Devil Incarnate (Boys of Preston Prep #4) - Angel Lawson Page 0,68

at one another, I add, “And chocolate.”

“Chocolate,” he repeats, voice deadpan.

Shrugging, I explain, “I just like it.”

He chuffs out a humorless laugh, bracing an arm on a nearby shelf to tower over me. His eyes are dark as he pins me with a stare. “Kisses, no condoms, and you get your own goddamn chocolate.”

“This isn’t a negotiation—” I try, but he barrels right over me.

“I fuck raw, Little Red. Take it or leave it.”

Hotly, I insist, “I’m not getting tested every Wednesday just because you refuse to wrap it up.”

He lifts a shoulder. “Then don’t get tested.”

“Yeah, right. I’m not trusting some creep with an AcadaNeeds account to keep it in his pants.” Glaring him up and down, I mockingly add, “HotWetCox.”

His jaw tightens, right before he pulls out his phone. The screen illuminates the space between us uncomfortably, throwing his crazy jaw line into sharp relief. He taps the screen and turns it, showing me his AcadaNeeds profile.

Then he deletes it.

“Given that you’re panting for my dick after a whopping ten hours without it, I’m guessing I won’t have time to fuck around with anyone else.” He slides his phone back into his pocket, reaching behind me to ease the door shut. “You in, or what?”

The kiss borders on violent, full of too much teeth and bone. His hands clamp onto my hip, spinning me until I’m shoved against a shelf. I make a pained sound, grabbing a thick fistful of his hair and bucking against him.

He’s already hard.

He rips his mouth away and wrenches me from the shelf, spinning me, but I stop him, perching on the edge of it instead.

“Like this,” I say, already panting in anticipation as I reach for the button on my pants.

He’s staring at me with this ice and fire look that makes my belly clench. “Like what?”

“Fucking,” I say, giving into another one of those deep, biting kisses. “Like this, facing you.”

He rears back suddenly, face contorted in disgust. “What?! I don’t want to look at you!”

It’s like a pitcher of ice water has been poured over my head.

“Wow,” I say, stunned by the sheer amount of alarm in his voice—like the thought of looking at me isn’t just repulsive, but inspires actual fucking panic. “You want to look at my back?” I ask, jumping down from the shelf, fist clenched angrily. “Then watch this, asshole.”

He doesn’t even try to stop me as I storm out of the closet, so pissed off that I can’t even see past the churn of hatred and mortification fuzzing up my head. He’s not even the one I’m mad at. This is Heston, after all. He has one nature and I know full well how deep it cuts.

I’m angry at myself. Not for thinking that this was anything but a truly terrible idea. Not even for looking at him earlier and thinking that he had some sort of mysterious, hidden depths.

No, I’m mad at myself for actually letting Heston Wilcox hurt my feelings.

12

Heston

I wake to the alarm shrieking in my ear, hard cock pressed against the mattress. “Fuck,” I groan.

I dreamed about her again. Usually when I dream about fucking girls, it’s just like real-life. Hands gripping the soft flesh of her round ass, fucking her hard and relentless as she’s bent over a desk, a chair, a railing. The sight of a bruise purpling tender skin.

The first dreams about Georgia were just flashes of what we’ve done already. But not last night. In this one she was naked and straddling my hips, long red hair hanging over her shoulders. Her tits bounced as she moved—riding me—and I couldn’t stop staring at them, her face, or those bright green eyes, trapping mine like barbed wire. In the dream, her eyes weren’t filled with hatred as usual. They were full of something so much worse; want and expectation, a horror so quiet and soft that it choked me.

It wasn’t a dream.

It was a goddamn nightmare.

People call me a liar, a manipulator, a cheat, and I guess they’re not wrong. I prefer the word ‘engineer’, though. Knowing how people tick, anticipating their reactions, finding their weaknesses; that’s how you own them. Some people are better at hiding than others, but it doesn’t matter. Look into someone’s eyes long enough and you’ll get the measure of them.

I know exactly what can happen if you let someone really see you. I know because I’ve done it myself. If the eyes are the window to the soul, then my ass is