Devil May Care (Boys of Preston Prep 1)

Although, the fantastic sex is probably a contributing factor. That’s one thing that hasn’t changed. He’s insatiable, still as wicked as they come. He pushes at the hem of my sundress, fingertips dragging a blazing trail up my thigh.

“Please?” he says, planting a slow, teasing kiss to my lips. “It’s been, like... days.”

I laugh but can’t help but push into his hands. “It’s been two days.”

“Jesus, that’s like a lifetime.” His insistent fingers dip under the lace of my panties, searching.

“What if Renata or someone comes in here?” I say, knees weak from the feel of his lips on my neck. “Or god, your mom?”

He breathlessly explains, “I locked the door.”

There was really no talking him out of this—not that I ever planned on trying very hard. It’s just so much fun—so satisfying and empowering—to see him beg like this, eyes strained and pleading, hands so gentle yet demanding.

He grabs my waist and picks me up, sliding me onto the counter. It takes me a moment to understand that we’re in the laundry room. It’s absolutely absurd. It’s probably bigger than most peoples’ living rooms.

I kiss him, suppressing a frown at the feel of his smooth chin against mine. He’s shaved his beard, and although he promises to grow it back out in Puerto Rico, I still miss it. I thread my fingers into the hair on the back of his neck and moan when he deepens the kiss, his hips pushing persistently between my thighs. I run my hands over his chest—his button-down is the color of his eyes—and feel a small object in his breast pocket.

I pull back with a breathless sound, asking, “What’s that?”

He licks my lips and then his own, giving my thighs one last squeeze before reaching into his pocket. It’s a small box. “It’s a gift. For you.”

My stomach flips in excitement and awe. Hamilton gives the best gifts, and even though it’s a semi-regular occurrence to get one, I still get a fissure of pleased surprise every time.

I slide off the gold string and open the lid.

Inside, there’s a silver ring. It’s shiny and polished, and the design is familiar—a pitchfork wrapped in a circle.

I raise an eyebrow, and he lifts his chin.

“Before we head off, I wanted to mark you properly. Stake my claim, Devil style. Will you wear it?”

“Yes.” I grin so wide it almost hurts.

He smiles in return and slides it onto my finger. After, he presses a lingering kiss to it. “It’s a promise,” he explains. “One day I’m going to give you the real thing. Conflict-free diamonds, of course.” He wraps his arms around me and pulls me flush against his body. My legs wrap instinctively around his waist and he speaks into my hair, voice rough with emotion. “You’re my everything, Gwendolyn. My best friend. My future. My compass.” He tucks my hair behind my ear. “I love you.”

It’s not the first time he’s said it, but my heart still swoops excitedly the same way, each and every time.

“I love you, too.”

Afterword

Thank you for reading Devil May Care, the first standalone novel in the Boys of Preston Prep series.

Keep an eye out for book 2 of the Boys of Preston Prep: A Deal With The Devil, available on Amazon for pre-order and sale in August 2020.

If you liked Devil May Care, you may also like Angel’s reverse harem series, Sparrowood Academy or Thistle Cove, both contemporary, dark, bully romance. Check out chapter one below!

A Deal With The Devil

Prologue

The night it all changes begins like a fairytale.

It’s warm for late spring, even for the south, and it’s the first time I’ve seen fireflies this year. They twinkle across the rolling green of the golf course, like tiny fairy lights beckoning me into the dark. I watch them for a long moment, transfixed, feeling the bloom of awareness that always arrives with the changing of the season, as if suddenly realizing the world has taken a gulp of time. Without thinking, I wander away from the patio, the dessert buffet, and my parents, to follow the blinking bugs in an attempt to catch one.

Even at thirteen, I’m still the kind of kid who’s more interested in chasing fireflies than talking about gossip, looks, and boys. I’m just not into hanging out with the other tweens at The Club, which is not to imply that my parents would let me anyway. In a world of excess and privilege, I’ve been blessed with two obnoxiously overbearing parents who expect—no, demand—good, appropriate behavior. Especially for a girl. If others think I’m bland and boring, then it just means my parents are succeeding.

It doesn’t really matter to me. I’m more comfortable on my own, anyway. I can’t compete with the other girls my age, with their push-up bras from Victoria’s Secret, or their high-heeled wedges that make them three inches taller. My best friend, Sydney, is all in the thick of it, a cornerstone of their whispered bathroom conversations about sneaking alcohol and giving guys blow jobs. Along with all the stuffed bras, I suspect they’re making it up—well, I know Sydney is—but regardless, there has to be a certain level of confidence to even pretend to live that life. It’s something I definitely lack.