

“I might be cruel, but I'm selfish, too. I want you too much to let you go.” Tristan puts his hands on my hips, and I feel my body start to quiver. The tension between us is making me sick. “It kills me to know they've all touched you, that they've all been inside of you …” His voice softens, but seems to get darker at the same time, like velvet shadows wrapping me up in a cocoon. “Every crush of yours but me …”

He clearly knows what he's doing. Jealousy flares hot inside of me as I throw my arms around his neck and kiss him back hard enough to make him cringe slightly. “Oh no, did I nick you?” I ask, and Tristan draws back just enough to give me this awful, awful little cocksure smile. “That's what I'm talking about, Marnye. Show me some teeth.”

On our way across the massive expanse of the library, we run into Creed, lazily dragging himself across the room with his hands tucked into his pockets, ice-colored eyes half-lidded and bored senseless. When he sees us, he opens them wide and his jaw drops. “Watch our stuff, Cabot. Keep the Harpy claws off of it.” “Are you serious?!” Creed shouts as we move past him, and I can hear him cursing under his breath

“Stop torturing me.” “Why should I? That's my MO, right? I'm the big, bad bully.” Tristan pulls my panties down and over my socks and shoes, tucking them into his blazer pocket. He slides his palms up my thighs and cups my ass, making me groan. “I'm going to torture you mercilessly, and I'm going to love every second of it. Just know that.”

“Oh shit, Marnye,” he groans, licking his lips. “You feel even better than I thought.” “You thought about it?” I whisper, and the way he smiles at me … I can see that he's thought about it quite a bit. Our mouths meet, and this time, the kiss is much more tender than it was before, less of a violent claiming and more of a careful wanting. A tentative need. An unsatisfied desire.

“I don't have a condom,” Tristan whispers, and something clicks in me. He isn't carrying condoms around because he's not sleeping with other girls. And he isn't carrying them around because he's not scheming or trying to get with me. For maybe the first time in his life, he's not planning anything at all. “I …” I start, breathing hard, squeezing my hand around his shaft. “I've seen your results, and I started birth control this summer, so …” There's a long stretch of silence before I look back at him, and his mouth curves into the sharpest, most wicked of smiles. “Excellent.”

“Stand up and turn around,” he commands, and I gape at him. He cocks one, perfect dark brow. “Well, my naughty little schoolgirl, what are you waiting for?” Tristan pulls me off the counter and spins me around, pushing me over so that my palms are on the tiled surface and our faces are reflected back at me in the mirror.

Tristan fucks me into the counter, and then spills himself inside of me, this hot burst that runs down my legs after. I’m so not used to it that I just stand there after he pulls out, and he chuckles. “Marnye, you sweet-sweet thing.” He makes me sit on the toilet until most of the um, liquid is gone and wiped away, kneeling down in front of me and reaching up to palm the heavy weight of my bare breast. “I’m nowhere near done with you,” he whispers,