Devil Incarnate (Boys of Preston Prep #4) - Angel Lawson Page 0,190

had a lot of wet dreams in my life.

This is just the first time I wake up next to someone in the middle of it.

“Shh,” Heston’s saying into my ear, his warm palm smoothing the hair back from my sweat-dampened forehead. He presses a gentle kiss to my jaw, voice thick with sleep. “You need it?”

I nod into the pillow, sprawled on my back, thighs clenching together for any bit of friction. I can feel his hand grazing against my hip as he slowly strokes himself, and I wonder how long I’ve been like this, writhing and desperate. My hand descends, wedging itself between my thighs.

The bed dips when he shifts, lifting to pluck a lingering kiss from my lips. “Do you want it?” It’s said so quietly that I have to rely on the shape of it being spoken against my lips.

My mouth parts and I lick out to taste the seam of his lips, moaning when I meet the responding point of his tongue. I’d almost forgotten what this was like, the warmth of his breath, the eager presence of him as he tastes me.

“No,” I insist, wanting to tell the truth, despite how scary it is. “I don’t want it. I want you.”

His only response is a harsh breath, bed jostling as he works a knee between my legs. His hand follows my arm down to my wrist, catching it, prying it away from where my hips are bucking into my palm. “Shh, I’ve got you,” he says when I whine, head digging back into the pillow.

Despite his soothing words, I can feel a tremor work through him when he touches me, fingers sliding through my wetness. He makes a noise—something tight and borderline pained—and then rolls to settle between my legs, wrenching one of my thighs up.

He enters me slowly, forehead resting against mine as my jaw goes slack, fingers weaving into his hair. “That feel good?”

Any other time, I’d rib him for the self-indulgence of wanting his ego stroked. But regardless of the cocky tilt of his mouth, I can hear the thread of hesitation in it, the need for a reassurance that I’m happy to give.

“Yes,” I gasp, fingers fisting in his hair. “Don’t stop.”

His arms flex when he pulls back to fuck me, hips moving in a deliciously deliberate pace. It doesn’t waver, even when he ducks down to mouth at the peak of my breast, tongue darting out to taste me. He shifts his weight so his hand can join in, gathering the weight of my breast in a wide palm. “So fucking perfect,” he breathes, taking my mouth in a hard, bruising kiss.

I wrap my legs around him, knees clutching him too hard, trying to get him closer. I know I pull his hair too hard, but he just grunts in response, surging into me. His skin is beyond warm now. The blankets are too much—too hot—but neither of us pushes them off, content to sweat and pass our panting breaths from one neck to another. It’s just like it was in my dream. Primal. Instinctual. Clutching hands and muffled cries. This is the best language we know.

I come in the middle of a long, filthy kiss, the arch of my back shattering it. He follows, though, pushing his quick punches of breath into my neck as a hand shoots out, clamping hard around the top of the headboard. He slams into the cradle of my thighs, muscles coiling as he fills me, thick cock swelling with his release.

It ends with his forehead pressed to the center of my chest. I watch, transfixed as his back bellows with his breaths, and when I sink my fingers into his hair, he pushes into the touch.

“I love you, too, you know.” It’s hard to say, coming out stilted and breathless. His back goes still for a moment, contracting with an inhale that goes on long enough to look painful. “But I made a promise not to hurt myself anymore, and I meant it. Not just for you. For myself.”

His thumb rubs into the space below my breast. “Good.”

Nodding, I stroke his hair, looking up at the ceiling. “So I won’t let you be my next weapon against myself. If you hurt me again, that’s it.” Realizing what that sounds like, I struggle to clarify, “I mean, outside of this, like—”

“I know what you mean.” When he raises his eyes to mine, I know he understands. Pain with sex is different. When it’s him