Devil Incarnate (Boys of Preston Prep #4) - Angel Lawson Page 0,30

makes it that much better. The burn meets the peak and I hover there, suspended in bliss, before dropping like a sack of bricks.

“Jesus Christ, shut the fuck up,” he growls into my cheek, curled low over my back. “I knew you’d get off on this. People think you’re a slut for dick, but they’re wrong. You’re a slut for this, aren’t you?” He punctuates this with another sharp yank of my hair, slamming my hips into the desk.

I cry out, already feeling the tension building low in my belly, all over again. I open my mouth, lips moving, but I don’t even hear what I’m saying. Not until I hear his grunt in my ear—not until I’m filled with the panic that this might be ending.

“Don’t stop,” I’m chanting. “Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop.”

“Shut up,” he answers, panting. “Shut the fuck up!” But he presses harder, pulls sharper, fucks me violently—like a caged animal—and it’s not long before I’m sobbing wet breaths into the wood, coming so hard that my vision goes white, edged in frantic static.

I’m too fucked-out, breathless and boneless, to care when his mouth latches onto my shoulder, teeth sinking into the flesh as his hips punch into me one last time. He grunts, long and ragged into my skin, biting down hard enough that I gasp, flinching away. He just presses harder in response, crushing me beneath his weight as he pulses deep inside.

I can feel his hot come trickle out of me when he drags himself away.

“Oh, god.”

No condom.

He fucked me raw.

By the time I get my legs under me, steady enough to lever myself upright, he’s already half-dressed and leaving the office.

“Bring a pair of fucking floaties next time, Little Red.”

6

Heston

* * *

“Here are the requirements for the intro class.” Coach James pauses, clipboard in hand, and looks at my soaked jeans hanging from the hook by the door. I was running late and hadn’t had time to clean up the puddle underneath. “Did you fall in?”

“Something like that,” I mutter, tossing a towel over the mess. His eyebrow raises and I sigh. “I came back in last night to get my phone and saw a kickboard in the pool. I thought I could reach it, but I missed.”

Coach barks out a laugh. “What I would’ve paid to have seen that. Heston Wilcox doesn’t make too many mistakes.”

“You’re right. Don’t expect that to ever happen again.”

He gives me an odd look but hands me the clipboard and walks out of the room.

There are no bones about it.

I’m sweating fucking bullets today.

I was supposed to get my dick into that girl and win the bet—get half my debt wiped clean. Easy. Simple. I knew she’d be down for it. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to see how horny Georgia Haynes is and let’s face it. I know how I look.

It was her tits. God, it’s always been her tits. Her nipples are perpetually erect, the signal that she’s always turned on. Georgia Haynes is a filthy whore and begs to be treated like it.

But something in me just snapped. It was that fucking comment about me having no future, no family, no friends. As if she wasn’t the cause of it. My brain couldn’t decide if I wanted to fuck her or kill her.

So I got as close as I could to doing both.

I’ve had a lot of rough fucks in my time, but that was some truly next-level shit. I banged her so hard that even I have bruises today. If Georgia is looking for a reason to take me down, I just handed it to her on a silver platter.

I couldn’t have planned the opportunity any better if I’d tried. I wasn’t even thinking about her when I came down here last night. I was still pissed about Collins and the fact I had to sit there and force myself not to smack the slimy, condescending grin off his face. That prick just loves having me by the balls. I only came down to the pool when I realized I’d left my phone in the top drawer of the desk.

And there she was, in all her fucked-up glory, drowning in the pool.

At some point it occurred to me that Big Gene must be right about me not being a true sociopath. Because seeing her sink in that pool, the possibility of letting her drown never once crossed my mind. Irritation, sure. Disbelief. Maybe a little amusement. An overwhelming sense of