Devil Incarnate (Boys of Preston Prep #4) - Angel Lawson Page 0,13

me what I’d get if you lose. Got those big, dumb, blue eyes of yours so fixed on the prize that it makes you stupid.”

“Doesn’t matter. I’m not going to lose.” I take a sip from my drink, shrugging. “And I already know what you want, but if you want to do the whole dramatic reveal shtick, then be my guest.”

“Should have asked that before shaking on it,” Gene says, looking far too comfortable for my liking. Regardless, he raises his glass, sweeping it in a gesture toward the room. “If I win, I get you the fuck out of here.”

The club.

Of-fucking-course.

“I don’t know why you want it so bad,” I say, rolling my eyes. “There’s no way this place out-earns your hustle.”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” Gene says, settling in. “In case you haven’t noticed—being one of them and all—my clientele isn’t exactly of the paying-shit-back persuasion.” He sniffs, eyes taking in the space. “I could do with something legit for a while. Something dependable.”

I throw back the last of my drink, muttering, “You taking half of my nightly profits seems pretty fucking dependable to me.”

“Aw.” He puts a hand to his chest, giving a mocking frown. “That was downright sulky. You’re losing your touch.” He stands up, leafing through a wallet for two twenties. He tosses them on the table, glancing over his shoulder before leaning down. He keeps his voice low, but I can still hear the gloat in it. “And by the way, I’ve been fucking that sweet little thing over there for the past month. A full head of hair isn’t everything, young man. You just remember that.” He punctuates this with a soft whack to the side of my head.

My fiery glare follows him across the lounge and down the stairs.

Gene, just like everyone else, underestimates me, and that’s the way I like it. He thinks I don’t know anything about people, but he’s wrong. I know Gene’s got this real hard-on for honor among thieves. He takes his losses. And that’s exactly what he’s about to get, because I know Georgia fucking Haynes even better.

3

Georgia

* * *

I get myself off in my car first, parked in the darkest corner of Preston’s parking lot. It’s fast and full of thoughts that I try to scrub from my brain the instant I step out into the night air. I get myself off again once I’m back in my room, standing under the spray of my shower. Again, after getting into bed. I wake up at three in the morning to do it again, and when my alarm goes off, my hand is already tucking itself into my panties, frantically trying to calm the low thrum still building in the pit of my belly.

It’s not the masturbation that bothers me.

At least, not today.

Sometimes it does, though. I can go for whole stretches of time where I’m fine getting off once, maybe twice a day—something normal for a teenager. But on other days—on really bad days—I have to binge on the swell and climax for hours, needing to get off again and again. Sometimes, on bad days like those, I’ll even hide under my covers, still breathless from the orgasm, crying into my pillow because it’s still not enough.

Sometimes it’s never enough.

Today isn’t one of those days, but I still want to bury my head into my pillow and cry. In no fucking universe should my brain want to get off to thoughts of Heston goddamn Wilcox. My sex life has always come with its fair share of shame and regret, but today is just…particularly vile.

Even by lunch, I’m still feeling the uncomfortable churn in my gut, heavy with the knowledge that my libido is so heinous that even someone who’s hurt me as badly as Heston can penetrate it.

It doesn’t help that I’m still horny, completely deprived of the good, hard fuck that was meant to happen last night.

Snap!

“Tell me I can get out of this.” I push my barely eaten lunch aside and look imploringly at my friends. “Just…tell me it’s not happening.”

“Oh, it’s happening,” Caroline says, grinning. “I can’t believe you never took a P.E. class.”

I raise a finger. “If anything, that’s on Mrs. Gilbert for not making me do it sooner.”

Vandy gives me a skeptical glance.

“Fine,” I grumble. “Even I’m not sold on that excuse.” Mrs. Gilbert is excellent at her job. I’m the one who thought if I just ignored it, everyone would somehow magically forget. Guess not. “It’s going to be all