Devil Incarnate (Boys of Preston Prep #4) - Angel Lawson Page 0,96

mouth clumsily meeting mine in something that’s far too full of tongues and not nearly coordinated enough to be called a kiss. It doesn’t matter. I reach back to lace my fingers into his messy hair, tugging him closer. It’s sloppy and dirty, and I can’t get him close enough, frustrated at the barriers between us, annoyed that I can’t wrap my legs around him and kiss him properly, infuriated at this half-experience.

Nevertheless, it’s enough.

My orgasm is bittersweet. If it were up to me, I’d have drawn this out, felt him inside of me for hours, gotten absolutely fucking stupid on the way his hand feels, shoving up my shirt, trying desperately to get a handful of my breast but unable to get anything more than the sweat-dampened fabric of my bra.

He comes with a short, bitten off rumble against the back of my neck—right over my tattoo.

Breathless and slick with sweat, I remember what all of this was about. “So that’s why you wouldn’t kiss me? Because you thought some other Devil had a claim to me?”

He’s breathing hard against my neck, his spent dick still nestled inside of me. I can practically hear him rolling his eyes. “I don’t share with other Devils,” he says, bracing a hand on my hip as he slips free. “I hear the rules have changed, but I doubt that’s ever going to be one of them.”

“And now?” I ask, turning to watch him pilfer a roll of wrapped toilet paper from a shelf.

He rips it open, little bits of his hair plastered to his forehead with sweat. “I’m not sure about the Playthings being equals. That’s weird as fuck and doesn’t actually make much sense. But so long as I’m the only one you’re fucking, I can deal with it.”

My first instinct is to tell him to fuck off. Playthings being equal is weird? Doesn’t make much sense? I should tell him to get his sexist, chauvinistic, self-entitled ass away from me. But when he breaks off a thick fistful of toilet paper, he doesn’t use it to wipe the sweat from his eyes or the come from his dick.

He crouches down and cleans the blood from my leg. Softly, he says, “Stay still,” and carefully dabs at the wound, forehead creased as he carefully assesses it. It’s probably just to cover his ass—to make sure I can’t blame it on him.

I couldn’t move if I tried.

It’s silent after that as we right ourselves, cleaning up and catching our breath. It was quick and quiet, just like he demanded, and it might not have been exactly what I wanted, but it was enough to quiet this thundercloud whipping me up on the inside.

Before we leave, I hear a loud crinkle, turning to watch Heston pull something from his pocket. He meets my eyes, raising an eyebrow. “Never let it be said that I’m not accommodating.”

He hands me a cookie.

I turn it over in my hands, befuddled and lost. The sticker holding the cellophane closed is a big yellow smiley face. “You’re giving me one of Carlton’s weed cookies?”

He pauses, eyes pinging from mine to the cookie. “You’ve had them before?”

“Of course I’ve had them before.” I rip it open, breaking off a piece to cram in my mouth. There’s just something about chocolate after sex that wraps it all into a nice little bow. I sigh happily. “It’s Vandy’s recipe.”

His eyebrows shoot up his forehead. “Little innocent Baby V is making weed cookies?”

Chewing, I correct, “The cookie, yes. Not so much the weed part. She’s a really excellent baker.”

“Well.” He stares at me, wiping his wrist over the sweat covering his upper lip. “How is it?” And then, “Should you really be eating that right now? You still have class.”

“What? You’re going to act all ‘teachery’ all of a sudden?” I make air quotes over the word because it’s still impossible for me to acknowledge he’s an authority figure at the school. “You just fucked a student in the closet, Mr. Wilcox, and provided her with illegal substances.”

“Which is why I don’t need you high and blabbing about it later.”

“I only have two classes left. These things take forever to kick in.”

He hums skeptically, but the bell rings, cutting him off. Feeling lighter than I have in days, I push up on my toes and kiss him sweetly on the mouth.

“Thanks,” I say.

“For the cookie?” He licks his lips, presumably tasting the sugary chocolate.

“For the cookie, and the amazing sex, and,” I