A Deal With the Devil (Boys of Preston Prep 2)
I turn to her, rubbing the towel over my face. “Kind of what?”
“Like, an interrogation? A wellness check?” She shrugs, shoulders falling low. “Whatever it was, I didn’t want to be there anymore.”
“So you came here.” Fuck, I like that. I like the fact she relied on me. That she feels comfortable enough to just come over. “Did my dad or… whoever he’s with, let you in?”
“Nah,” she grins, stepping toward me, “those B&E skills came in handy.”
I raise an eyebrow, gaze dropping to her mouth. “I didn’t mean for you to use them against me.”
Her eyes track where the towel in my hand falls on the floor. “So, you want me to leave?”
“Not a chance.” I wrap my arms around her waist and pull her close, trailing my nose over the shell of her ear. “You’ve been teasing me all day, in that shirt. Those jeans. Wearing my jacket.” I bend and lick that little patch of skin beneath her ear, where the mark has faded, feeling her squirm against me. “I’ve been fucking dying to get you alone.”
Her hands splay across my chest, and I slide a hand behind her neck, intent on kissing her long and slow. Deep and unrelenting. There’s not enough time for us to be alone—not with our schedules, her brother, the Devils. She meets my kiss with a vigor that’s causing a situation my towel can’t hide. Her tongue is hot and persistent against mine, and when I lick into her mouth, she surges into me. The movement brushes across the towel and I choke on a groan at the feel of it. Her breath is hot and quick and I push the jacket off her shoulders, dropping it carelessly to the floor.
My fingers tug clumsily at the knot in her shirt, pushing beneath the fabric as we kiss, wet and loud in the stillness of the room. I know it was brave of her to wear this—to show her scars. I never needed Sydney fucking Prescott to tell me about those insecurities. This is something only Vandy and I can really know, having the proof of that night branded into us forever.
She sways towards me when I bend, planting a slow, sweet kiss on the pale flesh.
“Reyn.” Her breath catches, hands grabbing at my sides.
I catch the towel before it falls completely and say, “You keep messing with me, I’m going to lose the towel.”
“Then lose it.” Her tone is daring, eyes lit by a brilliant spark.
I let out this embarrassing half-laugh, half-groan. “Trust me, I am losing it.”
She reaches for her shirt and yanks it over her head. It’s a move so sudden that I have to blink a few times to really process all the skin standing before me. She’s not wearing a bra, and her tits are perfection, soft and round. She watches me back, wetting her lips. “Let’s just… get lost.”
This isn’t a fingerbang in the front seat of my Jeep. It isn’t head in the Alumni house. It isn’t eating her out, quick and dirty in the Stairway. It isn’t even that night in her room, when I went up her skirt.
This is both of us, here, alone, practically naked.
Absolutely nothing is stopping us.
I exhale slowly, lifting a hand to gently graze the side of her breast. It’s warm and just as soft as it looks, and I instantly just… know.
I know I can take it.
“We don’t have to—I mean, we can wait,” I say, thumb brushing across her nipple. “There’s nothing wrong with taking things slow.”
She shudders in a breath, blinking slowly. “We did take it slow,” she whispers, catching my wrist before I can pull it away. Her blue eyes bore into mine. “I did wait.”
My body says to go for it, and despite having just jerked off, my cock’s already hard again, ready, two seconds from exploding. My brain is a jumbled mush. My eyes won’t stop staring at her tits. At her flat stomach. Then down at the scar.
Guilt.
It washes over me. Always. I can’t shake it. I can’t get away from it.
I take a step back, but she moves with me, eyes imploring. “Hey, I want this. I want you.”
God, I want her too.
“Then take me.”
Did I say that out loud? Fuck. “I just need to—” I need to think. I need to make sure I’m doing this right. I need to consult the risk management plan.
Some of that spark in her eyes dims. “Unless you don’t want to?”