Home > Wicked Idol(5)

Wicked Idol(5)
Author: Becker Gray

But Iris wasn’t Clara. And something about that made this far hotter.

A loud bang downstairs startled us apart, just enough that she tore her now-plump and bruised lips from mine, but we still shared breath. The startle wasn’t enough for me to let her go though. I still held the firm cheeks of her ass in my palms, and I couldn’t help another squeeze.

She wasn’t like the other girls wearing thongs and skirts so short a brisk wind would tell me who had a carpet or hardwood floors. It was hotter somehow that my hands were on her ass and I was the only one who knew she was rocking bikinis. My blood ran with lava at the idea that her pussy maintenance practices were somehow still a mystery. I loved being the only one even close to knowing.

Her gaze leveled on me as she dragged in sharp pants. This close I could see just how thick and dark her lashes were. Not from any assistance of monthly trips to the esthetician, but because those were simply her lashes.

Iris was purity personified, and I wanted to be the asshole who made her dirty.

Her lips parted like she wanted to say something, but her eyes were glassy, unfocused. Likely a mirror of my own.

That line I’d been waiting for her to draw, she drew it then with a gentle push at my chest, and I eased her down, but not before rocking her once more against my steel-hard dick.

She needed to know what she’d done to me. She needed to own some of that responsibility. When her feet touched the ground, I pushed away from the devil’s own temptation and stalked from the library as quickly as my legs would carry me.

 

 

3

 

 

Iris

 

 

A week later, and I could still feel Keaton Constantine’s lips against my own.

His kiss had been hungry. Angry. Like he was furious with me for being kissable. Maybe even for being alive.

And his hands—his hands had been everywhere. Taking apart my two braids and sifting through my hair.

Big and rough on my bottom as he lifted me up and rubbed me against him.

And that thing I’d rubbed against . . .

Being the headmaster’s daughter meant that I’d missed out on a lot of the usual boarding school experiences. No fooling around after hours, no parties where I could’ve gotten hot and heavy with a boy. No fumbling sex in a dorm room.

But even I knew what Keaton had been pressing against me in the library. Even I knew that it would be as big and unapologetically male as the rest of him.

Keaton Constantine had been hard for me, the headmaster’s daughter. He’d wanted more than kissing, and I think I would have given it to him. Anything he wanted, because in that moment, the entire world had shrunk to only us, and there were only lips and tongues and that maddening flicker of heat between my legs. Like someone had lit a sparkler low in my belly.

And then he’d left.

I’d pushed him away to catch my breath, and he’d turned and left me there without another word.

What the fuck?

“Earth to Iris,” a concerned British voice said, breaking through my thoughts.

I turned to see Aurora Lincoln-Ward staring at me, a delicate eyebrow arched over an unnerving gold-colored eye.

She was Lennox’s twin sister, and they were alike in several ways: an accent as a gift from their British father, pale, unearthly features, and an inborn arrogance from having a mother who was a minor Liechtensteiner princess—which made them royalty, too.

Like Lennox, she had bright gold eyes. Like a bird of prey. Or a lioness. Eyes she set off to her advantage by dying her white-blond hair a shade of inky, midnight black.

But unlike her twin, Aurora adored Sloane.

Luckily for me, she was also unlike Lennox in that she hated the Hellfire Club and every single boy in it. So when she’d learned that I’d accidentally pissed them off on my first day, Aurora had sworn me her friendship and protection, just as Sloane and Serafina had.

It was a good feeling. I’d never really had close friends before, not from school at least, and I needed them now more than ever.

I cleared my throat and shifted in my seat, feeling a little squirmy from the memory of Keaton’s kiss. “Yeah?”

“I was asking you what this was all about,” Aurora said, tugging at a letter sticking out of my notebook. She kept her voice down because our photography seminar had technically started, but the teacher was still at the front fiddling with her laptop and trying to get today’s presentation on the screen. “Why is it written in French?”

My face heated—half excitement, half nervousness. “I applied to the Sorbonne for college, and even though I’m still waiting for a formal acceptance letter, they invited me to apply for a pre-degree program there. It starts in November and goes until July, and I’d get to work with the professors and professional photographers in Paris . . . It would mean getting a head start on the other students. Maybe even on my career.”

“Sounds amazing,” Aurora remarked. “Except that you’ll be here at Pembroke that entire time.”

“I could graduate right now if I wanted,” I said, a little wistfully. “I’ve got the credits. But . . .”

“But?”

I sighed. “My father doesn’t want me to go to Paris or study photography. He wants me to go to Harvard or somewhere like that. Go into law.”

Aurora wrinkled her nose. “Good god. Why?”

I gave a cynical laugh. “Because it would be excellent for his career. If he can run a school well enough that one of his kids is an Ivy-educated lawyer on her way to the Supreme Court? If he can show off that both his disciplined, grounded daughters are working hard at Very Serious and Important majors? Then what school board wouldn’t consider hiring him?”

“The Sorbonne is hardly an unaccredited community college,” Aurora pointed out. “It’s the oldest university in Europe.”

“Oh, I know. But if I’m in Paris, then he can’t control my life like he did my sister’s, and he hates that. And photography is a joke to him.”

“But—”

I didn’t find out what Aurora was about to say, because at just that moment, the door to the classroom opened and Keaton Constantine insolently strolled in with his leather bag slung across his chest and his typical arrogant smirk tilting his lips.

He didn’t see me at first, which meant I had time to observe how a thick lock of hair had dropped out of its classic, all-American style to drift over his forehead. I had time to see how his tailored school blazer showed off his firm chest and broad shoulders.

I had time to remember how those big hands—which were currently handing Ms. Sanderson a note—felt as they moved through my hair and as they curled around my hips.

My entire body felt like it was on fire.

He gave the classroom a bored once-over as Ms. Sanderson read the note. When his eyes lit on me, his entire body went rigid.

His blue eyes were turbulent—incensed—as he narrowed them at me, as if I’d somehow known he would be in this classroom today and had manipulated my entire schedule in order to be here just to annoy him.

“What. A. Bastard,” Aurora muttered under her breath, catching his glare at me.

I agreed, and I wasn’t having it. Not today. Not after he dropped me in the library and left me like so much forgettable trash.

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