Devil Incarnate (Boys of Preston Prep #4) - Angel Lawson Page 0,84

ear, eyes tracking the motion as it lingers on my neck. “I didn’t want to fuck with you like that, Little Red. Honestly, I wasn’t thinking about you at all. For that—just that—I am sorry.”

His eyes are too much, too intense, making it hard to think. To breathe. To stay standing. But when I look away, he grazes a knuckle beneath my chin, chasing my gaze.

“Look at me,” he demands, waiting until I’ve met his stare to repeat, “I’m sorry, okay?”

I feel trapped in his eyes, frozen beneath the ice. Weakly, I ask, “You really didn’t start that bet?”

His gaze drops to my mouth when he answers. “To be clear, the thought of someone touching you like I do makes me want to break fingers.”

It feels like all the air gets sucked from my lungs when he dips down to kiss me, hand moving up to cradle my jaw, holding me close as he licks the seam of my lips. My mouth parts instantly, meeting his tongue with a hitched breath. It’s not like the hard, biting kisses I’m used to from him. This one is testing, a question present in the way he dips and retreats, waiting for me to surge back before going deeper, harder.

He’s asking if I want it.

My answer is the same as always.

I grab his shoulders, bunching the fabric of his shirt up his back until he breaks away to let me tear it over his head. He’s back just as quick, a low, rough sound emerging from his chest when he shoves a hand up my shirt, grabbing my breast.

“What are we doing?” I ask, breathless as he walks me backward through the small room, into the hall, and then something I vaguely recognize as a bedroom.

“I have no fucking idea,” he answers, pulling my shirt off. “But I’m pretty sure it ends in fantastic sex, so I’m going with it.” He unhooks my bra mid-kiss—a skilled, practiced motion—and breaks away to watch as he palms my breasts in his big, warm hands. He groans, “Jesus, these fucking things kill me.”

I arch into him when he bends down to mouth at one, squeezed tight in his hand, tongue flat against my peaked nipple. I know I’ve probably been hornier at some point in my very horny life, but currently, I’m hard pressed to think of one. His muscles shift as he pushes me back, guiding me toward the bed. It’s unnecessary. As soon as the backs of my legs hit the mattress, I’m going down, already fumbling for the button on my pants.

Heston is two steps ahead of me, tearing the zipper down and yanking them off my legs. He looks fucking magnificent like this, laser-focused and hardened, a curt efficiency that could be mistaken for anger on anyone else. This isn’t anger, though. The way he rips my panties down my legs and shoves his jeans down his hips is pure impatience.

But the way he kisses me after, dipping a hand between my legs to feel my wetness and want, is the act of someone who also wants to savor it.

God, do I know the feeling.

“How do you want it?” he asks, sinking two fingers into me.

I cry out, writhing against his hand. “Like this,” I gasp, scrabbling at his arms for purchase. “Just like this.” For a moment, I’m worried he thinks I’m asking for it face-to-face—something I know he won’t do.

But the way he kisses me is perceptive, deep and unyielding, and I think he understands exactly what I want.

No pain.

Not tonight.

I go easy when he flips me over, rising onto my knees for him, eager and so full of the vibrations that it’s a miracle my bones aren’t rattling with how badly I need him inside of me.

I feel his hands on my hips, and I know what he’s looking for. The bruises. But they’re almost entirely faded now, just a shadow of a memory against my skin. Luckily, he doesn’t make me wait, grabbing his dick and rubbing it against my folds, seeking, and then driving himself inside.

“Oh god, oh fuck.” I push back into him, reveling in every slow, thick inch of his cock entering me. Most people would say the orgasm is the best part of sex, but this is mine; the long moment of being finally, gloriously filled, slotted together with someone warm who wants me.

I watch as his hands curl into fists on the mattress, bracketing my head. He grunts as he seats himself, mouthing