Page 131 of Cruel Academy (Princes of Ravenlake Academy 2)

So long as he doesn’t stop kissing me.

A door opens and softness envelops me as Caleb lays me back on the softest bed I’ve ever felt in my life.

Oddly, despite all the places we’ve had sex in Finn’s house, on a bed is not one of them. Something about having him on an actual mattress makes the whole thing feel more official.

And I suppose it is more official.

For the first time, Caleb and I don’t have any secrets—from each other or anyone else. We are perfectly ourselves and it makes everything so much better.

Caleb stops kissing me only long enough to unbutton my shorts and slide them down my legs. While he does that, I grab the hem of his shirt and yank it clumsily over his head.

Layer by layer, we strip down until there is nothing between us.

I slide my hand down his chest, through the strip of hair at the base of his stomach, and lower still until he curses in my ear as I stroke him.

“Fuck, Haley.” He bites my neck and growls. “How do you do it?”

I stroke him again, relishing in the way his eyes roll back and his lips part on an exhale. “Do what?”

Caleb reaches between us and yanks my hand away, pinning it roughly above my head. Then, he kisses a line from my neck downward, across my chest, eventually settling over my breast. His tongue swirls around my nipple before he sucks me into his mouth.

I arch my back to give him more access, and I’ve nearly forgotten the question when he releases my hand and drags his own slowly down my arm, both tickling and tantalizing me.

“Ruin me,” he whispers against my skin, his breath hot and heavy. “How do you ruin me every time?”

I hope the question isn’t one he actually wants an answer to because I’m still trying to work out the details myself.

I have no idea how I managed to end up rolling around in bed with Caleb Wilson, but as long as he is tasting every inch of my body, I don’t have any plans to jinx it.

He grabs a condom from the bedside table and rolls it on, but before he can hook his leg back over my hips, I sit up and direct him down onto the bed. Caleb doesn’t resist.

I smooth my hands down his chiseled chest, admiring the flat plane of his stomach, as I straddle him.

Then, taking a firm hold of him, I position myself over him, press him gently to my center, and then slide down.

It’s a slow, toe-curling descent. One that leaves us both breathless by the time our bodies are pressed together.

But I lift myself up and do it again.

And again.

And again.

“You feel so good,” I moan, propping myself up with my hands on his chest.

Caleb grabs my waist and begins thrusting upward, meeting me halfway until we are both desperate and needy for release.

When Caleb slips one of his hands to the front of my body, sliding it down between us to massage my center, my body spasms and lets go. It’s a flood I can’t contain, and I pulse around Caleb no more than once before he gives in to his release, as well.

I turn liquid, collapsing onto Caleb’s chest in a puddle, and he strokes his hand down my back and holds me for a long time.

Until our hearts slow to normal rhythms.

Until the light coming through the window blinds is bright moonlight rather than the gray glow of dusk.

Eventually, I kiss his chest and sit up.

“I am sorry, you know.”

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