Devil Incarnate (Boys of Preston Prep #4) - Angel Lawson Page 0,26

proud of what my brain conjures. Heston, bare-chested inside the door of that office, looming over me. The way his hand curled into a loose fist as his sharp eyes descended to my chest. Heston has this way about him—always has—where he can somehow manage to feel hostile and soft, all at once. Like maybe he could wrap that broad fist around my throat, fingers digging hard and painful into flesh and tendon, but lick sweetly into my mouth while doing it.

I bite back a cry, feeling myself get closer to the edge. It’s no use, though. Hearing six people right through my wall is not conducive to the proper orgasm headspace. At least, not for me. Not since that video got out and went viral. This year was supposed to be my first experience with real privacy. I was supposed to be able to do things like this, stretch out in my bed and just go to town until I wore myself out. Instead, I’m horny and frustrated, so close to release that my muscles are coiled tight, but far enough that my clit is aching and oversensitive.

Damn it!

I turn the vibrator off, tossing it back into my bedside table. I’m still breathing hard and my body is confused, still trembling, teetering on a painful edge. I’m about five seconds from storming out of this dormitory and jumping the first guy I see.

If I laid everything out to my therapist, she would tell me I needed to pull myself out of a high-risk situation and rely on a healthier coping mechanism. I should find a solution, then work out the urges with exercises or some kind of physical activity that does not include another round of failed masturbation.

I spring up.

Yeah, that’s it. Something that provides both exercise and a solution. What did Coach James say about the swim requirement? I just need to make two laps. How hard can it really be to swim across the pool twice? I may not be proficient in my strokes, but I’ve watched the Olympics. It’s just moving your arms and legs a bunch. Big fucking deal. I don’t need anyone to teach me how to do that. Fake it ‘til you make it, right?

The more I think about it, the more perfect it sounds. Jittery and anxious, I decide this is the optimal time to try it out, while no one is around. It’ll be epic. I’ll show up at class tomorrow and swim my two laps, finally done with Heston Wilcox and his abs of steel for good. Bonus? Getting a good workout.

I’m practically a genius.

My shrink would be proud.

I pull on my basic, lame one-piece swimsuit and pay no attention to the cluster of girls Josie has invited into our—my—room. It’s just one more reason that doing this now is the right move. If I can’t work off all this tension, then at least the suite will be quiet again when I get back.

I quickly make my way across campus and into the natatorium. Inside, I make sure no one’s around. No janitor. No Coach James. No Heston.

He’s the last person I want to witness my attempt at two laps. After confirming that the coast is clear, I shuck off my shirt and shorts, leaving them on the bench by the wall. Excited, I dart across the pool deck and jump in.

The water is a shock to my system, sending my frayed nerves alight. It’s refreshing, motivating, and suddenly everything seems clear to me. I start by mimicking the motions I’ve seen other swimmers do, cutting my arms through the water. It works…

Sort of.

I don’t glide like normal swimmers do, and I’m not entirely sure why. My motions grow choppy just to keep me afloat, and it’s nothing like it should be. It’s not graceful or effortless. It’s tiring. Ten minutes in, my legs feel like dead weight. Why don’t they propel me forward like they’re supposed to?

I stop, gasping for air, feeling the burden of my body as it slowly starts sinking. I look around and realize I’m in the center of the pool—the deepest part—and too far away from the sides.

“Shit,” I say, swishing my hands. It causes a wave of water to come toward me, splashing into my mouth. I cough and sputter, taking in more water. A cramp seizes my side and I yelp, bending to ease the pressure. A realization hits me with a startling clarity.

I’m going to drown.

“Help!” I shriek, panicking. It’s getting harder