Touched by the devil, p.27
Touched by the Devil, page 27
part #3 of Boys of Preston Prep Series
Knock Knock
My heart’s hammering from both the running and the anticipation. Fighting with Sugar isn’t something I wanted to do today, but I brace myself in case I’ve misread the flirtatious nature of the texts. I’m not crazy, right? That was flirting. No way that wasn’t flirting!
The door swings open and Sugar stands there with her dark eyeliner and sexy mouth.
The instant I say, “I heard someone down here needed a broody bastard to protect them,” I regret them, because Jesus Christ, Bass, where did all your fucking game go? But she lunges forward and grabs me by the jacket, pulling me down for a searing kiss.
It takes me by surprise, but not for long. I kick the door closed with my foot and thread my fingers in her hair, cupping the sides of her head. I do my best to be gentle, but it’s hard with her body pressed all up against mine. I’ve been hard for a good sixteen hours. There’s no telling my dick to calm down.
“I may have overreacted this morning,” she says between kisses, “about the laptop.”
“And you’re apologizing by bringing me to your lair to seduce me?” I duck down to suck a wet, open-mouthed kiss to her warm throat. “This is definitely not going to teach me a lesson about not buying you gifts.”
My dick strains painfully and I take a deep breath. Sugar’s initiated things before and I’ve tried my best to encourage her to take the lead, but it’s getting so fucking hard to rein things in. I’ve never spent this much time trying to get into a girl’s pants. It usually comes easy, freely. This whole plan to sit back and wait for her to want it is fucking killing me.
To my relief, she takes a step back, her hazel eyes raking up and down my body. She places her hands on my chest, then slides them up to my shoulders and pushes my jacket off.
I lean my back against the door and take a chance.
I cup her neck, stroking my thumb against her jaw. She blinks up at me, mouth red, but doesn’t flinch away like she had the other times. Maybe it’s working, this whole idea of random, small, regular touches. Before it has the chance to evolve into something bad, I trail my hand down her chain, reaching for the dog tags and rubbing the raised letters. “Not that I’m complaining, but want to tell me what’s going on?”
She looks up with wide, clear eyes. “Yesterday was a really big deal for me, Bass. I’m not sure you get it, because you probably do shit like that all the time, but—”
“I’ve never done anything like that,” I cut in, needing her to know.
She rolls her eyes. “You’ve fingered a girl before. That wasn’t the work of a novice.”
I sweep her hair back, arguing, “I’ve never done it just for her, just because I wanted to make her feel good. I’ve never taken my time like that. Pretty sure I’ve never done anything with a girl and not busted a nut.” I give her a significant look. “And definitely never in the backseat of my car.”
Her mouth curls into a grin that’s probably a shade shier than she’d admit to. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. Think of the upholstery.” I laugh when she playfully pushes my shoulder. “Is this your way of trying to thank me for completely rocking your world?”
She scoffs. “You’re so pathologically full of yourself, it’s impossible to thank you for anything without feeling annoyed about it, but basically? Yes.” She does look annoyed, but beneath that low brow and slanted mouth, there’s also something else. “The point is, the laptop. You’ve already given me a lot, Bass. Too much.”
I drop my head down and graze my nose over the shell of her ear. “I told you, giving is in my nature. It’s not a big deal for me.”
“Well, it is a big deal for me.” Her hands are now flat on my stomach. “And I’d just feel better if things weren’t so one-sided.”
I feel my eyebrow inch up my forehead. I wonder if she can tell how much she helps me. Sure, I’m a little—okay, a lot—sexually frustrated, but for the first time in my life I’m being forced to slow down a little bit, and it’s not the worst thing in the world. Actually, the rewards are pretty fucking sweet.
“Sugar,” I start, trying to come up with the words to explain all that to her without looking like a pussy, “if this is about you feeling like you owe me something, then you’re dead fucking wrong.”
“Not owe,” she clarifies. “Just… even. Meeting you in the middle. You made an effort—you made me feel good—and I want you to give me the chance to do the same. I don’t know how it’ll shake out, but you can be chill. I know that now. You can be—”
I must suck in every atom of air to say, “Fuck yes, so chill,” and I’d probably be halfway out of my pants by now, but I’m kissing her instead. She makes a small, surprised sound into my mouth, but it doesn’t sound disagreeable. Going by the way she kisses me back, deep and breathless, she’s all for it.
I reach out to curl a hand around her hip, braced for her to twist away, leaving my grip loose. But she doesn’t. I wonder if she’s realized yet that it’s easier when we’re like this, licking into each other’s mouths, bodies pressed close and hot, buzzing with the promise of pleasure and the frustration of not getting it fast enough. She doesn’t flinch away like she does in the halls.
But I wouldn’t be me if I didn’t push it.
I drag a hand up the arm she has wound around my neck, gently tugging her wrist away. She pauses when I press her hand to the front of my pants, but doesn’t pull away.
She squeezes.
“Oh, fuck,” I sigh, letting my head fall back against the wall. “Fuck, I’ve been hard forever.”
Her mouth is hot against my throat, voice low as she rubs my dick. “What do you want? The door locks from inside. No one’s going to come in.”
The way she’s palming my cock has my brain too focused on the thought of a tight, wet hole to think twice about saying, “I want to fuck you.”
Luckily, she takes this in stride. “We’re not fucking in the photo lab, Bass.” Right. Not realistic. I look down, but she’s watching her hand curl around the tent in my pants, mouth parted as it strokes up and down. “I could do this.”
“Yeah.” Fuck yeah, she could. Even a hasty hand job through my pants would probably make me bust the best nut I’ve ever had. But, “Can you suck me off?” I’ll probably cringe about it later, but right now, I don’t even give a damn.
She gives me a wry look, and I’m wondering if a blow job is unrealistic like fucking. My brain isn’t exactly operating at peak capacity. But she just says, “Hey, tone down the romance, Nicholas Sparks. I’m a sure thing.”
“Uh,” I say stupidly, “sorry, I just meant, if you wanted to.”
She doesn’t look upset, though. If anything, she looks almost as horny as I feel, teeth sinking into that plump bottom lip as her fingers move up my shirt. She toys with the hair below my navel, dropping her eyes to watch.
“Take off your shirt and maybe I’ll think about it.”
I’ve never gotten out of a shirt so fast in my fucking life.
“Jesus,” she says, reaching up to press her palms against my bare chest. “You’ve got such a nice body.” I’m not sure why she says it like that—like me being ripped is the source of her greatest annoyance—but the way she sweeps her hand down my abs tells me it’s anything but.
“Did this hurt?” she asks, running her tongue over my collarbone tattoo in a way that makes my dick twitch angrily.
“Nah,” I answer, winding my hand into her thick, dark hair.
She hums against my skin, fingers dipping teasingly beneath my waistband. “Really?”
“No,” I snort. “Of course it hurt. Like hell.”
Tension coils in my lower belly and it only tightens further when she bends, placing hot kisses on my stomach. I hiss, feeling my abdomen cave. The sound forces her to look up with those big hazel eyes, and I touch her cheek. I realize that coming in my pants wouldn’t be the worst thing to happen to me that day, but god, having my cock in her mouth? Having those pink, puffy lips around me as I come? I’m this close to begging for it.
Instead, I just make a little suggestion.
A suggestion in the form of two heavy hands on her shoulders, pushing her to her knees in front of me.
She gives me a long-suffering look. “With smooth moves like that, it’s a wonder you get any action at all.”
“Hey, that’s some of my best work.”
The impulsivity flares and I take her hands with mine, shifting them to the button on my pants. She holds my gaze as we thumb it open together, waiting until we’ve worked my pants down my thighs to shift her attention to my dick, hard and straining toward her.
I suck in a loud gasp when she touches me for the first time. Her palm is soft, her fingertips warm. Like she’d done with me, I take the lead, stroking her hand up and down the shaft, rolling her thumb over the tip, showing her what I like. Her fingers dip down to my balls and I shudder out a groan.
“Fuck.” I look down at her kneeling on my bunched-up letterman jacket. She’s staring at my throbbing cock like she’s sizing it up, wondering if she should take a go at it. I lift her chin so I can see her face—her mouth—those lips. The plea is out of my mouth before I can reconsider, “Please?”
She continues to run her hand up and down my length, toying with the skin, applying pressure. Her cheeks bloom a delicate, vivid pink. “I will, I just haven’t ever—”
“There’s no wrong way, Sugar,” I grind out, shoulders pressed against the door for support. I lay my hand on the back of her head, encouraging her in the form of a polite nudge. “Use your tongue, not your teeth.” My dick jerks with an eager twitch, hips jutting forward, and she bats my cock away, pulling a face. “What?”
“You.” She grabs me by the base, and I exhale. “Even your cock is pushy and entitled.”
“You have no fucking idea,” I mutter, pulling back and plunging forward. The tip grazes her lips, leaving a trail of sticky pre-cum. Her tongue darts out and licks it, making my balls seize. I reach down and thumb at her bottom lip. “Come on, I’ll go easy.”
Those lips create a circle and slowly I push inside, watching closely as she takes me in. Our gaze meets and I see the spark of something flicker inside her eyes. When she bobs her head up and down once, running her tongue up and down my length, I know sure as hell it isn’t fear. It’s the glimmer of desire.
It’s hard not to just fuck her mouth, especially as I watch my dick disappear and reappear with her slow, teasing rhythm. Even though she’s never done it before, she isn’t shy about meeting my eyes when she pulls back, and she isn’t reluctant when she takes me back in, letting me hit the back of her tongue.
There’s already a fine tremor going through my thighs as she works me, a hand curled firmly around my base. Fuck, her mouth is hot, even hotter when she just… twists a little, creating the sweetest drag up my cock. I stroke a hand over her hair, careful, easy. No girl I’ve ever met has liked being force-fed my dick, and Sugar will probably hang me by the balls if I tried. Instead, I just thread my fingers into her hair and let it rest there against her head, feeling the way she surges and retreats.
She gets a little bolder as she sucks me, learning what makes me groan, what makes my chest expand with a shaky inhale, what makes my legs tremble. She moans around a mouthful of my dick and I spit a sharp, “Fuck,” as I watch, reaching down to graze a thumb over the corner of her full mouth.
She blinks her dark eyes up at me, pupils blown wide, and a sudden stream of words spills from my mouth.
“So goddamn gorgeous, Sugar. I think about this all the time—being with you, making you look at me like that. You’re wet for this, aren’t you?” Another moan around my dick makes me shudder. “You’ll let me finger you again, right? You were so hot last night, letting me inside you like that. One of these days, I’m going to fuck you so good.”
She does this thing where she pulls back, tonguing at the head of my dick while her hand pumps me, and my toes start curling with the way my balls draw up.
“You need me to pull out?” I ask, trying to keep my voice even and completely failing. Her eyes flick up to mine, blinking once before she sinks back down on my dick. No, of course not. Sugar might have reservations about sex, but it’s about touch, not this—not about getting dirty and taking.
Still, when my belly begins tensing with the impending wave of sweet, sharp relief, I bite out a low, “It’s coming.”
She makes a low, rough sound in response, and it sends me careening right over the edge. I have to yank my hands away from her and shove them safely behind my head, fisting into my own hair to make sure I don’t do it to her. It hits me like a sledgehammer, an animalistic sound being ripped from my chest as my dick starts pulsing hot waves of cum between her slick lips.
My vision goes white, just for a moment, and I think I must rip out some of my own hair when she sucks it right from my dick, mid-nut. I watch, slack-jawed and breathless as she lets my spent dick slide from her mouth.
I pant out a weak, “Damn, girl,” and she looks up at me, blank-faced. Then, she swallows. “Holy shit, you just—” She just fucking kills me.
When she finally speaks, her voice is rough. “Your jizz tastes vile.”
“Please, my jizz tastes like fucking sunshine.” I flap a hand at the sink in the corner. “You could have spit it out.”
“I needed a time-efficient solution,” she says dryly, but I’m not dumb here. I can see the way her hips kind of… squirm.
“Let me finger you again.” My dick is completely spent, but it still twitches at the thought of it.
She doesn’t miss it, curving an eyebrow at my cock. “And get that thing all revved up again? Let’s give him a break.”
I protest, “But—” and she levels me with a look.
“This was for you. Later, okay?”
Later. Something to look forward to. I can live with that.
Probably.
Coming down off that high takes longer than I’d expect and I’m still sweaty and breathing hard when I pull her off her knees. I tuck myself back in my shorts and straighten my pants. She doesn’t flinch when I run my fingers through her hair, setting back to rights all the places I’d ruffled up.
“I have an idea.”
“I’m sure you do,” she replies. “What kind of idea?”
“I’ll keep buying you expensive things and you keep giving me blow jobs like that. It’s a completely acceptable trade.”
Her lip curls in half-hearted disdain. “You just described a hooker, Bass.”
“Hooker,” I shrug, “or girlfriend. Whichever one, I want it on the regular. For real.”
She looks up at me, forehead creased. “Girlfriend? I thought Sebastian Wilcox didn’t do girlfriends.”
I clutch her dog tags, pulling her into the space between my legs. “Well maybe Sebastian Wilcox just found someone worth calling his girlfriend.”
Her eyes search mine, like she’s doing the long-division of it, wondering how those pieces fit together. Just fucking fine, I want to say. “In no universe would my boyfriend be someone who refers to himself in third person.”
I roll my eyes. “Don’t reject me. My fragile ego couldn’t handle it.”
“Your ego is about as fragile as a lead anvil.”
“True,” I concede. “Is this about the thing you said earlier, about needing romance? Because I could romance the absolute shit out of you, girl. Flowers, candy, switchblades, I can really do it up right.”
She groans, tipping forward to rest her forehead on my bare shoulder. “Oh god, that was basically like a challenge to you, wasn’t it?”
“Yep.” Cautiously, I wind my arms around her, leaving them loose around her hips. The way she stiffens tells me that this isn’t like before—it’s not one of those horny moments where it doesn’t bother her as much. This is a bigger touch, stronger than I’ve ever tried before. I give her room to pull away or shake me off.
Instead, she lets out this full-body shudder and presses closer. Even though her breath hitches, chest trembling against mine, she lets us freeze like that, and it’s not like she’s okay with it. I can tell she’s scared, that it’s doing something bad to her, to be held like this.
I try to pull away, but her hands fist into tight balls against my ribs. “Just wait,” she says, voice thin, but full of determination.
I don’t know how she works through it. In a perfect world, it’d be instant, because I’m me and she’s her, and we fit together easily, effortlessly.
Neither of us live in a world like that.
We live in a world where we have to fight, so that’s what we do. I fight against the impulse to tighten my arms—to take what I want, just because it should be mine—and she fights against whatever makes this so unbearable.
It must be ten minutes of us standing like that before her breath starts evening out. Even then, I still don’t move, shattering the silence every now and then with a heavy gulp, trying so hard not to fuck it all up. My muscles are screaming with the urge to fidget, to move, but I close my eyes and will them all to relax, to wait for her to finish the battle.
She turns her head to rest her warm cheek against my chest, and when I chance a look at her face, she looks tired.
“I think… yeah. I think I’m good.” Tired and relieved. “Thank you. For waiting. For letting me see.”
Still frozen in place, I ask, “See what?”
“If I could do this,” she says, sinking into my chest, “without feeling afraid.”
I take a chance, finally moving my arms around her more firmly. She doesn’t react beyond pressing closer. “It’s not the chore you seem to think it is.”
She lets out a long, shaky exhale, but I can tell this one isn’t about fear or exhaustion. Her eyes flutter closed when she says, “I could be your girlfriend.”
