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

But I need wherever this kiss is heading to be nothing but legit.

Her cheeks are red when she asks against my lips, “Can you come over again? Like last night?”

I let one of my hands drop, fingertips grazing the outside of her bare thigh. It’s risky, doing that two nights in a row. “I don’t know if my dad’s home.”

“If he isn’t?” She looks up at me, her puffy bottom lip trapped between her teeth, and I just keep thinking about what we did in the treehouse earlier. Her on top of me, riding me, coming for me. My dick aches with the memory of her tits in my hands—my mouth—and I was ready to do it again hours ago.

“Come on,” I say, capturing her hand and heading toward home.

Getting up Vandy’s roof is fine when I’m sober, but when I’ve had six beers, it’s a comedy of errors. It takes me half a dozen tries, and by the time I get to her window, my elbow is bruised, my muscles are stinging, and my pride is even more injured.

If the boys at Dixon Hall could see me now.

She said it might take her a little while to get up here, so I slide the window open and carefully climb inside to wait. The room looks almost exactly how I’d left it. It’s weird being in here. Everything is bright and girly, the picture-perfect princess oasis. It smells like Vandy though, all floral and clean. Her bed is this absurdly comfortable monstrosity that calls to me like a siren.

Her pillows smell like her hair and I lay my head on one as I wait. I reach into my pocket and take out Carlton’s knife—mine now—Afton’s mascara—mine now—Sebastian’s cigarette lighter—mine now—and yes.

Heston’s fucking wallet.

Mine now.

Prick.

I can’t hear much happening downstairs, which is good. Means they can’t hear us much, either. Briefly, I think about looking around and finding something in here to swipe. It doesn’t have to be anything big or important. Just taking anything from here and carrying it to my own room would satisfy the twitchy impulse.

But the thought of taking something from here—something soft and bright and Vandy—and putting it into my dark dresser drawer alongside Heston’s wallet feels wrong.

I’m lingering somewhere between sleep and wakefulness when her door finally opens. I spring to my feet, alarmed even though I’d been expecting her to come.

She shuts the door softly behind her, fingers turning the lock. “Hey,” she breathes, cheeks a soft pink. She’s still wearing my jacket.

“Hey.” We watch each other for a long moment, and I feel compelled to say, “We don’t have to do anything. It’s okay if you want to wait.” My dick twitches tragically, but it’s been a long fucking day.

“I really don’t,” she says simply, stepping forward to curl a palm around my neck. She pulls me down and kisses me with her hot, quick tongue.

I groan in approval.

“Tell me what you want,” I say, pushing her hair aside and kissing her neck. Her body is arching into me, making contact in a variety of good places. “Tell me what you need.”

Her hand brushes against the outside of my pants, more tentative than necessary. I pull back and look at her. The innocence flickers in her eyes. “I want to feel good. I want you to feel good.”

She can’t lead here because she doesn’t have a map.

“We can just…” I back up toward the bed, dropping down on the edge and guiding her into my lap. “Like last time.”

Her lips part on a sigh when my mouth kisses down her neck, bumping into the cool leather of my jacket. She rocks against me hard and I can’t help it when my hands go lower, sliding up her spread thighs. I’ve been thinking about them all night—that pale, soft skin where she got the Devil’s mark. I’ve been thinking about how much I want to mark her myself, so that guys like the Wilcoxes don’t dare think of touching what’s mine again.

Her hips roll to a stop, and I almost pull away when one of her hands closes over mine, worried I’m pushing it too far. Instead, she guides my hand to stroke upward, beneath her skirt.

I meet her heavy eyes, swallowing. “Like this?” I ask, running my fingers over that tattoo and then inching up and up, until I’m touching the cotton of her panties.

She nods, eyes fluttering closed. “Like this,” she decides.

I press my thumb to the middle, testing, and her hips chase it, bucking forward. My breath escapes in a loud gust and I trail my fingers deeper, lower. I hiss a low, “Shit,” when I feel the wetness that’s soaking through.

I wrap an arm around her back and flip us, scooting her up the bed. She helps, digging her heels in, pushing to the center, and the sight of her spread out beneath me almost makes me bust a load right there. I can see the tattoo here, and she lets me sweep her skirt up, revealing the same place I’d just been touching. I lick my lips and meet her gaze when I return my fingers, pressing slow, firm circles around her clit.

Her hips press up into it, expression crumbling. “Oh, god.”