Devil May Care (Boys of Preston Prep 1)

16

Hamilton

“Hey man, where were you all weekend? You missed a killer party at Mason’s lake house on Saturday night.”

Xavier falls into step as we cross the quad. It’s the Monday morning following a weekend mostly spent with Gwendolyn, and a good portion of that spent in Gwendolyn’s pants. In short, it’s really fucking surreal to be walking around like it’s any other day when I’ve clearly fallen into some twisted alternate porn-universe.

I’d totally forgotten about that party. “Busy,” I reply, not explaining further.

“Getting all that paint off?” Ansel says, catching up. “How long did that take?”

I roll my eyes. It seems like a lifetime ago that Gwendolyn covered my face in paint. Since then, I’ve confirmed that her pussy is definitely not haunted or filled with cobwebs.

Twice.

I confirmed it twice.

“What are we talking about?” Heston asks, walking over from the student parking lot.

Ansel gestures to me with a nod. “Hamilton’s paint job the other day.”

Heston grins. “She completely nailed you with that one. Although, you shouldn’t be surprised. You’re lucky she didn’t cut your balls off, too.”

I open my mouth, ready to tell them that she didn’t cut off my balls, but she certainly knew how to handle them. I stop myself, grinding my teeth together instead. Normally, I would have been chomping at the bit to brag about having banged a girl over the weekend. Yes, I’m one of those guys. Sue me. My sexual exploits are pretty well known. Honestly, usually the gossip travels for me. Girls want people to know they slept with a Devil. The Devil. That’s how that idiotic “blow job test” rumor got started in the first place.

Obviously, Gwendolyn is different. They can’t ever know. She wouldn’t want them to, that’s for sure, and I don’t want them to, either.

Not because I’m embarrassed. She’s hot, and frankly, quite the conquest. It just figures I’d bag someone actually interesting and then have to keep my mouth shut about it. If she didn’t have the “Freak” label, she’d be a hot commodity. She’s gorgeous, athletic, smart. I’d put her notch beneath my name on the Stairway to Hell beam in a skinny fucking minute. No, it’s not because of that. It’s because right now she’s mine, and I want to keep her like that.

I hadn’t lied to her in the office the day before. I needed a distraction, and Gwendolyn Adams was doing the job.

“I had dinner with my parents Saturday night. Once it was over, I wasn’t in the mood to party,” I say, trying not to grimace when I see Reagan walking over. “I wouldn’t have been good company,

anyway.”

“So it wasn’t just me you blew off,” she pouts, tugging at my collar.

“Nah, just—family shit.” I smile tightly, trying to subtly extricate myself from her clutched. “It got intense. My dad is pissed off about me getting detention, and don’t even get me started on the co-captain bullshit.”

“Can’t he just call the school and tell them you can’t work with her.” When she says ‘her,’ Reagan’s eyes dart across the quad to where Gwendolyn’s walking, returning from the middle school building. “Especially after that bullshit with the paint. She could have blinded you or something.”

I try to ignore my weird hyper-awareness of Gwen in my periphery, rolling my shoulders to shrug it off. “Right now, my plan is to lay low and just get through it.”

“Seriously, Reag, don’t make a stink,” Heston says. “Adams is proving to be a pretty worthy co-captain with the whole t-shirt stunt. Which, now that I think about it, really reeks of a Hamilton Bates stunt.”

I shrug. “I guess she has more game than we realized.”

The bell tower chimes, which is a five-minute warning. As a group we start toward the main building. I keep one eye on Gwendolyn as she enters the front door, barely aware that Reagan has linked her fingers with mine.

“When you didn’t come to the party,” she says, pressing against my side, “I came by your room to make sure you were okay.”

I glance down at her arm, her hand, clutched to me like a fucking monkey. “Captain duties. I was in the office.”

“I’m just kind of getting the feeling you may be avoiding me lately.” She squeezes my hand and blinks at me with those wide blue eyes. She’s a cute girl. She’s... fun. She’s more than willing to do whatever I want. Yet, when I focus on the way her hand feels in mine, there’s nothing. No tingle. No flicker of want. No desire. It’s like holding hands with a cousin.

“Hey,” she continues, eyes twinkling, “maybe you and I could make use of the office some time?”

A wave of images crashes over me. Gwendolyn climbing into my lap, her mouth pressed against mine, the quiver in her belly as she stood before me, letting me drag her panties down her legs. The slack look of rapture as she sank down onto me, hair tumbling down her shoulders. The way she gave a few experimental rocks against me before lifting and dropping, learning way too quickly exactly how to ride my dick. How her tits looked—god, her tits—right in my face, and how she arched them into me, urging me to lick them. And then later, when we were both completely on the edge, how it felt to come inside of her again as she tightened and shuddered around me. The sound she made—this little jagged mewl—and how flushed she looked after.