Touched by the devil, p.50
Touched by the Devil, page 50
part #3 of Boys of Preston Prep Series
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Afterword
GUYS!
Whew, things got tense for a minute, but if there’s one thing about me and Samantha. We may rip everyone to shreds but we will do out best to patch everyone back up at the end.
Thank you for taking this journey with us. When we started Preston Prep it was a one shot with Hamilton and Gwen. The world exploded with the rest of the Devils insisting on telling their own stories.
Special thanks to the readers on our ARC team, Angel’s Antics, Lisa for her patient Beta reading and VC Edits! Sam, as always killed it with the cover.
See you next book! Things are about to get rough.
Angel
Thanks so much for reading our self-indulgent angst porn! Big thanks to Angel for dealing with my constant overthinking and 3am manic emails that made almost no sense. And to my Discord nonnies for always being solid and listening to my arguments with myself. And Lisa, who is the best cheerleader. And to my husband, who stood behind me while I wrote the last chapter and acted as such a convincing cutman that I was able to crush it.
Sam
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Have you read the other books in the Preston Prep Series? Each is a standalone in a larger series.
Devil May Care
A Deal with the Devil
And don’t miss out on book 4, Devil Incarnate, coming in 2020! Read on for a sneak peek!
I look into the camera, testing a crooked smile before clicking the button. I lower my phone to assess the picture, deciding that it’s garbage. I try another, this one with my cleavage in the shot. Oh, yeah. That’s definitely it.
I add a caption:
Getting ready to crush these lame PhysEd credits. Should I do swim, bball, or track?
#PrestonStrong #killmenow #whyaretheserequiredcredits #SwimDevils #BallerDevils #RunningDevils
The bench in front of the gym is nice. It’s a warm day for March—warm enough that I’ve abandoned my sweater in favor of undoing a few buttons on my uniform. I get a couple instant responses from people who don’t even go here, so I’m scrolling down my ChattySnap when a group of people walk by.
I look up, realizing who it is.
It’s The Devils, capital T, capital D.
They ignore me, of course. As they should. I’m just a freshman, and they’re all juniors. Well, not just juniors. They’re some of the most popular people in school. Athletic. Smart. Rich.
Just then, one of them makes eye contact with me. Heston Wilcox. Oh, god. He’s so ridiculously handsome that my heart instantly starts pitter-pattering. It beats even harder when his steps falter, slowing.
“Hey, you’re Georgia, right?” he asks.
I nod, holding back an inner, girlish, squeal at the fact he knows my name. My name! “Uh, yeah. Hi!” I feel a little cringe at the excitement in my voice, but he just walks back a step, facing me.
Heston’s lips tilt into a wry smirk. “You busy tonight?”
I feel a hot blush creep up my cheeks. “Er… me?” A couple of his friends wait nearby, and my eyes dart over. They’re all Devils. Hamilton Bates, Ansel Davenport, Emory Hall. There’s a girl tucked under Hamilton’s arm. Her name is Campbell, but I’m not sure if that’s a first or last lame.
“Yes, you,” he says with a little laugh, amusement dancing in this ocean blue eyes.
I push my shoulders back, trying to adopt a façade of perfect cool. “No, I’m not busy tonight.”
He lifts his chin. “I’m having a party. You should come.”
Holy shit! Heston Wilcox is inviting me to a party! I stammer out, “To your house?”
“Yep.”
Blush deepening, I admit, “I don’t have a ride.”
He glances over at the guys, eyes zeroed in. “Campbell can give you a ride. Isn’t that right, Cam?”
Campbell scowls, obviously not pleased at someone telling her what to do, but Hamilton leans down and whispers something into her ear. Whatever he says is enough to smooth her expression. She gives me a look and calls out, “Meet me by the parking lot at eight.”
“S-sure,” I stutter, trying to look casual as I cross my legs. “Yeah. Sounds great.”
They walk off, just like that—as if Heston Wilcox hadn’t just socially anointed me.
*
The ride with Campbell is awkward. I try to strike up a conversation three times, but it falls flat. She barely answers me. I give up, spending the rest of the drive staring at my phone, full of excited nerves. I’ve been to parties before, but nothing like one thrown by the Devils.
And definitely nowhere like the Wilcox Compound, which is what everyone jokingly tags it as on social media. This place is insane.
When we arrive, Campbell all but leaves me to scurry after her in my heels. About the only thing that makes me feel a little less like an out of place loser is the way Heston looks at me when his eyes find me.
He smiles. “Hey. You made it.”
Breathlessly, I say, “Yeah. Hi.”
His eyes have that little gloss to them, like maybe he’s already a bit buzzed off something. I don’t blink an eye when he hands me a beer, a hand landing on my lower back to lead me into a room with a billiard table.
We spend a long time like that, him leading me around the party, talking to people here and there—people I know of, but don’t actually know. None of them really pay attention to me, but sometimes, Heston will bend down to say something into my ear, like, “You have nice legs,” or, “See that guy over there? That’s Carl. He can get you anything you want,” or, “Want another drink?” Every time he does, I get a small shiver, and the hand on resting on the small of my back rubs a little, like he knows.
I wasn’t totally expecting it, so it’s surprising to find that I’m definitely the girl on his arm for the night. The other girls seem surprised at the way he keeps me at his side too, throwing me the occasional confused or jealous glance. Even when he starts up a game of pool with his boys, he still returns to me, leaning in to talk some whispered smack about Ansel’s form.
Never one to be bashful about these things, when the game winds to a close, I play it up, straining to give him a kiss on his cheek for good luck.
When he sinks the eight ball, his eyes find mine, mouth slanting into a wicked grin.
It’s such a thrill. Heston isn’t just good looking and popular. He’s a Devil. He’s one of the Four Horsemen of the school. He and the other guys have reputations beyond being smart and athletic. The Devils have impossible standards. Each one is rumored to have a ‘test’ girlfriends are supposed to pass to even be with them. Passing a test, getting ‘marked’ by one of them, is the fastest way to the top of the social ladder.
But that’s not why I’m here. I don’t really care about status. I’ve had my eye on him for a while—there’s something magnetizing about him. Dangerous. Sexy. I’ve heard the rumors about his cock and I’m positively dying to give it a spin.
Sometimes you see the big, life-altering events barreling like a freight train down the track. Other times it happens in a blink, no warning sound, no flashing light, no barricades keeping you off the tracks.
I should know this is one of them, but it’s hard to think when his lips are so warm, tasting bitter-sweet like beer when he kisses me, right in front of everyone. It’s impossible when he whispers in my ear, “You’re so pretty. Want to go upstairs?” And I’m too far gone by the time I’m up in his room, taking in the boyness of everything; the scent of his body spray, the box of condoms on his dresser, the grinning Devil on the flag hanging over his messy, unmade, bed.
“Do you live out here by yourself?” I ask, chills running down my spine from the feel of his lips on my neck. “Not in the main house?”
“I like how it’s quiet,” he answers, voice deep and smooth. “Private.”
It’s not quiet now—well, not downstairs. Down there, the party is in full swing; alcohol, skinny dipping, loud music. The bass vibrates through the guest cottage walls, shaking the dresser mirror with every thump and thud. It’s a crazy party, one made even crazier by the fact I was invited by Heston Wilcox himself.
He crosses the room and stops in front of his desk, fussing with a laptop. Music streams through the speakers, covering up the rowdy rap from downstairs. The curve of his shoulders, the way he moves—sure and masculine—makes something low in my belly spark.
I know how it is for guys. They have to flirt and put on a bunch of pretense to get into a girl’s pants. I’ve seen the games.
I’m not here to play.
I know what I want and I know how to get it. No frills, no bullshit. I want on Heston’s dick, like ten minutes ago, and I’m not about to make him work for it.
I take off my sweater and take a quick glance in the mirror to adjust my purple lace bra. The bra makes my tits look fantastic, probably my best feature. Guys are super into them and I know it.
When Heston turns back to me, he blinks once, slow and long, as he takes me in.
My stomach flips at the intensity of his gaze. “It seems so grown-up to be out here alone. No parents, free to do whatever you want.” I watch as his fingers tug at the zipper on his hoodie, and he shrugs it off, tossing it on the back of a chair. Next he removes his shirt and I’m treated to his lean and long body. The perfect swimmer’s physique. “It’s cool that you can have parties like this, even though you’re only a junior in high school, and no one cares. My dad is pretty strict—"
His mouth is on mine, cutting me off, tongue pushing through my lips. His fingers move quickly, confidently, under my bra strap. “Fuck, you’re stacked,” he says eyeing my tits hungrily. He’s right. My tits are big. He circles my nipple with his fingers, sending a tremor between my legs. He pinches it and grins. “You like that?”
Electricity zings through my body. Pain and pleasure. I arch back against it. “I do.”
“I heard you like it dirty,” he says, biting on my earlobe.
I’m distracted by his upper body. The hard lines of his chest and abs. I parse his words and look up, feeling dazed. “What?”
“I heard you like it dirty and hard,” he says, kissing me, lips rough against mine. One hand circles my waist, thumb digging into my flesh while the other squeezes my breast.
“Who told you that?” I ask, reaching for the button on his jeans. I unzip his pants and pull his cock out. I just about die when I get my hands on him, a slow heat building between my legs. He’s long and thick. Big like the rumors. Warm and ready.
His hips buck forward, pushing it into my palm. He shrugs at my question and gives me a smirk. “Think you can take that?”
I open my mouth to answer, to tell him that I’m not a virgin and I’m ready to do this, but he kisses me again, harder this time, using his body to angle me to the bed. I try to keep up with his kisses, with his warm tongue, and when the back of my knees hit the mattress, I run my hands down his chest, hoping to slow him down. This isn’t like Reilly from Spanish, or Trevor from The Nerd, or Lance from my parents’ Christmas party. Being with a guy like Heston is something I want to savor.
“You’re so sexy,” I tell him, kissing along his shoulders.
He cups my face in his hands and grins down at me, a twinkle in his eye. In that moment, I feel like I’m the only girl he sees. The only one he wants. I feel special. His thumb runs down my cheek, and he bends to kiss me. Sparks ignite across my body, down my limbs, to my fingers and toes. His hand runs down to the hem of my skirt and then back up, fingers twisting tight in my panties. When the kiss breaks, I look at him once again.
“You want this, right?”
“Yes,” I admit, but as I say it something feels… off. It’s the change in his expression. It’s the feel of my panties digging into my sides. It’s the dark glaze in his eye that tells me I’m not entirely sure what it is I’m agreeing to.
“Good.” He moves faster than I can blink, using his size, power, and athleticism against me. He pushes me back on the bed and before I can bounce, he’s on top of me, yanking my panties down my thighs in a sharp motion. His cock presses into me, hard and intimidating. He shifts and thrusts a finger inside, making me gasp. “Jesus you’re tight. Sure you’re not a virgin? Is Halloway a liar?”
I blink, trying to follow his words while he fucks me with his finger. John Halloway? We’d hooked up a few times over the summer. I’d gone down on him behind the tennis courts at the club and let him fuck me at the Fourth of July party. Did he say something to Heston?
“I’m not a virgin,” I gasp out, trying to get into the rhythm. Heston moves fast, hard. It’s a challenge to keep up. I sit up to meet him, to find his mouth. He withdraws his finger and plants a hand right into the middle of my chest, shoving me back down flat. He waits for a beat, glancing over to the laptop. From this angle, he’s like a magnificent animal, muscle stretched tight, corded and perfected. I reach for his cock, stroking it with my fingers. He looks down on me, his expression shuttered, and falls forward, both hands cinched roughly around my wrists. I grimace but spread my legs, giving him access.
This isn’t quite like Reilly, or Lance, or Trevor, or even Josh, who fucked me fast and hard in the coat closet. There’s this spark in Heston’s eye, a strange tightness at the corners of his jaw. He’s just excited, I think—by me—but a dark shadow flickers across his face, and a chill settles in my belly. It intensifies when his grip grows tighter and I say, “Wait, can you—”
His hand loosens, but not to release me. It’s just enough to gain leverage so that he can flip me on my stomach. The heavy weight of his hand presses on my lower back and I twist my head to the side. “Heston, I—” but the air stalls in my lungs, pushed out by the weight of his hand around my neck, curling around my throat. Over the music, I hear the tear of foil and the sound of him rolling the rubber down. My heartbeat is like thunder now, but I can’t untangle the threads of fear and arousal long enough to decide which wins. I squirm against his hold, and the thing is, I’ve been with a few guys by now. I’ve been with the sweet ones and the rough ones. The clumsy ones and the experienced ones. Generally, I’m down to try every flavor.
Absolutely nothing has made me as wet as I am right this second.
A moment later, fingers dig into my hip, lifting me up, and he enters me fast and hard, the sound of our flesh coming together a deafening slap.
It strikes me then what that tight, dark shadow on his face reminds me of.
Like someone who wants to hurt me.
I close my eyes and let him.
Afterwards, when we’re pulling our clothes, he looks different again. Relaxed, calm. Like everything is normal, totally casual. I try my best to mirror this, taking my cues from the way he moves languorously around his room, pulling on a clean shirt, even though there’s a lump wedged in the back of my throat.
He says goodbye with a two-fingered wave, goes back to join the party, and barely looks at me again the rest of the night.
An hour later, I’m back in Campbell’s car. It’s quiet again. I don’t try to make small talk this time, instead staring out the window at the passing streetlights, wondering what this knot is that’s taken residence in my chest.
It was just sex.
Truthfully, I don’t even really mind that he blew me off after. That’s what guys do. If they want some more, then they’ll start being nice again, paying me attention. I’m used to it. Probably better off anyway, because boyfriends are just drama and a long stretch of same-same boring.
It was just… not the kind of sex I’m used to. Hot, but also cold. It felt good, but also hurt. It was nice, but also mean. Savage. Scary. Heston’s a strong guy—a lot stronger than me. Being at his mercy like that—being hurt like that—should have been repulsive and terrifying, and in some ways, it was.
Mostly, it was the best sex I’ve ever had.
My cheeks burn with shame, because I might be young, and maybe I’ve only slept with a few guys, but I’m pretty sure that’s not what sex is supposed to be—even casual hookups at parties with older guys. I already hear whisper behind my back at school, that I’m easy. What would people say if they knew that I liked… that?
From beside me, Campbell lets out this long sigh. “Are you, like… okay, or whatever?”
I turn to her, blinking in surprise. “Yeah.”
“Heston didn’t do anything to you, did he?” Her gaze slides over to me. “Something you didn’t want? You’re not drunk or stoned?”
“I’m not drunk,” I assure her. I had a beer, but it was gross and I ended up ditching it halfway through. “And Heston didn’t…” I swallow, feeling a moment of panic that maybe she knows. Maybe she’s looking at me like that because she’s perfectly aware that I’m some kind of sexual freak. Meekly, I finish, “Everything’s fine.”
Everything’s fine.
*
“Damn,” Emory Hall says, leaning over Ansel’s shoulder. They’re sitting at their little lunch table, looking at Ansel’s phone. I walk by, wedged between trying to catch Heston’s eye and pretending like I don’t care if he looks at me at all. It’s been a month since the party, and although he hasn’t outright rejected me, he also doesn’t seem like he wants to come back for more.
In any case, I certainly never got an invite to sit at the table or any of the perks the Playthings get. I’d nearly talked myself into believing it’d been his ‘test’, but if it had been, then I must have passed.
I must have.
“God, he’s just drilling her,” Carlton says, holding up his own phone. Hamilton glances over and then away with a bored look. Xavier sits with his arm around Skylar Adams—that’s new—who wrinkles her nose in distaste.
