A/N: So this was initially an experiement, mostly because I adored the Emmett POV in this chapter, but everyone else? Meh. Also, this chapter needed to start moving the plot along. It wasn't my best and has been rewritten and added into The Elite.

"Someday I want to be rich. Some people get so rich they lose all respect for humanity. That's how rich I want to be."

EmPOV

In theory fucking Rosalie Hale should be like winding a clock. Put in the key, wind her up, and let her go and ding, dong, ding. Repeat as needed. Sex in a punctual, easy manner.

And I was a guy that appreciated ease.

In reality, fucking Rosalie Hale was like trying to wrestle a panther. I got hissed at, bruised, and eight identical rakes down my back from her claws.

And she wasn't the one who ended up pinned, either.

I daily tackle two-hundred pound guys in various states of armor, but I was sore after a single bout of hide the salami with the satanic she-beast.

Clearly she had won this round. Hell, she had all but schooled me in the ways of manipulation and then proceeded to come on my cock like a train was a coming.

Which, if it wasn't so fucking hot, would be downright infuriating.

She had stormed out of whatever class I had picked up just so I could see both of their asses (literally and figuratively) at the same time during the school day, and then texted me less than two minutes later, demanding I come see her as soon as school let out.

I texted her back reminding her about practice and got no response back.

That should have been my first fucking clue. Instead I showered quickly and hightailed it over to Whitlock.

"It's open."

Clue number two: Rosalie Hale had manners. She would have opened the door if she had been anything other than fucking naked, and maybe even then.

And she was naked. Naked and on the tiny, little camp bed in the sitting room, sprawled out and reading some thick novel that I know wasn't assigned in American Lit, probably just for show.

I stared and she raised an eyebrow at me.

"What do you want?"

"That, dumbass, should be patently obvious."

"But-"

"Stop talking. I can assure you I don't want to hear it. The only things I want to hear out of your mouth are 'fuck yes' and my name."

Let it never be said that Rosalie Hale did not live up to every egotistical, daddy's girl with a credit card, bad stereotype there was. It had to be a rough job to be that arrogant.

She tossed the book aside and stretched her arms above her head, her back arching, and two perfectly tweaked tits (because let's be serious—it wasn't cold in that room, which meant she pinched them just for show) arched as well as she exhaled and sat up on her knees.

From there, things deteriorated rapidly.

All the girls I had been with before (all two of them) had been more than content to let me do whatever the hell I wanted while they panted and pretend-moaned along, all the while knowing that my fumbling and thrusting was entirely focused on one thing: I wanted a fucking orgasm. I knew it, they knew it; it was just easier to pretend that we both thought it was so awesome, and then never ever mention it again.

Sure, I knew how to get a girl off; see example A, my success with Alice.

With my fingers.

It's a whole 'nother ballgame when you put a dick into the equation. Because when I'm in the midst of fucking, there's only one strand of thoughts in the world that my brain can process.

Thrust harder, deeper, faster, and come like one blissed out mother fucker.

I couldn't coordinate my thumb to find some girl's clit if my life and trust fund depended on it while I'm inside, much less worry about some myth women like to call the G-spot.

I'll find Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny smoking joints in a titty bar before I'll find that.

And I would have been perfectly willing to get Rosalie off before tossing her on her back, except that Rosalie seemed spectacularly disinterested in foreplay. And considering that I'm a sixteen year old guy willing to even attempt foreplay, is surprising.

But no, Rosalie shoves me on my back, rolls on a condom (where was she hiding that?) and pops herself right on my cock like its not big thing.

This does not make me feel very good about the number of guys she's plowed through in the past year.

She's bouncing up and down and her tits look great and it feels fucking amazing on my cock, but my manly pride is wounded.

I attempt to take control, trying to roll her over so I'm on top.

This is the part when her short, jagged nails make a fucking tic-tac-toe board out of the skin on my back as she puts her foot down on the bed and refuses to be rolled. Her bouncing gets jerky and harsh and I let out a grunt that sounds suspiciously like "fuck yes."

Rosalie's smile is unbearable.

I yank her over to my side, my cock falling out of her and she shrieks as we tumble off the shitty single bed and onto the wooden floor.

She slaps at me as she tries to untangle herself from beneath my body, wriggling and rubbing all over my poor, abused cock.

I grit out her name and stop fighting it. I want to come so fucking badly I don't care that she's pussy-whipping me into submission.

She rides me and fingers herself while I hang on by a thread so perilous, I'm literally incapable of thrusting, of moving, of doing anything but watch as she flushes pinks and arches, her nails digging into my pecs this time as she comes and triggers an orgasm that would have killed a lesser man.

She rolls off immediately, not even letting me enjoy the tremors of a softened, warm, oh so fucking tight, post-orgasmic Rosalie. She's gratifyingly a little bit shaky on her legs as she picks her book off the floor and disappears into her room, shutting the door with a soft but definite click.

I lay there, pants around my fucking ankles like the stupid-fucker I am, and wonder if this is how those other two girls felt when I finished fucking them.

It was a little like surviving a hurricane.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

APOV

So Emmett told me he wanted me, but he's in my room fucking Rosalie. Rosalie told me we all had to follow the rules, but she's breaking them to prove to Edward she isn't an elitist, self-centered bitch. Edward told me he wanted me, but that he lost a freaking coin flip to Emmett.

Life is truly rough when you have to flip a coin over sex.

And here I was, sitting in the library, wondering how much time truly was appropriate to give two people to have sex before I could return to my room and hide under the covers.

Hide from Emmett, because I fucking begged him to have sex with me. Hide from Rosalie because I didn't want to hear the details about her sexual encounter with Emmett. Hide from Edward, because I was either going to smack him for being a jackass to Rosalie, or beg him to have sex with me because I was feeling rejected and betrayed.

Revenge sex. I was still a virgin and already I was plotting to have revenge sex. What had this school done to me? Who did I think I was? Rosalie Hale? Scheming so Emmett would feel jealous? So Rosalie would feel even worse about herself that Edward wasn't asking me to fulfill the part of the top loaf of his Edward Cullen sandwich?

The smart thing to do would be to pull out.

The smart thing to do would be to go home to Mississippi where people didn't have ulterior motives or reputations at stake.

The smart thing to do would be to move out of Rose's suite, dye my hair back to its mousy brown color, and pretend I never met anyone named Rosalie Hale, Emmett McCarty, or Edward Cullen.

"Hey baby."

Or Jackson Whitlock.

I kept my eyes on my book, expecting to smell Bulgari cologne and hair products, expecting to see black designer boots and a disheveled uniform shirt from beneath my eyelashes..

"Hey Jax! I had a good time at the party…and after."

My head shot up, all thoughts of ignoring him thrown out the window. There was nothing to ignore; he hadn't been hitting on me.

I never would have guessed that perky, little girl voice would belong to the deep-throated moaner from the bathroom.

But there she was, tall and brunette with fluttery eyelashes and dark eyeliner. Beneath her library table I could see an extraordinary amount of bare leg.

And she was wearing heels.

Nobody wore heels with their uniform. There was no point. It wasn't just trashy, it practically screamed, "I should be on a pole (or car) dancing to Motley Crue records."

But there they were, white (white!) open-toes shoes with a big heel. She'd tower over me in those suckers.

Jax was leaning over the table toward her and she was leaning into him, her mouth open in a soft, almost orgasmic 'o'. I rolled my eyes.

Godzilla wasn't very subtle.

Said the girl who outright uttered the words "fuck me" several times to her jock of a….whatever he was. Fuck buddy certainly wouldn't cut it.

"So I was thinking, the Shark Tank is having a live band this weekend in town, you should meet me there."

That southern drawl rolled to my ears and I felt tingles run through me. I'd have sex with that accent, just not with the personality attached to it.

I heard Godzilla cheerfully assure him that she would do just that and Jax sauntered off.

He didn't even notice me sitting there.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

JaxPOV

Alice…fuck! I didn't even remember her last name. Alice somebody, will be the death of me.

She humiliated me at a party, even though we were alone when it happened. She ran off with McCarty and now she's hanging out in some little group with Lucas Hale's little sister and Edward Cullen. McCarty's cool, we both box (obviously not each other) during the winter, but he's not better than me. He's certainly not the better choice between the two of us.

She dug me. I could see it. Her little virgin eyes and fuck—those lips—she fucking had cock sucking lips and they were nowhere near my cock. For all I knew and had been hearing, they were on both McCarty and Cullen's cocks.

God damn, that was hot.

And frustrating.

It's because she's tiny. Tiny fingers, tiny waist, tiny little gestures that made me want to see how much she could take. How that little throat would react to having a cock in there, how much dick she could sit on, how much solid headboard-banging, could she take?

I had a thing for tiny chicks. You could toss them around, bend them over, your cock looked twice as big enclosed in tiny little hands. Tiny chicks were made for some seriously kinky shit.

If I wanted to wrestle while I was trying to have sex, I'd either go out for the sport or tap the infield of the girls' softball team.

I had just gotten laid last night and I had never walked away so disgusted with the chick I had banged. Tail was tail, but apparently Alice Brandon (there it was) would be my crowning set of antlers, the trophy to my industrious career at Olaf's, the angel-faced pixie girl I'd teach to be a freak.

But before she could do any of that, she had to realize what she was missing.

So I dug back to my fifth grade roots and ignored the shit outta her while eye-fucking some skanky freshman.

I figured pulling her pigtails was regressing just a bit too far.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

RPOV

I tossed aside Alice's copy of Paradise Lost and shrugged into my robe, sliding onto my bed and clicking open the browser on my laptop.

The page was still up and I began taking notes furiously as I carefully studied the pictures and corresponding text on the website. I tilted my head and tried to ignore the thrumming I felt in my veins. I'd been staring at this all afternoon, and combined with the recent sex-acrobatics McCarty felt the need to pull while attempting (not well I might add) to prove his male dominance, I was feeling a bit dizzy.

I shook myself out of that little memory and focused on the webpage in front of me.

I was going to be the best goddamn dyke Edward Cullen had ever seen.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

EPOV

I eyed the shadowy footage with disinterest. Where had Rosalie gotten a hold of such damning footage…and who the hell allowed themselves to be videotaped ranting against the majority of the social princesses and princes of the school?

A stoned person, that's who.

The footage was fuzzy and before I started messing with the tape, almost inaudible.

Now you could hear what she was saying, loud and clear.

"Sadie Vialpando once told Liz Opelt's mom that Liz was a frequent shoplifter, just so Sadie could get Liz's boyfriend alone at one of those lame-ass closet parties where everyone gets paired off to fool around. Course Sadie slept with Jeremiah and gave him a severely unfortunate case of VD, which Jeremiah later gave to Liz. Liz still doesn't know that it was Sadie who he cheated with and gave her the clap. Stupid cow can't see anything beyond her new nose."

The glossy-eyed girl swayed in her seat on the camera, giggling and inhaling on the roach that was barely big enough not to burn her fingers.

A deep male voice in the background grumbled something unintelligible and the girl almost felt over she was laughing so hard. Tears were leaking down her cheeks as she smiled beautifully into the camera.

"That's right. My mother is a former Miss America. That's how she met my dad. He was one of the judges. She found out a week after the pageant that she was knocked up. Had to have a secret abortion, but not before she blackmailed my father into putting a rock on her finger the size of Somali."

Then came the hysterical laughter again and I shook my head at the poor, completely cabbaged girl who was willingly giving up every secret, family or otherwise, she could think of.

And that was a ton; thirteen minutes of footage. Thirteen minutes of sexual encounters, including calling 's star cellist a "small-weinered fuck nugget," boob and nose jobs, piercing not seen under normal circumstances, embarrassing menstrual stories, and other insults that dated back to the first grade when Samantha DeLane insisted on being the first person to use the purple crayon (wax-eating whore).

I did my best to fix the blurriness as the probably stoned cameraman weaved and zoomed constantly. The audio was perfect, but seeing is believing.

And no one was going to believe what they saw when they received a video attachment tomorrow morning instead of the usual quarterly report from our esteemed student body president and almost definite ivy league graduate, Tanya Denali.

My fingers twitched once and then pressed send.

Now it was my turn to reap the benefits of our little agreement.