I wrinkle my nose. “It smells like my grandmother’s basement. Are you taking me to an underground murder room or something?”
He laughs, voice smooth and dark in my ear. “Or something.”
Trust, I keep chanting. Trust, trust, trust.
I hear the sound of a heavy door opening and he guides me over a threshold. This room is warmer, less musty. “Keep that blindfold on for one more second, okay?”
“Okay.”
Butterflies fill my stomach as I hear him moving around the room. My senses are heightened, and I detect the sound of a match being struck, the scent of sulfur following close behind. I wrap my arms around my body, feeling self-conscious, like maybe his eyes are on me right now, watching. Anything could be going on here. Maybe we aren’t even alone. Maybe this is part of an elaborate prank. To be fair, Bass had caught me up in a prank once already tonight.
“All done,” he says, suddenly in front of me. I feel his fingers brush my cheeks, and he pushes up the shirt. The first thing I see is his handsome face and brilliant blue eyes, but I look past him, into the room. It’s small and cramped. Candles flicker around the space, giving it a shadowy glow. The ceilings are low, and the back wall is covered with various Preston memorabilia. Some of it looks pretty old. I can’t decide if the ambiance is romantic or eerie, until he takes my face in his hands and kisses me.
Okay, then.
Definitely romantic.
“Are you going to get in trouble for bringing me down here? I mean, we could have gone back to your room.”
He shrugs, pressing a slow, sucking peck to the corner of my lips. “What kind of Devil would I be if I didn’t break a few rules?” His fingers move to unzip my jacket, the sound loud in the quiet room. I don’t hesitate to push his off his shoulders, watching as his arms shake it off. “My room’s too far away, anyway.” A kiss to my jaw. “Too many people.” A kiss to my lips. “Want to concentrate.”
His hands return to me instantly, growing more insistent and greedier than usual, and I’m grateful for it. I always feel him holding back, being careful, even though I can sense the whirlwind happening beneath the surface. It’s the same focused chaos I feel for him, like I need to grab hold of whatever I can, keep him close.
Now, he deepens the kiss, a hand coming down to palm my backside as the other threads into my hair, pulling me closer. He swallows my surprised moan, taking a hard handful of my ass and grinding into my hip.
“Too rough?” he gruffly asks, and I remember that conversation I had with Georgia, nervous over him being rough, too selfish and physical and mean. I shake my head, wondering how I could have ever been afraid of this. Of his hands being too needy, too determined. Of being something he wants badly enough that he is being a bit rough.
There’s nothing scary about it.
His arm slides behind my back and he lifts me, carrying me across the room to a worn leather couch in the corner. Anticipation blooms in my stomach, a mixture of worry over how far he wants to go, and the deep, building understanding of how far I’m willing to let him take it.
Sebastian wants sex and has never been shy about it. I can’t even count how many times he’s asked, alluded, insinuated. There’s a part of me that knows I’d say yes if he asked right now, but that same part also knows how terrified I’d feel. He wants sex. He wants to fuck me. He wants it so bad that he even has the good grace to not seem annoyingly impatient about me shutting him down all the time.
But maybe that’s the end of the line.
Maybe, once he finally gets it, the shine will wear off. Maybe then he’ll see me for what I am. Mediocre, at best. A lost, angry girl with more issues than National Geographic. A burden, a hassle. Nothing really special. Something already conquered. Unexciting, unimpressive.
Like this, when he hasn’t had it yet, he just looks captivated. He pushes me down on the couch, laying me back on the cool, slick surface. Somehow, he manages to get my shirt off and kick his shoes to the floor before climbing between my legs. Despite the hungry kisses and greedy touches, this isn’t the wild, impulsive Sebastian I’ve come to know. This one is calm and collected—determined—eyes drinking me in like a prize, something to be slowly savored.
He grazes his fingertips over my lace-covered breast. “Did you know your tits are absolutely perfect?” he asks, palming them. “Like, they fit absolutely perfectly in my hands. Not too big, not too little.” I don’t reply beyond a hitch of breath as I arch into his hands. I can’t, because it feels so good.
I lean my head back against the padded arm of the couch, overwhelmed by his touch. He presses his face in my cleavage, burying himself in my flesh, then yanks at the cup of my bra, tugging it down so my breast spills out. He squeezes them together, and I feel the heat of his mouth—his tongue—as it licks between them and then latches around a nipple, sucking and tonguing the peak.
Needing to feel him, I push resolutely against the hem of his shirt, seeking the heat of his skin. He rears back and reaches behind his neck, yanking his shirt over his head.
Fucking hell.
Talk about perfection.
Bass’s upper body looks carved from stone, a conglomeration of fine genetics and hard work. I run my hand up his abdomen, over his chest, and then lurch up to kiss the Devil symbol inked there. A big piece of Sebastian, one I didn’t fully understand until the game and the stairway and right now, clicks into place. This is why he walks around like he owns the place. This is why his classmates love him. This is why he gets away with murder.
He’s Preston royalty.
I look up into his face and see that he’s watching me closely. “Thank you for bringing me down here,” I say quietly. “I know it’s a big risk.”
His lips are a bright, vivid pink, eyes darkening as he holds my stare. “The first initiation into the Devils,” he begins, propping himself up with a hand beside my head, on the arm of the couch. The other hand glides over my chest, across one breast, down to my ribs. “We had to tell our worst sin.” His fingertips climb back up, eyes flicking down to watch its ascent. “It was recorded, so that if any of us spilled the secret, the people in charge would leak it.”
My stomach sinks, even as I surge into his touch. “Mutually assured destruction.”
He nods, blond hair falling into his face. “Do you know what mine was?” I shake my head, sucking in a slow breath when he bends, pressing a lingering kiss to my jaw. “You.” His fingers replace his lips, blue eyes boring into mine. “This. What I did that night.”
My stomach sinks even further, but this time it’s a bittersweet sort of ache. “Sebastian,” I say, reaching up to cup his cheek.
But his jaw just tightens as he says, “I don’t want to have any secrets between us, Sugar. I want you to trust me.”
I run a thumb over his cheek, nodding in understanding. “I do.”
“Good.” His tongue darts between his lips and he places a hand on my lower stomach, pushing me back against the cushions. “Do you trust me enough to make you feel good?” His fingers curl around the waistband of my leggings and his eyebrow raises. “I know you hate it when I do shit for you, but I really, really want to do this. Just let me…” He seems at a loss for words for a moment, lips forming around an aborted reply. “Just let me show you. Please?”