I am not used to being cared for. I am not used to anyone wanting to. My jaw ticks, my agitation building. This damn place is messing with me.
“I want to take you home, away from here,” I blurt.
She hesitates, then says cautiously, “The castle is not good for you right now.”
The words scrape the inside of my skull the wrong way. My pulse spikes. The voices surge.
See? She doesn’t want to be alone with you. She wants to stay. There’s someone else.
I’m pacing. I can feel the chaos rising.
She sees it. She steps close and rests her palm over my heart, grounding me. That touch quiets the rising madness in a way nothing else does.
“Follow me,” she coos.
I hesitate, but I follow step.
We end up in a kitchen. She moves around the counters, gathering things, turning on the oven, reaching for flour and spices. I watch her.
I like watching her work for me.
A man appears in the doorway, some staff member retrieving supplies. He talks to her. She laughs. That laugh is too bright, too easy for him. I’ve never heard it. She saved it for him.
My jaw clenches. Something feral rolls through me. I walk over and grab him by the back of his shirt and throw him out of the kitchen. He hits the hall’s wall with a grunt. I slam the door shut and lock it.
Peighton startles, but I move.
My hands clear the counter with a sweep of my arm. Utensils clatter to the floor. A cloud of flour drops like snow. Her breath catches.
I step into her space, caging her between my arms.
“On your knees,” I say, dark and low.
She doesn’t hesitate, but sinks slowly, the dress she’s wearing pooling around her legs. Flour covers the floor. Her hands rest on my thighs as she looks up at me with wide, unsure eyes. But her pupils are blown. Her breathing fast.
She wants this...Fuck, I hope she wants this. Because I need her right now. I need this to stop.
I trace her jaw with my knuckle. Her lips part. I feel the madness pulse again, but it is a different kind of madness now. One aimed at her mouth.
She leans in, about to kiss my hand.
“No,” I murmur. “I want your mouth swallowing me.”
She blushes softly and that innocence tugs at the wild in me.
She reaches for my belt. I let her unbuckle it. I let her bare me in her hands. Her breath breaks as she feels what’s hers. I thread my fingers through her hair gently, then tug, guiding her closer, dying to fuck her throat — the thing every man on this campus wants to do.
“Open,” I murmur.
She does, holy and with such a damn beautiful gleam in her eyes.
Her lips wrap around me slowly, carefully. The warmth of her tongue makes me shudder. Her inexperience is still painfully evident. She tries to take more and chokes.
I smirk,lovingit.
I guide her rhythm with a soft, possessive grip in her silky hair. She moans quietly against me.
“Good, moyá devushka. Like that,” I exhale.
