Page 115 of Spearcrest Prince

“I thought so.”

Chapter 40

Le Lit

Anaïs

Sneakingthroughthesixthform boys’ building and into Sev’s room is a breathless, giggly ordeal, but the moment his door closes behind us, he’s on me.

He pins me to the door and kisses me with a hunger and desperation that takes my breath away. I grab his head and tilt my face against his, letting him deepen the kiss. I take his desire on his tongue, the metallic heat of it seeping into me.

His mouth moves hungrily from my mouth to my cheek, my jaw, my neck. His kisses are wet and hot and sensual, trailing heat and pleasure wherever they touch. He grips my waist, my hips, dragging me closer. My breath burns in my lungs.

I place both hands on his chest and shove him off me. He moves away with a ragged gasp.

His green eyes are dark with lust, shadowed by his ridiculous eyelashes. His hair’s a tousled mess, strands half-covering one eye. He looks feral and beautiful.

Being with him like this, in his room—on purpose, with the full knowledge of who we are, not in some mad, stolen moment, is more frightening and intense than anything we’ve ever done before.

It’s more frightening and intense than anything I’ve ever done.

For a second, we look at one another, our chests heaving, our eyes wide.

Then Sev hooks his hand into the front pocket of my painting overalls. He backs away slowly through his room, pulling me with him. The back of his knees hits the edge of his bed, and he drops back on the mattress, looking up at me from where he’s seated.

He drags me closer until I’m standing between his long legs, bathed by the burning heat of his presence.

With gentle movements, he unhooks the straps of my overalls. Underneath it, I’m wearing an old T-shirt over a triangle bra. Sev doesn’t take them off me. Instead, he pushes my overalls down, past my hips and down my legs. I step out of them, and he kicks the garment away.

He pulls me closer so that I’m standing right against the bed. I lay my hands on his shoulders, using him to balance.

With slow, deliberate movements, he lifts my T-shirt. He tilts his head, watching me. His expression is something I can’t describe: hunger and triumph and something bold, as if he’s daring me to stop him.

He reaches forward and presses his lips right underneath the band of my bra. I bite down on my lips, stopping the gasp that escapes when his warm mouth moves against the sensitive skin.

He trails a path of kisses down my belly, leaving a trail of burning warmth behind until he gets to the waistband of my skirt. The muscles of my stomach flutter underneath his lips, and he lets out a low hum of satisfaction.

Moving back, he runs his hands up my legs and waist, grabbing the hem of my T-shirt. He pulls it off me and tosses it away.

When I’m standing in nothing but my plain white underwear, he looks up at me.

“You have no idea how often I’ve thought about taking your clothes off,” he says hoarsely.

“Because you hate all my clothes so much?” I ask, trying to suppress a smirk.

“Because I want to look at your body—every part of it. Because I want to touch you and kiss you all over.” The usual dark humour and acerbic sarcasm are gone from his voice. He speaks earnestly, his words sounding like solemn vows. “I want to look at you, all of you, and make you shiver and squirm. I want to taste your skin and lick your pussy and feel the trembling of your thighs.”

“Sev,” I say, my breath short, my face full of flames.

He laughs and suddenly rises against me, enveloping me in his arms. He lowers me onto his bed, and I lie back, his blanket cold underneath my skin.

“Quoi, trésor?” he says, lowering his voice as he leans down to catch my lips in a soft kiss. “T’aimes pas ce que je dis? T’aimes pas mes mots cochons?”

I cover his mouth with my hands. “Arrête.”

He moves my hands away. His gestures are lazy and gentle. This isn’t Sev fighting me in the forest, or Sev rushed and desperate in the limousine. This is Sev, the prince, ruling his world of pleasure and flesh.

“Non.” His voice is clear and triumphant. He sounds more impetuous than ever. “Why should I stop? I know you like it. You like hearing the things I want to do to you. And I want you to tell me the things you want.”

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