Devil Incarnate (Boys of Preston Prep #4) - Angel Lawson Page 0,69

buying as many mental curtains as I can. It can’t be anything worth seeing anyway—probably a black pit of nothingness. That’s always how I’ve felt, anyway. Even when I was a kid, I didn’t feel things the way others did. I didn’t react or cope or function the ‘proper’ way. I knew it then, and I know it now. Which is why this dream about Georgia, this game I’m playing, has me all twisted up inside.

In the dream, she’d seen me. She’d pulled away the curtains and dipped her greedy hands inside. She’d gotten the sum of my parts. The mere memory of it makes me sick.

Sick and inconceivably horny.

It’s making my stomach hurt again. I scrub a hand roughly over my face, wondering, “What the hell is wrong with me?”

That dream is what I get for my behavior the day before. For being ‘nice’. For letting her think something like that was even on the goddamn table.

I’d shown up to the pool because I knew Coach James expected it. I’d already bailed on Friday night, but when I heard him shouting at her for those stupid ropes, I jumped in. I don’t know why they both acted so surprised. It’s not like I’m incapable of owning a fuck-up.

So what if I only bother when it suits me?

It just so happened that, on that morning, it did. Georgia and I have come to an agreement, and it took a shitload of work. Way more work than it should have. If I have to eat some crow to maintain the tenuous balance, then I’ll do it.

But I’m sure as hell not letting her look at me while we fuck.

I blast the shower as cold as it’ll go, but it does nothing to quell the morning wood. Giving up, I crank that shit so hot that it’s scalding, closing my eyes to get lost in a fantasy. I don’t feel an ounce of guilt as I stroke myself, conjuring up the image of my palm prints bruised into a soft, round ass. Yeah, that’s fucking hot, imagining my hand coming down on her cheeks, the sound it’d make, the way she’d whimper and buck back against it. I bet Georgia would like that. None of this stupid ‘facing you’ bullshit. Just bend her over the nearest flat surface and spank her until she’s dripping wet and teary-eyed. That’s what we’d be good at. Rough, painful, faceless sex.

My balls tighten and strain, but the orgasm pulls just out of reach. Frustrated, I jerk myself harder, conjuring up a new scene where I’m staring at dark red lips and perky, erect nipples. I remember the dream, the strong rolling thrust of hips, the way her tits felt in my palms. But it’s the fucking eyes that get me. Brilliant and green. Trapping me. Burning me from the inside out. Digging inside as she uses me.

The orgasm rocks through me so hard that I have to shoot out a hand to steady myself, smacking my palm against the cool tile wall. After, I keep my eyes closed for a long time, holding onto the memory and sensation. It’s just because she asked for it. Because she left me there in that closet, hard and frustrated.

Next time, I’m going to fuck it out of her.

An hour later, I’ve found a quiet bench outside the dining hall to have my coffee and breakfast burrito in peace. I try not to eat inside if I can help it. Too fucking weird. I’m still closer in age to the students than the teachers, but sitting with them is out of the question—not that I’d want to, anyway. Every day that passes, I get the surreal awareness of how young they all seem. Young and so goddamn stupid. I’d been one of them just three years ago; entitled, stuck-up, king of the world. Being here as an adult is the sickest form of torture imaginable. The middle-schoolers make me want to strangle something and the high-schoolers…

They’re the worst.

I’d passed a group of kids clustered by the stairs, recognizing one of them as Haynes’ roommate, Josie. I’m not surprised to see her surrounded by a bunch of guys. Back in school, I would have been all over her tail, too. Everyone knows Sparrowood girls are freaks between the sheets.

I’m chewing a mouthful of eggs and bacon when I hear a guy say, “So Wentworth, what’s it like living with her?”

Wentworth, I remember, is Josie’s last name.

I hear her reply, “What do