Page 123 of Brutal Prince

My entire body’s vibrating from his touch. Skin stretched tight, breath coming hot and fast. He tastes so sweet, so good, but I can barely stand my attention being divided between his fingers and his mouth.

He abandons my mouth for a second, our air mingling.

“Come for me, my little virgin.”

And god, his wish is my command.

He slaps a hand over my mouth a second before an explosive climax crashes into me. My back arches off the chair, and he moves with me, thrusting his fingers hard and fast into my pussy as he ekes out a final shudder with his thumb on my clit.

Then his mouth is on mine, urging a soft mewl as he tastes me hard and deep. He strokes my pussy, first soft, and then harder.

“Again,” he whispers.

The fuck? There’s no way—

But then he’s inside me again, beckoning me with a finger. I burn and I ache, my core constricting in anticipation.

“Briar, please,” I mumble.

I can’t. Not again. Not like this. Because I know I’ll make a noise, something to attract attention. And then I’ll get suspended, never mind fucking detention, and Marigold will be gloating at me as she watches me pack up my shit—

There’s a loud clack-clack-clack from the projector less than a yard away from us.

I slam my thighs closed and yank away Briar’s hand, smoothing down my skirt all in one go.

I face forward with burning cheeks and flustered breath, blinking furiously to try and focus my gaze.

Denard glances over at us, but I guess in the dark it doesn’t look like anything suspicious was going on.

“See you tomorrow,” he says, addressing the class as a whole, before heading for the exit.

He flicks on the light as he leaves.

The students in front of us stand in a rush, chairs scraping back over the hardwood floor. One or two of them glance back at me, and I hastily drop my chin to my chest.

“Stay behind,” Briar murmurs in my ear.

Another command, but this one I refuse. I shoot to my feet, grab up my books, and rush for the exit. I knock into a few students on my way out, but I don’t bother looking back.

Halfway down to the second floor of Lavish Prep, I remember I’m not wearing any underwear.

Grabbing the hem of my skirt, I keep it flattened against my leg as I do my best to run down the stairs.

I barely make it to my car in time before tears flash, hot and torrid, down my face.

Clapping both hands over my eyes, I cry myself out, fervently hoping that no one’s bothered enough to look my way.

When I’m all petered out, I push hair out of my face, drag a hand over my nose, and let out a harsh breath.

Fuck this.

I grab the steering wheel with both hands, inhale steadily, and let out a long, slow breath through pursed lips.

Briar’s just digging himself deeper in this grave of his. All of this is anecdotal — the woods, the fence, the forest, Addy’s backyard, detention.

But it doesn’t have to be just my word against his. In this day and age, proof is but a cellphone camera away.

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