Touched By The Devil (Boys of Preston Prep 3)

to realize he’s feeling the raised edges of my scars.

I’d forgotten they existed at all.

Rolling over, the glare of blinding daylight creeps through my eyelids, forcing them to flicker open. I’m bundled up in Bass’s comforter, engulfed in his delicious, Sebastiany smell. The day before rushes up to me like a gently crashing wave. The ice, the kittens, Sebastian’s ridiculous house, and then finally having sex with him. I stretch slow and easy, waiting for an ache that doesn’t come. Part of me worried I’d end up regretting not waiting longer, but in the light of day, laying here in his bed, all fucked out and reenergized, mostly I’m thinking that I want to do it again.

There’d been a couple times in the night I’d woken to the feel of him slotted up behind me, arm curled around my waist, cock hard and insistent against my ass. A couple times, we’d stirred enough to trade a few slow, wet kisses, but we never stayed awake long enough for it to escalate into anything.

I roll over and run my hand along his side of the bed, but it’s empty and already cool to the touch.

“Bass?” I call, ignoring the flicker of anxiety that passes through my chest. I’m so used to him being there—pressed up against me and hounding me—that it’s weird that he’s not in the bed. A flicker of irrational panic shoots through me and I sit up and scan the room. His clothes are no longer on the floor. My eyes land on the closed bathroom door.

Duh, he’s probably with the kittens.

I pull on the LAX sweatshirt and cross the room, noticing that the sun is out. The drip of melting ice taps out on the balcony, and I trip over a discarded pillow in my haste to grab my camera. There’s only six days until the exhibit, and I’ve been like a madwoman capturing image after image. Most of them are going to be shit, but there has to be something in there worth keeping.

Outside, it’s still cold as fuck, my feet stinging against the chill of the balcony floor. But in his ‘yard’, everything is melting. I get up against the rail to drowsily land a few shots. The branches are weighed down with ice, but beginning to lift with the thaw, like the yawn of a world waking up, stretching its arms high above its head.

It’s typical southern weather, freezing enough to cause a shit-ton of problems one day, then eighty degrees the next. The good news is that the roads should be okay to drive on. The bad news is that the road should be okay to drive on. There’s no getting out of returning to the Briar Cliffs.

Putting my camera away, I tap on the bathroom door before slowly pushing it open. The first thing I see is my reflection in the mirror. My hair is a mess, disheveled from our night in bed. I get this crystal-clear memory of Sebastian’s fist wrapped up in it as he fucked me, somehow both tender and relentless. It makes me shiver, wrapping my arms around myself as I poke my head, hoping to find him.

But the bathroom is empty.

As I gather my hair up into a loose knot, I hear the tiniest little peep from the box we’d given Abby and her kittens.

“Hey, mama,” I say bending down. The babies are wiggling around, nursing on Abby’s belly. At some point during the night, she had one or two more. There are clearly six kittens in the box now, all dry and fluffed up. I spend a long moment internally squealing over the cuteness as Abby lazily kneads a paw in the air, spreading her belly as if to say, ‘Look what I made’.

“You did good,” I assure her, chancing a slow, cautious pet on her head. She flinches a little but ultimately pushes into it, looking too tired to keep up her street cred.

Her food bowl is empty. I grab the Preston boxers he’d given me the night before and tug them on, collecting the bowl from the floor. Her head lifts, nose twitching at the sight of it in my hand. “Let me go see if I can find you some more tuna.”

Securing them in the bathroom, I enter the hallway, trying to remember how to get down to the kitchen. Left or right? This place is so big it’s like a maze. Other than a door across from his, Sebastian seems to have an entire wing of the house to himself. I peer into that open door when I walk toward a staircase. The room smells like expensive, musky cologne, the kind that burns my nostrils when I inhale. The walls are painted deep blue and the furniture is a heavy, dark wood. On the floor is a pile of clothing, spilling out of a half-emptied duffle bag. Over the massive, king-sized bed, is a flag emblazoned with an image of a devil with the words, Preston Prep Swim Devils, underneath. Three empty beer bottles crowd the bedside table.

Heston’s room, I assume.

And from the looks of the unmade bed, he’d spent some time in here.

Very recently.

The realization makes my skin prickle, knowing how much he and Sebastian don’t get along. I glance back at Bass’s room, wondering if I should go back inside, but Abby does need some food, and honestly, it’s freaking me out that Sebastian is missing. That he left me here in this strange place all alone, after...

Maybe something is wrong.

I make the decision and continue down the hallway. I take the steps slowly, warily, the scent of pancake batter and butter wafting up the staircase. My steps falter when I hear voices below.

“So?” a guy asks, his voice deeper than Sebastian’s.

“So what?” Bass replies, voice flat and low.

“Don’t be dense.” The other guy sounds mean, taunting. “Who’s the girl you were banging headboards with all night? All the noise coming out of there, she sounded like a screamer.”

I practically feel my own face pale at the realization we hadn’t been as alone as we thought last night. Did he really hear us?

“Jesus, shut the fuck up.” Even from a distance I can hear the fury building in his tone. “It’s none of your business.”

The guy hums, like maybe he’s considering it. If he does, he quickly discards the idea. “I don’t think I will. Bringing a chick home? Not your usual MO, baby bro.” He’s interrupted by the sizzle of the frying pan. “Don’t tell me you even let your precious mommy meet her, because that really would be a first.”

The truth is that he hadn’t. He mentioned her. He talked about her a lot, but seemed careful—maybe too careful—to keep me away from that side of the house. I hadn’t thought much of it at the time, figuring he just didn’t want to disturb her, but now it feels like an intentional avoidance.