A Deal With the Devil (Boys of Preston Prep 2)

Her eyes jerk up to mine, heavy-lidded and inquisitive. “I want to watch.”

I laugh. “You like to see the monster that’s coming?”

She lifts an eyebrow. “It’s big and all, but it’s not a monster, Reyn.”

I’m not talking about my dick. I’m talking about myself. It’s hard to see myself as anything else. But the girl below me, the one watching my every move, doesn’t look at me like a monster. She looks at me like—fuck—like I’m the moon and the stars, the sun that rises. Or maybe I’m projecting, because that has to be how I’m looking at her. Like she’s the shiniest damn thing I’ve ever seen and god, I want her.

Mine now.

The words are on the tip of my tongue. I’ve known them forever—felt them my whole life—but I don’t want to be that guy. My girl deserves better than to just belong to someone. She deserves to get what she wants. Vandy doesn’t want to be coddled, and the very least I can give her is that, which is why I look past the way she tenses her belly, the rigidity in her thighs, and I take control. Not that I have much of it at this point. My balls ache and I’m probably at risk of being a two-pump chump, but I kiss her lips, steady her hips, and press the tip into her warm, wet pussy.

I freeze there, wide eyes seeking hers, terrified that she’ll hate me forever if this hurts too much.

But she just exhales against my lips. “I’m fine, Reyn. I’m fine. Please…”

I push, rocking inside past the resistance. That’s the thing about stealing, about taking, you can’t hesitate. There’s no time for it. So I take her, caving to the urge to invade and have.

She’s so warm, so tight, so soft underneath me. I have to take a second, pressed deep inside her, to pull myself back from the edge. Not fucking brainlessly into her wet heat is harder than running an entire afternoon of suicides. Harder than ruck marches. Harder than just about anything.

Soft exhalation blows across my face, and I feel the tension in her stomach easing, her thighs releasing their tight clutch around my hips. When I open my eyes, I see the curve of her parted lips, the soft fluttering of her lashes.

I cradle her cheek. “Are you—” My words choke off into a rough noise when she rocks up against me, spurring me on.

“Yes,” she breathes, fingers pressing divots in my shoulders.

She’s okay. We’re okay.

And fucking hell, I’m going to take this girl and really make her mine.

31

Vandy

I’ve felt a lot of pain in my life and I’ve numbed the hell out of myself to keep it at bay, but having Reyn inside of me, stretching me, pushing my body past the point of pain toward the rush of pleasure, is something I didn’t anticipate.

At first, I thought there was no way he’d fit inside of me. No way his cock, with the length or girth, would be able to get past my entrance. But it was the noises he made that broke down my defenses. The little grunts, the hum of pleasure, the set of his jaw as he tried to control himself. It was the look in his clear green eyes, the tightening of his stomach and god, how safe I felt in his arms, even as he pressed into me.

“Breathe,” he whispers, mouth hot near my ear.

I do it, sucking in air and with it, the clean, masculine scent of him. Slowly that fear, that insecurity, all melts away. I want him more than I fear what comes next and when he sinks into me, rocking his powerful hips, all I want is more.

It’s not just my body, it’s my heart, my mind, my skin, my core. That feeling that was almost bursting out of me before finally spills over, and I can’t do anything but pant against the wave of it. My nails drag down his back, wanting him closer.

“More,” I whisper, because what Reyn doesn’t understand is that I’m not afraid of pain. I’ve lived with it for so long that this other side of it is deliriously intoxicating.

My demand breaks the tight concentration of his façade. He laughs.

“What?” I ask, panicked that I’m doing it wrong.

“You.” He grins down at me. “I need to stop underestimating you.”

Our eyes meet and hold for a long, precarious beat. I run a hand down the curve of his bicep and shift my hips, planting my feet on the bed. He sinks in deeper, a teeth-clenched grunt wiping away the smirk.

I’ve been afraid of feeling for so long, but now I can’t get enough of the tug in my chest. I can’t get enough of him. The long cords of muscle down his back, the pebbled scars that unite us, the curve of his ass, his breath, the sweep of his tongue. Sweat builds between us, and it’s sticky, messy, noisy, and god, so very real.

That’s what I’ve been scared of: real.

The way Reyn McAllister's hips drive into my body is achingly real. The way he sets my nerves on fire, the way he tastes, th