Devil May Care (Boys of Preston Prep 1)

Our fall to the bed is graceless and messy. He doesn’t land on top of me so much as he sort of surges into me. The weight of him is almost too much. It doesn’t last long before he tears his mouth from mine and ducks his head, his lips burning a fiery trail down my neck to my collarbone.

I push clumsily at his shirt, because if I’m going to do this, then I’m going to do it right, and that means finally getting to see and touch all of his ridiculously perfect body. I get his shirt up around his armpits before he finally lifts his head and yanks it off, muscles rippling in the process. He removes mine just as fast, his palms skittering up my ribs as he tugs it up my body.

He throws my shirt aside. Quick, nimble fingers remove my bra as though he’d practiced the move as much as the cello. The lacy fabric gets tossed aside next, and then he sits back.

His gray eyes drink me in, slow but greedy. I can almost feel the searing circuit they make down my neck, over my chest, my ribs, my tense belly. He reaches out and his fingers follow the same path, gliding down my body.

“Jesus Christ, your tits...” He flattens a palm to my ribs, sliding it up to cup one in his hand. His thumb rubs over my nipple and I arch into the touch, teeth digging into my lip. It feels like it takes an eternity for him to finally lower his mouth to it, his lips and tongue looking stark and red against my pale, flushed skin.

I wind a hand into his hair, gasping at how his mouth feels on me. His hand comes up to fondle my other breast, and if he’d wanted to make me want him, then this was definitely the way to do it.

I feel him tugging at my waistband in a foggy, abstract sort of way. Every nerve in my body is pointed right toward his mouth, his tongue laving against my nipple. Eventually, it’s clear that they’re going to need a little more attention. With a soft, annoyed grunt, he pulls away.

“These fucking things, swear to god,” he pants, rising to the end of the bed to peel the clingy fabric down and over my feet. “Blessing and a curse.”

The tent in his jeans is obscene, and I prop myself up on my elbows to watch as he thumbs his button open, pushing them to the ground and kicking them away. I take a moment to really drink him in. The broad chest, the chiseled abs, the firm thighs, the corded arms. It’s almost too much—too good to be true.

What am I doing? What are we doing?

I can feel the phantom creep of panic taking me, legs tensing, knees pressing together, and I hardly register the way he’s looking at me with those dark, hungry eyes.

He keeps his black boxer briefs on and bends, pressing a slow kiss into my ankle, my knees, the tops of my thighs. He wedges a hand between them, coaxing them apart, and if he feels the fine tremors in my muscles when I reluctantly part my legs, then he at least does me the favor of ignoring it.

I fall to my back and stare at the top of his head as he ascends, trailing his lips closer and closer to my center. The closer he gets, the tighter my body feels, like it’s just thin skin stretched over a pile of embers waiting to explode.

I exhale when his kisses move up to my hip, and then my belly, and I’m... surprised at all this slow attention. I’d always imagined him to be the fast and greedy type, only concerned about chasing his pleasure, but this is—

Intent.

And I instantly realize why I’m panicking. This isn’t some quick, impulsive, fury-driven catharsis we’re chasing here. This is intent. This is something we both mean to do. This is something we both want to do—outside of arguments or pressure or competition.

This changes everything.

I think perhaps he can feel it, too, because when he dips between the apex of my legs, his hand is shaking almost as badly as my legs are. He finally meets my gaze again, finger playing at the edge of my panties, and he watches me closely, like he’s waiting for me to slap him across the face or knee him in the balls.

I could, but I won’t—can’t, really. For some insane reason, my mind and body have both decided that I need to see this through. I push at the waistband of his briefs, wanting him freed, and he lends a hand, rearing back to shimmy them down his thighs.

I finally get a good look at him, and yes. That is definitely a dick. It is definitely Hamilton’s dick. I could have probably picked it out of a line-up long before this. I can tell it’s his, because photos of it belong in textbooks. It’s long and thick, and doesn’t even have the good grace to be disgustingly veiny or anything, it’s just...

It’s just so Hamilton.

He plants a hand onto the bed beside me and bends back over me, hovering. His gaze doesn’t leave mine when he presses our hips together, the long, hot length of him rocking itself against my core.

My mouth parts on an inhale and I clutch his biceps, legs clamping around his hips. “Wait, wait.”

“Fight with me tomorrow,” he says, ducking his head to press a biting kiss into my neck. “Fight me all week, for all I care. But don’t fight me right now, Adams. If you don’t relax, it’s going to hurt.” His low rasp sends a chill up my spine. Is that Hamilton Bates showing concern? Tenderness? His voice is low and quiet, like he’s sharing a secret. “I don’t want to hurt you. You’re a virgin, aren’t you?”

I’m not sure how I can flush any harder than I already am, but it feels like that’s what happens. As much as I want to say no, that I’m experienced and have had plenty of lovers, I don’t. I can’t. It’s not something I

can hide.

“There’s a box of condoms in the nightstand,” I blurt, not even bothering to avoid his eyes when he looks at me with a raised eyebrow.

“Is there, now?” His eyes dart to the drawer and he reaches for it, pulling it open and searching blindly.

“I bought them. Not for this—not for you, I mean. Just to be safe, so I wouldn’t end up like those girls—like my mom. The kind of girl who’s stupid and impulsive and unprepared and—”

I pause and watch him open one of the condoms, rolling it over his thick erection. It’s a quick, practiced motion, something he’s obviously familiar with. He tosses the wrapper somewhere on my floor and leans back over me, taking himself in hand. I feel the pressure of him pushing at me, nudging, ready to get inside, and I’m looking at the size of him and thinking...