Defiant Princess (Boys of Oak Park Prep 2)

I was a virgin, but my hymen was probably long

gone, broken in a fall or while dancing or something.

Or maybe the universe just knew it didn’t owe me any more pain.

It felt strange but good as he pressed deeper inside me, every inch a fulfillment of the promise I’d felt as I’d worked my core against his hardness earlier. My inner muscles squeezed around him, and he let out a strangled noise, pausing for a second before pushing in again, until our hips were pressed flush together and he was rooted fully inside me.

He bit his lip, and the look on his face told me that even though he’d wanted pain, he’d found his pleasure too.

“You okay?” he murmured.

At my nod, a smile bloomed on his face. Then he covered my body with his, bringing us skin to skin everywhere, and kissed me. As our lips and tongues moved together, he pulled out and slid in again, and the friction of him driving inside me, the pressure of his pelvis against my clit, made liquid fire spread through my veins.

As he thrust over and over, I ran my hands over his ass, his back, the taut muscles of his arms, pulling him closer, wanting more.

I could feel the moment when my orgasm became inevitable, and it was the best feeling in the world—the moment when I was no longer chasing it but riding it, being lifted higher and higher by the sensations spreading through my body.

Then the wave crested, and I flew apart.

A ragged, inarticulate cry fell from my lips, and I clung to Elijah, fingernails digging into his back as I buried my face in the crook of his neck. His thrusts grew faster, harder, and a second later, he let himself go too, grinding our hips together hard as his cock jerked inside me.

Our bodies went limp, fused together from head to toe, and the weight of him on top of me was like a security blanket, a shield, keeping the whole world out.

I felt sated.

Happy.

Free and wild like the girl in that video had been—the one who’d seemed to be made of water and air, moving like a sprite in the darkness.

Elijah didn’t speak or move for a long time, and I was glad. There were words I didn’t want to hear, things I still wasn’t ready to think about. But he had done what he’d said he would. He’d given me something that didn’t hurt, and I wrapped my arms around him, feeling our bodies move together as we breathed.

When my pulse had slowed a little, he finally rose up onto his forearms. He kissed me again, a soft press of his lips against mine, and then pulled out, holding onto the condom as he did. “Be right back. Again.”

It didn’t take him long to get rid of the condom, and when he came back, he turned the lamp off and crawled onto the cushions beside me, nudging me gently to get me to scoot over and then pulling me toward him, draping my body over his.

My eyelids already felt heavy, the extreme ups and downs of the night making me tired.

“Thank you.” Elijah pressed a kiss to my hair, his voice so soft I almost didn’t hear it. “For trusting me.”

A little shock of worry made my heart beat faster, and I blinked my eyes open.

I had trusted him. Even though I’d wanted this, even though I’d taken something from him as much as he’d taken from me, there were still a million ways he could use this to hurt me. The delicious melted feeling began to vanish from my muscles, a bit of tension returning like a paper-thin barrier going up between us.

As if sensing the change in me, Elijah tilted his head, craning his neck to meet my gaze. Then he wrapped his arms tighter around me and gazed up at the ceiling.

“I got my tattoo last year. My parents weren’t supposed to know, but my dad came to school once and saw me without my shirt on. I got the feathers at the bottom first, actually. I got the first one when I got out of rehab, then another a year later, and another the next year. Then I said fuck it and got the whole thing.”

My eyes widened, my sleepiness vanishing. “Rehab?”

I knew about it already. Went to rehab at age fourteen. But I didn’t know the details, the hows and whys.

“Yeah.” He huffed a breath, swallowing uncomfortably. “My mom caught me doing coke in the bathroom.” When he caught my shocked stare, he looked away. “It’s not like I was doing it all the time. I wasn’t addicted. But my parents couldn’t have a son who was less than perfect, so they sent me to rehab, the whole nine yards.”

I wanted to say something, but I was afraid if I did, he’d stop talking, so I just kept quiet and listened.

“I started messing around with drugs when I stopped playing guitar. I loved playing, but my parents said it was beneath me. They let me do it when I was younger, but as soon as it was time for me to ‘be a man’, my mom took all my guitars and broke them.” His voice twisted with anger. “She didn’t even fucking sell them, so at least someone else could use them. She just destroyed them.”

“But if you were sneaking around doing coke, why didn’t you just sneak around to play your music?”