Touched By The Devil (Boys of Preston Prep 3)

Roughly, he says, “We could fuck, you know.” His dark eyes hold mine, even as I watch him stroke himself through my periphery. “I can do this. I can fuck you without touching you.”

I feel myself lock up. I’d come here expecting to make out, and even that had held an air of impossibility. My voice comes out too sharp, panic bleeding through. “I’m not fucking you, Sebastian.”

He hurries to say, “No? That’s cool, that’s fine.” He taps the cushion, and then, “Can I pull down your pants?”

I’m still for a moment, thinking. It’s so intimate, so exposed. Full on vulnerability. Aside from my back, all my worst scars are there. Is he going to ask questions?

Sebastian must sense my hesitation because he exhales raggedly and runs his hand over his face. “I don’t know how to do this, Sugar. If you can’t tell, I want you really fucking bad.” He grimaces. “But I made a promise. Tell me how to keep it.”

His admission of how much he wants me sends another wave of desire through me. Instinctively, I lift my hips again, this time pressing my fingers between my legs. He watches my every move, lips parted, tongue darting out. Feeling stupid, I yank my hand back.

He says, “Yeah, yeah, do that again.”

I try to play dumb. “Do what?”

“Touch yourself. Do it again.”

He watches me like a hawk, eyes zeroed in on my hand. My heart pounds hard in my chest. What I am I doing? Why does he get under my skin like this? I don’t know why, but just the heat of his eyes on me is enough to send a flood of red-hot want, right to my core. I want to see that flicker of hunger in the deep blue of his eyes. I want to control him with my movements.

I place my hand flat on my belly, fingers tucked under the waistband of my pajama bottoms. “Like this?” I ask, knowing good and well there’s no right or wrong in this moment. There’s just lust.

“Yeah, just like that.” He falls back on his ass, knees bent and parted. His dick is ramrod straight, pressing against his shorts. “Touch yourself the way you’d want me to.”

I inch my fingers down, still covered by my pants, and graze my fingertips over the hot bundle of nerves at the crux of my body. I inhale sharply, my stomach rising and falling. I keep my eyes on Sebastian while he leans back on one hand and reaches inside his shorts. A moment later he’s exposed himself, the throbbing, long length of his cock. He slides his hand down the shaft, but his eyes remain on the spot between my legs, my hand shifting beneath the fabric.

His actions cause a cascade in my own body. I get slippery and wet, hips rising into my own movements, setting a rhythm. Watching him watch me, watching him handle himself with such defined expertise, just makes me wish I could have said yes. His desire is exposed in every part of him, the darkening of his eyes, the tensing of his jaw, the sharp line in the muscle of his forearm. Heat blooms across my skin and I finally lift my hips, lowering my pants over my knees. When I part my legs and touch myself again—over my panties—Sebastian groans in approval.

“Christ, I want to—” He seems to bite back the rest, jaw clenching. I watch as he rolls his thumb over the tip of his dick, alternating strokes of hard and soft. I can see the sticky fluid at the top. I lick my lips and mimic his motions, rolling my clit with my thumb, applying pressure, then letting up. A rhythm forms between us, bolstered by the sound of our heavy breathing, the noises building in our chests.

“Touch your tits,” he demands. I have no idea where he gets off telling me what to do, but I do it anyway, spurred on by the tightening in my belly. I massage one breast, then the other, causing a sensation that jolts straight between my legs. He falls back on his elbow and flicks his nipple between his fingers, shuddering in response. “Jesus.”

I’ve been thinking maybe it couldn’t happen—me getting off in front of someone like this. But the orgasm builds in my belly, a coil tightened with every flick, rub, and stroke. Sebastian’s jaw tightens and his abdomen tenses as his motions grow more erratic. I can’t take my eyes off of him; his face, his body, the way his muscles flex the closer he gets.

Fuck, he’s got a nice body.

“I want to see it,” he says through gritted teeth. “I want to see you come, Sugar, let go. Let me see you just fucking let go.”

My body has never cooperated with my desires. If anything, we’re in a constant battle. But there’s something about Sebastian’s tone—his demand—that I physically react to. The orgasm spreads through me in waves of warm pleasure that drag me under, hazy, sweaty, overcome. I sink my teeth into my lip to bite down my whimpers as it shakes through me.

True to his word, that is all Bass wanted to see. He comes quickly, violently, seizing on his cock in a final gripping tug. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he mutters, ropes of white, sticky fluid, dripping down his fist and pooling on his taut stomach. I lean back against the couch, the feeling slowly returning to my limbs, and then we both sit there, panting.

He mutters a low, “Good shit,” head still thrown back, eyes closed, body limp.

I take the opportunity to pull up my pants and root around for my shirt, having to stand and walk a few steps to bend down and collect it. It’s cold in here now, or maybe it’s just me. Maybe it’s just this frenetic, chilling feeling returning to the pit of my chest, making me shiver and shake.

When I turn around, Sebastian’s watching me, a strange look on his face. He immediately looks away, removing his shorts and using them to wipe away the spunk.

“Is this the part where you bolt?” he asks, and there’s a fuckton of things happening in my head right now, but mostly I’m just staring at him as he stands, stark-ass naked, completely unashamed.

I sputter out an unnecessarily hostile, “What?” and he sighs, tossing his boxers aside.

“Nothing. Just wait here a second.” He disappears through a door and I shift from foot to foot, thinking about how much I don’t want to bolt.

I mostly just want to feel his bare chest against mine again.

When he returns, he’s dressed in a pair of sweats and a thick, comfortable-looking pullover. He shows me a pack of cigarettes and jerks his chin toward another door. “There’s a window in the bathroom.”