Page 50 of Cruel Academy (Princes of Ravenlake Academy 2)

Haley’s mouth is soft. Her lips are plump and warm and yielding. There is no hesitation in the way she responds to me. She goes fluid against my body. The nervous tension flows away as her form bends to mine.

Fuck, I know this is a mistake.

But that doesn’t mean I can stop.

It has been too long since I’ve felt release, and I’ve been thinking about Haley too much to not take this opportunity to find out if her skin is as soft as I’ve imagined.

To learn what my name would sound like on her lips, moaned in pleasure.

She stretches onto her toes, and my hands slide down the smooth line of her spine to slip beneath the elastic band of her leggings. Her body rolls against me. I groan at the contact, a shudder moving through my center.

Haley tastes like fruit and salt. I swirl my tongue into her mouth to taste her more deeply, and she responds in kind.

Her fingers curl into the hair at the back of my neck, drawing me down—deeper, closer.

“Caleb…” She whispers my name and turns her head, and I lose my hold on reality.

I’ve kissed so many girls.

It has never been like this before.

She isn’t fake-moaning into my mouth and writhing against me while fumbling with my zipper. Her fingers are gently exploring my hair and the back of my neck. Her lips are tentative and tasting, moving in earnest interest against mine.

She is savoring every second.

Ten minutes ago, I would’ve been perfectly fine with skipping all this foreplay bullshit. I said I didn’t want to hurt her, and that was mostly true, but not one hundred percent.

The truth is that I’ve spent way too many nights since she crash-landed in my world imagining her moaning with good pain beneath my touch.

I’ve imagined spanking her ass raw. Seizing her hair back to expose that delicate throat and gnawing at the pale skin there.

I’ve jerked off to the thought of her spread-eagled on her back as I drive into her again and again. It’s always rough in my mind’s eye—choking and biting and sweaty, desperate fucking.

Maybe violence is the only language I know how to speak.

But fuck, I want to speak it to her so badly.

I want to hear her speak it back.

That would be a huge fucking mistake. I know that. One taste would undo me.

Because I’d have to have another, and another, and another.

Until before I knew it there would be nothing else in the world that mattered more to me.

So I have to stay away from her. She’s a temptation I have to resist. A gateway drug to an insanely dangerous addiction.

Even me hating her and being cruel and cold to her the way I have been doing is too close to something like a relationship forming between us.

What we need is nada. Nothing. Zilch.

Not hate.

Not love.

Not sex.

Not fighting.

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