Touched By The Devil (Boys of Preston Prep 3)

We reach the landing at the bottom of the stairs and I hear the creak of the tower door just before feeling the cold bite of wind on my cheeks.

Grand gestures aside, I still roll my eyes behind the blindfold. “Is this really necessary?”

His thumb brushes over my hand. “It’s a secret society, Sugar. I took an oath. There were candles and chanting and scary motherfuckers in masks, the whole nine yards.”

I stop abruptly, voice a rushed whisper. “Wait! I don’t want you to do something that might get you in trouble. Whatever this is that you’re involved in, it’s important. I don’t want to screw that up.”

His breath warms my ear. “Do you know how they pick the Devils?”

My forehead scrunches in confusion. “No?”

“There’s something special about us,” he admits. “I’d like to say it’s because we’re the smartest, strongest, and brightest at Preston Prep, but that’d be bullshit, honestly.” He continues walking, leading me carefully over the soft ground. I wonder if anyone is out here to see us. If they are, he doesn’t seem concerned. “It’s because we’re brave. Ruthless. Devious. We have our own secrets and sins. All of us have baggage and a hunger for something bigger and better. Joining the Devils was the best thing that happened to me, because I found my people.” He spins me around. I now feel the heat of his breath on my lips. “That is, until I met you.”

He guides me across the grass until he stops, and I hear a door creak again, similar to the last one. The temperature doesn’t change once we’re inside, but I hear the scrape of metal against metal, then the spring of a lock. Once again, we head down a narrow staircase.

I wrinkle my nose. “It smells like my grandmother’s basement. Are you taking me to an underground murder room or something?”

He laughs, voice smooth and dark in my ear. “Or something.”

Trust, I keep chanting. Trust, trust, trust.

I hear the sound of a heavy door opening and he guides me over a threshold. This room is warmer, less musty. “Keep that blindfold on for one more second, okay?”

“Okay.”

Butterflies fill my stomach as I hear him moving around the room. My senses are heightened, and I detect the sound of a match being struck, the scent of sulfur following close behind. I wrap my arms around my body, feeling self-conscious, like maybe his eyes are on me right now, watching. Anything could be going on here. Maybe we aren’t even alone. Maybe this is part of an elaborate prank. To be fair, Bass had caught me up in a prank once already tonight.

“All done,” he says, suddenly in front of me. I feel his fingers brush my cheeks, and he pushes up the shirt. The first thing I see is his handsome face and brilliant blue eyes, but I look past him, into the room. It’s small and cramped. Candles flicker around the space, giving it a shadowy glow. The ceilings are low, and the back wall is covered with various Preston memorabilia. Some of it looks pretty old. I can’t decide if the ambiance is romantic or eerie, until he takes my face in his hands and kisses me.

Okay, then.

Definitely romantic.

“Are you going to get in trouble for bringing me down here? I mean, we could have gone back to your room.”

He shrugs, pressing a slow, sucking peck to the corner of my lips. “What kind of Devil would I be if I didn’t break a few rules?” His fingers move to unzip my jacket, the sound loud in the quiet room. I don’t hesitate to push his off his shoulders, watching as his arms shake it off. “My room’s too far away, anyway.” A kiss to my jaw. “Too many people.” A kiss to my lips. “Want to concentrate.”

His hands return to me instantly, growing more insistent and greedier than usual, and I’m grateful for it. I always feel him holding back, being careful, even though I can sense the whirlwind happening beneath the surface. It’s the same focused chaos I feel for him, like I need to grab hold of whatever I can, keep him close.

Now, he deepens the kiss, a hand coming down to palm my backside as the other threads into my hair, pulling me closer. He swallows my surprised moan, taking a hard handful of my ass and grinding into my hip.

“Too rough?” he gruffly asks, and I remember that conversation I had with Georgia, nervous over him being rough, too selfish and physical and mean. I shake my head, wondering how I could have ever been afraid of this. Of his hands being too needy, too determined. Of being something he wants badly enough that he is being a bit rough.

There’s nothing scary about it.

His arm slides behind my back and he lifts me, carrying me across the room to a worn leather couch in the corner. Anticipation blooms in my stomach, a mixture of worry over how far he wants to go, and the deep, building understanding of how far I’m willing to let him take it.

Sebastian wants sex and has never been shy about it. I can’t even count how many times he’s asked, alluded, insinuated. There’s a part of me that knows I’d say yes if he asked right now, but that same part also knows how terrified I’d feel. He wants sex. He wants to fuck me. He wants it so bad that he even has the good grace to not seem annoyingly impatient about me shutting him down all the time.

But maybe that’s the end of the line.

Maybe, once he finally gets it, the shine will wear off. Maybe then he’ll see me for what I am. Mediocre, at best. A lost, angry girl with more issues than National Geographic. A burden, a hassle. Nothing really special. Something already conquered. Unexciting, unimpressive.

Like this, when he hasn’t had it yet, he just looks captivated. He pushes me down on the couch, laying me back on the cool, slick surface. Somehow, he manages to get my shirt off and kick his shoes to the floor before climbing between my legs. Despite the hungry kisses and gr

eedy touches, this isn’t the wild, impulsive Sebastian I’ve come to know. This one is calm and collected—determined—eyes drinking me in like a prize, something to be slowly savored.

He grazes his fingertips over my lace-covered breast. “Did you know your tits are absolutely perfect?” he asks, palming them. “Like, they fit absolutely perfectly in my hands. Not too big, not too little.” I don’t reply beyond a hitch of breath as I arch into his hands. I can’t, because it feels so good.