Touched By The Devil (Boys of Preston Prep 3)

I must suck in every atom of air to say, “Fuck yes, so chill,” and I’d probably be halfway out of my pants by now, but I’m kissing her instead. She makes a small, surprised sound into my mouth, but it doesn’t sound disagreeable. Going by the way she kisses me back, deep and breathless, she’s all for it.

I reach out to curl a hand around her hip, braced for her to twist away, leaving my grip loose. But she doesn’t. I wonder if she’s realized yet that it’s easier when we’re like this, licking into each other’s mouths, bodies pressed close and hot, buzzing with the promise of pleasure and the frustration of not getting it fast enough. She doesn’t flinch away like she does in the halls.

But I wouldn’t be me if I didn’t push it.

I drag a hand up the arm she has wound around my neck, gently tugging her wrist away. She pauses when I press her hand to the front of my pants, but doesn’t pull away.

She squeezes.

“Oh, fuck,” I sigh, letting my head fall back against the wall. “Fuck, I’ve been hard forever.”

Her mouth is hot against my throat, voice low as she rubs my dick. “What do you want? The door locks from inside. No one’s going to come in.”

The way she’s palming my cock has my brain too focused on the thought of a tight, wet hole to think twice about saying, “I want to fuck you.”

Luckily, she takes this in stride. “We’re not fucking in the photo lab, Bass.” Right. Not realistic. I look down, but she’s watching her hand curl around the tent in my pants, mouth parted as it strokes up and down. “I could do this.”

“Yeah.” Fuck yeah, she could. Even a hasty hand job through my pants would probably make me bust the best nut I’ve ever had. But, “Can you suck me off?” I’ll probably cringe about it later, but right now, I don’t even give a damn.

She gives me a wry look, and I’m wondering if a blow job is unrealistic like fucking. My brain isn’t exactly operating at peak capacity. But she just says, “Hey, tone down the romance, Nicholas Sparks. I’m a sure thing.”

“Uh,” I say stupidly, “sorry, I just meant, if you wanted to.”

She doesn’t look upset, though. If anything, she looks almost as horny as I feel, teeth sinking into that plump bottom lip as her fingers move up my shirt. She toys with the hair below my navel, dropping her eyes to watch.

“Take off your shirt and maybe I’ll think about it.”

I’ve never gotten out of a shirt so fast in my fucking life.

“Jesus,” she says, reaching up to press her palms against my bare chest. “You’ve got such a nice body.” I’m not sure why she says it like that—like me being ripped is the source of her greatest annoyance—but the way she sweeps her hand down my abs tells me it’s anything but.

“Did this hurt?” she asks, running her tongue over my collarbone tattoo in a way that makes my dick twitch angrily.

“Nah,” I answer, winding my hand into her thick, dark hair.

She hums against my skin, fingers dipping teasingly beneath my waistband. “Really?”

“No,” I snort. “Of course it hurt. Like hell.”

Tension coils in my lower belly and it only tightens further when she bends, placing hot kisses on my stomach. I hiss, feeling my abdomen cave. The sound forces her to look up with those big hazel eyes, and I touch her cheek. I realize that coming in my pants wouldn’t be the worst thing to happen to me that day, but god, having my cock in her mouth? Having those pink, puffy lips around me as I come? I’m this close to begging for it.

Instead, I just make a little suggestion.

A suggestion in the form of two heavy hands on her shoulders, pushing her to her knees in front of me.

She gives me a long-suffering look. “With smooth moves like that, it’s a wonder you get any action at all.”

“Hey, that’s some of my best work.”

The impulsivity flares and I take her hands with mine, shifting them to the button on my pants. She holds my gaze as we thumb it open together, waiting until we’ve worked my pants down my thighs to shift her attention to my dick, hard and straining toward her.

I suck in a loud gasp when she touches me for the first time. Her palm is soft, her fingertips warm. Like she’d done with me, I take the lead, stroking her hand up and down the shaft, rolling her thumb over the tip, showing her what I like. Her fingers dip down to my balls and I shudder out a groan.

“Fuck.” I look down at her kneeling on my bunched-up letterman jacket. She’s staring at my throbbing cock like she’s sizing it up, wondering if she should take a go at it. I lift her chin so I can see her face—her mouth—those lips. The plea is out of my mouth before I can reconsider, “Please?”

She continues to run her hand up and down my length, toying with the skin, applying pressure. Her cheeks bloom a delicate, vivid pink. “I will, I just haven’t ever—”

“There’s no wrong way, Sugar,” I grind out, shoulders pressed against the door for support. I lay my hand on the back of her head, encouraging her in the form of a polite nudge. “Use your tongue, not your teeth.” My dick jerks with an eager twitch, hips jutting forward, and she bats my cock away, pulling a face. “What?”