Devil Incarnate (Boys of Preston Prep #4) - Angel Lawson Page 0,85

at my shoulder. “Fuck, how are you this fucking tight?” It’s an idle question, almost like he hadn’t meant to say it out loud at all.

I tremble under the sensation of having him inside, so drunk on it that I don’t even think to be offended at the implications of that tone—as if I should be loose or something. I’m also so drunk on it that I answer. “You’re the only person I’ve fucked in months.”

His lips still against my skin, a wash of warm breath tickling the spot. “No shit?”

I appreciate the rhetorical way it’s phrased. For one, because I have no reason to lie. Why would I bother? To save my reputation? To stroke Heston Wilcox’s ego? Any motivation seems pointless. For two, he doesn’t even sound skeptical. He just sounds surprised, and a little intrigued. For three, even if I wanted to elaborate, I couldn’t. He chooses that moment to drag away, surging instantly back into me.

God, it’s so good. It’s always so, so good. Each time he retreats, only to punch forward and fill me again, my breath gets a little shallower.

He shifts his weight to one arm so the other can sweep up my side, palming my breast as he fucks me. “It’s that rubber band, you know,” he rumbles, gently trapping my earlobe between his teeth.

I rock back into him, trying to stifle my cries. Who knows how thin these walls are. “What?”

“You wore it for a long time, didn’t you?” He pinches my nipple, sending sparks exploding through my belly. “I remember it from that night. The rubber band around your wrist? It stood out like a sore thumb. It wasn’t colorful like the one you wear now. It was just that regular boring beige kind. You weren’t snapping it, though—not then.”

“I have no fucking idea what you’re talking about,” I gasp, too lost in the motion of our bodies rocking together, the sweet drag of his cock inside of me, to make sense of it.

His palm runs around my shoulder, moving up to tangle in my hair, making a tight fist at the crown of my head. He doesn’t pull it—doesn’t even tug—just rests it there against me, like he wants me to know he could. “You’d snap it, wouldn’t you? When you got like this, so horny and wet that you couldn’t think of anything else? Probably thought you were forming some kind of negative association between the two. Then, as time went on, it’d get a little less effective. You’d have to hurt yourself in other ways. That pen you carry with you—you jab it into your thigh when you think no one’s looking. Am I right, Little Red? Did you think you were controlling it?”

My brow screws up, half in confusion, half in senseless pleasure. “What does that—”

He wrenches me against him, dragging us upright, and I settle into the cradle of his lap. For a moment, I forget he’s said anything at all, taking another fat inch of his cock as I sink down.

“You were wrong.” His thumb sweeps over my nipple, making my spine arch in response. He takes the opportunity to mouth at my neck, eyes watching over my shoulder as his hand palms my breast. “You thought you were connecting arousal with pain, but you were just connecting pain with arousal. Doesn’t take a psych major to figure it out.”

“What?” I ask, stilling my restless squirming, chest heaving as I turn to look at the sharp edge of his jaw. “What are you saying?”

“You wanted to understand it,” he answers, dick twitching impatiently inside of me. He gives my hair a light tug, pulling my head back until our eyes meet. “Maybe your wires got a little crossed, but there’s nothing wrong with you. So you like a little bit of pain. Who cares?”

Dazed, I stare into his eyes, trying to parse what he’s saying. Could it really be so simple? Instead of forming a negative association between the two, have I formed a positive one?

“So I’m only going to ask you one more time.” His fingers release my hair, dropping to curl around my neck. “How do you want it, Little Red?”

I bite my lip, thinking that this is enough. This right here, having him inside of me. I know without needing to ask that he’ll do it—he’ll keep fucking me like this, if that’s what I want. Slow and deep, teetering at the edge of something darker and more enticing.

I meet his gaze.