Half the fun is the risk of getting caught, but also … there are few people at this school who I wouldn’t lose my shit over catching us like this.

“Oh, Chuck,” Spencer moans as he sucks on my lower lip. “You feel so damn good.”

His hands cup my ass, holding me up effortlessly as he moves, my pleated skirt bunched up around my hips. It could be weird to find a school uniform so erotic, but … I fantasize about the boys in their uniforms all the time when I touch myself. Which, you know, is just a little bit more often now that Church and I have finally done it. I’m not so scared of him hearing me from across the room.

“More, Spencer, more,” I murmur as he rocks our bodies together, the motion of his pelvis rubbing my clit in a way that makes me think I might actually be able to get off during this little quickie.

My hands scrabble at his back, fingernails digging into the champagne fabric of his blazer, as our lips clash in fire and desperate, primal heat, stifling our moans and grunts from the rest of the school.

“I want you to come with me,” I whisper, gathering him close, our breath mingling as we stare into each other’s eyes. My body tightens around his of its own accord, an orgasm spiraling through me in a brilliant, blinding wave. Another kiss from Spencer cuts off my sounds of pleasure as he pushes into me, again and again, finishing himself off just a few moments later.

We stay there panting just long enough to hear the soft clapping of several hands.

“Bravo,” the twins say, appearing in the alcove behind Spencer’s broad shoulders. “That was a fantastic performance.”

“Oh, Chuck,” Micah mimics, clasping his hands together and fluttering his lashes. “You feel so damn good.”

“I’m going to fucking strangle you,” Spencer growls out as he struggles between us with the condom, just barely managing to get it out and off without dropping me.

“Are you both too stupid to live?” Ranger asks, but I can see the pulse in his throat thundering. He liked what he saw, that’s for sure. “Chuck is being actively hunted, and you thought a quickie in the hallway was a good idea? You know how vulnerable and oblivious you two looked just now? We’ve been standing here the whole time, and you didn’t even notice.”

“More, Spencer, more,” Tobias wheedles, his voice high and fluttery.

“I don’t sound like that!” I gripe at him, struggling to fix my wet panties, my bunched-up skirt. Spencer ties the condom off and looks around for a trash can.

Magically, Dad appears as if summoned to ruin my fucking life, and Spencer’s forced to shove the used condom into his blazer pocket, grimacing as he does it.

“What’s going on here? You’re supposed to be in the auditorium right now. Or do you not take these elections as seriously as you should?” Dad eyes me and Spencer with a suspicious glint in his blue eyes.

“I assure you, sir,” Church begins, taking control as always—a trait I am beyond appreciative for. I’m just not the leadership type. “We take our duties very seriously.” He puts a hand over his chest, and I swear to god, the clouds shift above the school, letting in three gorgeous rays of sunshine through the stained glass above our heads and painting him with a halo. “The Student Council is the heart of Adamson Academy, a prestigious and well-run institution with the finest staff in the country. Today, when we win the elections, I promise you that we’ll begin implementing positive change at the student level.”

“No wonder he’s in all the brochures,” I grumble, as Dad narrows his eyes.

“I liked you before, Mr. Montague, but you’re pushing your luck now. Get your tardy selves to the auditorium now.”

“As you wish,” Church replies, but it’s said in just such a way that it couldn’t possibly be taken as anything but genuine. Somehow, though, I think Church does it on purpose, just to be even more ironic. Dad takes off, and Spencer waits until he gets around the corner before making a face and jogging over to one of the trash cans to drop off the condom.

“Now my pocket’s all wet on the inside,” he says, and my face heats up with an inferno of embarrassment.

“What is wrong with you?!” I snap at him, grabbing onto his sleeve and shoving him a bit. “Don’t say things like that.”

“I want you to come with me,” the twins chortle together, and I press my hands over my ears, blocking out their teasing. What I can’t block out, however, is my smile.

Especially when, later that day, the announcements are made, and my boys win the election.

Score one for Chuck and her forever crew, and fuck you, Mark. Fuck you.

I’d almost forgotten how intimidating the long table in the Student Council room was, considering I’m now dating every single guy on the other side of it. But when I first came in here, brandishing my new locker assignment, I was nervous.

The room is intended to be intimidating, dimly lit with floor-length beige drapes over the windows. The ceilings are at least twenty feet tall, the bookcases that line the walls just as impressive. There are iron sconces on the walls, two decorative chaises on either side of the doors, and a pair of curved staircases behind the boys, made up of gleaming wood with brass accents. There are only about ten steps on either side, leading up to a second level and a small walkway that wraps the room.

It’s seriously way over the top for a high school Student Council, but hey, rich people do horribly ridiculous and disgustingly excessive things all the time. I read about this one politician who claims he’s out for the little guys that has solid gold elevators, gold plant pots, and gold ceilings in his home (one of his homes anyway). Serious douche-canoe alert.

Talk about trying too hard; no amount of money could make that guy cool.

“You can’t do this!” Mark shouts, gesturing at the boys with his new locker assignment—as far from mine as possible on the Adamson Academy campus. “I’ve had that locker since freshman year.”

I stand to the side, clutching the council iPad, and trying not to enjoy Mark’s pain.

Then again, he did try to kidnap me in a cemetery, so I guess I’m justified in feeling a bit smug about it.

“We actually can and did,” Church says, sitting in his throne, right behind his shiny President sign. The other boys all have these languid, self-satisfied smirks going that are about a hundred times worse than the ones they wore when I initially stormed in here complaining about my locker. “We’ve also just gotten the headmaster to sign off on moving your work duty from the chicken coop and garden, into the kitchen.”

“So, you just suck up to your daddy and get whatever you want, huh?” Mark asks, sneering at me. What I find ironic about his statement is, my dad doesn’t do shit for me when I suck up. And Mark’s dad bought him a private jet for his sixteenth birthday (the boys told me this). So if anyone is getting favors from daddy, it isn’t me.

“Actually, Headmaster Carson, in all of his infinite wisdom, has noticed the tension brewing between us and thought it best if we didn’t interact. You’ll be washing dishes and helping serve food three days a week.” Church taps his fingers on the surface of the table, clearly ready to be finished with this conversation.

“I’m not the fucking help!” Mark roars, and my blood starts to boil. Thoughts of Mom come rushing into my brain and I take a challenging step forward.