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

by C.M. Stunich

“Saying someone isn't 'like most girls',” Miranda starts, making little quotes with her fingers, “is misogynistic as fuck. It implies there's something wrong with being like a girl in the first place. Don't do it.”

… shouldn’t want to hold him close and banish his darkness, but I do. Fuck me, but I do. I’ve fallen for the good girl fixes the bad boy stereotype. I need to take more women’s studies classes at Bornstead.

“You know what my mom said when I told her I was a lesbian?” Miranda asks, and Creed rolls his eyes like he’s heard this story a thousand times. “She said thank god for that. Boys are so gross.”

“Isn’t that a sexist thing to say?” Creed retorts, and Miranda spins on him, standing wet and dripping behind her as she tries to sunbathe. “First off, get the fuck out of my sun. Second, no. Don’t you understand that when women say all men are trash, it’s not hate speech, it’s just an anti-patriarchal movement that has more to do with the bullshit system rather than each individual dude on a personal level?”

All five guys spend the night in my room, and we aren’t exactly wearing clothes. They don’t touch each other, but they let me touch them, one by one, working my way through until I’m sweaty and exhausted and falling asleep in a pile I never want to leave. Never.

My eyes blur, and grief rackets through me in a painful wave. It’s like getting hit with lightning … over, and over, and over again. For a few minutes here and there, everything seems like it’ll be okay. The sun still shines. Birds still sing. But … then I remember that Dad is gone, and my whole world rearranges itself. Colors don’t seem as bright, music doesn’t seem as pretty.