Devil Incarnate (Boys of Preston Prep #4) - Angel Lawson Page 0,189

body and the way it used to move against me. At lunch and dinner, distracted by the shape of him in the distance, curled over a tray of food. Squirming and restless after, forcing myself to get distracted with something instead of someone. “I’ve knitted so many fucking scarves, I should open an Etsy shop.”

If I thought it might bring some levity to his eyes, then I’m mistaken. His face is shuttered, hardened into an unreadable mask when he asks, “Do I need to go get some condoms?”

Well, that’s one way of asking it. “I don’t know. Do you?”

His mouth presses into a grim line. “Not on account of me.”

There’s a tension in my back that slowly releases, allowing me to breathe. “Me, either.”

Heston probably deserves an Oscar because there isn’t a hint of surprise on his face. He just nods, the unhappy lines around his mouth disappearing.

Before that flash of heat in his eyes can grow, I say, “I’m just really beat right now, though. Do you think we could…” I pivot to the hallway, unsure how to ask. I’ve been antsy with the temptation of sex for a long time now, but I’ve spent longer fantasizing about being in his bed, feeling the weight of his arm around me, than anything else. Suddenly, the thought strikes me as embarrassing. “…sleep?”

I know Heston must be just as tired, if not more so. I’ve seen him around campus these past couple weeks, and he’s looked harried and exhausted for most of it.

He toes off his shoes, saying, “Yeah,” and when he brushes past me, he reaches out to touch my hip as he goes. Just a small little thing. A physical ‘hello’ that makes my body burst with awareness. “Let me get cleaned up real quick,” he says, not waiting for a response.

When he disappears into the bathroom, I let out a breath, padding into the bedroom. I was at my worst in here, tearing through everything in my attempt to find a camera. His curtains are torn down, the dresser drawers still halfway ajar, clothes spilling out of them like a gruesome reminder. I swallow thickly as I turn away, dropping my bag to tend to the bed.

I know from experience that Heston owns one pair of sheets. I also know from experience what’s been done on them. They’re already ripped halfway off, so I finish the job, balling them up and throwing them aside. I pull a clean pair from my bag, losing myself in the motions of making the bed, putting on new pillowcases, reorienting myself with the pull I feel to slip between them.

I finish it off with the two thick blankets I’d brought with me, folding them down.

I wait until I’m under them to undress.

Heston finds me like this when he wanders in from the bathroom, towel wrapped around his hips, skin scrubbed pink. He pauses in the doorway when he sees me, curled on my side, waiting for him. There’s a beat where his eyes fall down to my bare shoulders and I think he might say something, but when I let loose a hard shiver, he looks away, shamelessly dropping his towel.

Even when he’s turned the light off, I look my fill as he crosses the room, his thick cock heavy between his strong thighs. Heston’s never been shy about his body, and was always content to wander around like this in between our goes at each other, allowing me to appreciate the taut, shifting lines of his muscle.

When he finally slides under the blankets, blasting me with a brief chill, he mutters out a soft, “Come here,” and lifts his arm, making a space for me.

I take it instantly, luxuriating in the expanse of his skin. He’s still warm from his shower and I greedily steal it away, pressing my peaked nipples against his side, shivering thigh thrown over his hips. One of his arms comes around my shoulders, fingers tangling in my hair, but the other reaches down to grab my thigh, kneading slowly into my sore muscle, holding me close.

The chest beneath my ear vibrates with a soft, satisfied rumble.

I close my eyes, finally feeling warm again.

It’s not a dream—not exactly.

There are no images or real thoughts. When I get like this, sometimes it’s just a feeling. The pull of something deep and fundamental. Primal, like an instinct. I chase it mindlessly, just like I always do, body clenching with an orgasm that’s too fast and ephemeral to be satisfying.

I’ve