The Envy of Idols (Rich Boys of Burberry Prep #3) - C.M. Stunich Page 0,88

I’ve never needed anyone before. My hips move against his hand until he’s cursing and pulling away, leaving me gasping and achy. I sit up on my elbows as Creed rises to his feet, panting.

“Condom?” he asks, and my cheeks flush. He stops then and looks at me, really looks at me. “That is, if that’s what you want.” He just stands there and stares at me, a beautiful shirtless aristocrat with the bone structure of a prince, and the haughty air of a king. That vicious mouth of his, equally good at insulting and kissing alike, turns up in a half-smile. “I’ve waited this long, and so have you. There’s no point in pushing through something that doesn’t feel right.”

“It feels amazing,” I whisper, feeling a pang of guilt.

What about the other guys? What about Zack, and the sweet, soft sadness he carries in that big, muscular body of his? What about Zayd’s confession in the library, and the shame he carried for a whole year? And then there’s Windsor and Tristan … I imagine sex doesn’t mean much to either of them. They’ve had enough of it, that’s for sure. No, I want something more from them. I want to be held, and cuddled, and touched. I want to be talked to, listened to … loved.

I need to see their vulnerability.

“This feels right.” I sit up and put my feet over the edge of the bed, nodding my head in the direction of my suitcase. “I have condoms in my bag.”

Creed cocks a blond brow.

“How? Why?”

I give him a look, my face flushed, my body on fire. An ardent storm swirls through me … aaaaand, I’m waxing poetic again. Ugh. But it’s so true.

“I’ve been having condoms thrown at me, shoved in my locker, and piled on my doorstep since first year started. I’m a virgin, not an idiot. I knew sex would happen eventually, so why throw away perfectly good condoms.”

“They might have holes poked in them,” Creed says, and my blood chills at the implication. That’s beyond bullying, that’s practically sexual assault.

“No, I only keep the ones in the sealed boxes,” I say, and he nods, bending down and unzipping my suitcase, pushing aside some embarrassing lacey pink panties until he finds what he’s looking for. As he stands back up and reaches down for the button on his slacks, I lean over and turn out the light.

Standing up, I almost stumble, my legs weak and shaky from all the new sensations.

Creed catches me by the elbow and pulls me into the curve of his left arm. With the right, he uses his long, beautiful fingers to slide the straps of my dress down until it falls into a glittery puddle near my feet. It’s dark in here, but the city lights catch just enough of a glow that I can see the outline of his beautiful face.

“Don’t prank me with this,” I whisper, feeling the slightest sting of tears. I’m strong now, but I don’t want to have to be strong through something like this. I want to lose myself in the moment, and then find myself again in Creed Cabot. That’s the whole point. That’s why I’ve waited until now, until seventeen. This is how and when and where I want to do this. “Don’t make a bet out of me, Cabot.”

“Never again,” he snarls, and there’s such a ferocity in his voice that I shiver. I think of the tattoo on the side of Zayd’s neck for the briefest of moments, and then Creed’s kissing me again. He undoes my bra with one hand and then helps me out of it. His hand relieves the heavy weight of my breast, palming it and kneading the soft flesh. His thumb grazes my nipple, and I tremble.

We find our way onto the bed, the sparkling lights of San Francisco limning our profiles as we kiss, and Creed pushes his pants down and out of the way. There’s a bit of an awkward fumble as we figure out the condom, and get it on, and then my panties are coming down, and I’m so short of breath I’m lightheaded.

Creed climbs on top of me, curling his fingers through mine and pinning them above my head.

“Last chance, Marnye,” he whispers, letting go of me with one hand and using the other to reach between us. I expect there to be a bit of trial and error, but Creed is competent, even in new endeavors. Holy crap, this