Touched By The Devil (Boys of Preston Prep 3)

“No.”

“Please?”

“Hell no.”

He pulls me closer like he thinks I don’t know what he’s doing, those blue eyes blazing back at me, lashes fluttering. “Please?”

“Just how pretty do you think you are?”

His

answer is immediate and unapologetic. “Devastatingly.”

Smoothly, I lie, “Not nearly.”

He takes my face in his palms, thumbs sweeping over my cheeks, which are totally not feeling hot and flushed from his devastatingly pretty anything. “Sugar,” he begins, eyes earnest. “I love your pictures. I love the thought of you being able to take them, without feeling like you have to ration resources. I love that you have a passion that will, most likely, earn you your own living some day, completely independent of anyone else. I love seeing shit through your eyes, because you always see it a little different from me, and that’s neat as fuck. I love the idea that I can help you do that, and with something that just so happens to come easier for me.” He presses a soft, slow kiss to my lips, finishing, “But most of all, I love you.”

I feel a little dazed when he pulls back. “Oh.” I blink heavy eyelids at him, tongue sneaking out to taste him on my lips.

Oh, he’s good.

Georgia’s voice snaps me from the trance. “For Christ’s sake, let him buy you a damn camera! You two make me want to hurl.” I throw her a hot glare, but she just rolls her eyes at me. “Boo hoo, my super rich boyfriend, who is totally hot and completely adores me, wants to buy me expensive things.” She scoffs. “Your problems are the first worldiest ever.”

Turning back to Sebastian, I release a defeated huff. Georgia has a point. “I’m only saying yes because I know if I don’t, you’re going to use that graduation present excuse to buy me something even more stupidly expensive.”

He plants another kiss on my lips, looking satisfied.

Satisfied and devastatingly cute.

“Where are you?” I mutter angrily, pacing back and forth in front of his door. I loop my thumbs into the straps of my bag and squeeze. I’d sent him three texts, but they all went unanswered. He’s been a lot less diligent about charging his phone since his dad began blowing it up regularly. Fucking inconvenient bullshit.

It’s a half an hour before I finally hear steps ascending across the hall, Sebastian finally coming into view.

“Where have you been?” I hiss, grabbing a handful of his shirt and tugging him toward the door. “I’ve been waiting forever.”

The question is unnecessary. Going off the way his hair is still wet, gym bag hanging from his hand, it’s already obvious. “I was at practice. Same time every Wednesday. You know this.”

Right.

“Well, come on, let me in,” I say, flapping a hand at the knob.

He raises an eyebrow, cheeks still flushed from practice. “Need it that bad, huh? I’m a little wiped, but my stroke game is probably still on point.” That cocky grin of his disappears the instant I hold up the bundle of letters. He swipes them from my hand flipping through, realizing. “Chicago came.”

I confirm. “Chicago came.”

He stares down at the stack, eyes jumping up to me. “So, we’re going to do this?”

“We’re going to do this.”

“Are you going to just keep repeating everything I say?”

I push his shoulder. “Open the door!”

“Alright, geez. So much for patience being a virtue.” Despite his grumbling, I can tell from the way he fumbles with his keys that he’s just as anxious as I am.

We get into his suite, which is thankfully nice and tidy. I’ve discovered that the state of Sebastian’s living space holds a direct correlation to his mood. I turn around in the room, watching him dump his things off, holding the letters carefully out of the way.

When he’s done, he says, “Okay,” and drops down on the couch. “Which first. SCAD, right?”