Page 104 of The Envy Of Idols (Rich Boys of Burberry Prep 3)
We’ve kissed many times before, but not like this, alone in a quiet bedroom in a house with no academy faculty, no parents. It’s uninhibited, and deliciously wrong.
Tristan pins my arms above my head and kisses his way down my face toward my breasts, putting the hot heat of his mouth above the thin, silken fabric of my shirt. He licks the fabric, slow and languorous, like he has all the time in the world, and then, when I’m about to buck him off and beg him to stop teasing, he takes my left nipple into his mouth and sucks on it.
It’s like there’s a string connected from my nipple to my core, pulling and tugging, begging for more.
Tristan ends up with his mouth crashing into mine, hands frenzied as he tears at my clothes, ripping my shirt in his haste to feel a bare breast cupped in his palm. I’m groaning and thrashing beneath him, my arms still pinned, want still coursing through me.
What are you doing, Marnye? I ask myself, but I don’t really know. I’m not sure.
Tristan’s hips grind against me, the hard, hot length of him teasing me through my shorts. His breathing picks up pace, and then he’s using his left hand to push his pants down. He shoves my shorts aside, and in an instant, I can feel the tip of him pressing against me.
He looks down at with a blade gray gaze, his right hand still holding my wrists pinned above my head. My bare breasts rise and fall with each breath, but I don’t say a thing. I can’t. I’m tongue-tied.
“I want you so bad, Marnye,” he says, and I groan, rubbing against him. He closes his eyes like he’s in pain. One hard thrust of his hips, and we’d be joined together. Instead, he opens his eyes and just looks at me again. “I want to fuck you until you can’t remember you’re dating anyone else, take you so completely that you become mine.”
“But?” I whisper, and Tristan curses, pulling away from me and yanking his pants into place as I sit up. “Tristan, wait.”
“I can’t do this. I can’t fucking do this, Marnye.” He heads into the bathroom, slams the door, and then turns on the shower. I only stay so long as it takes me to fix my clothes.On the day of the Infinity Club meeting, everyone’s in a nervous titter. I know we all have to leave by two at the latest, but before I go, before I head off into the sunset to spend an entire summer away from Tristan Vanderbilt, I have to see him again.
He’s in his room yet again, sitting on his bed in a black t-shirt and jeans, staring at his phone. He scowls at me when I walk in.
“Stop that,” I say, but he turns away, and rakes his fingers through his hair.
“Believe me: you don’t want to be here when William arrives. He punches his own son. Imagine all the things he might do to a charity case from the wrong side of the tracks.”
“You can’t push me away,” I tell him, grabbing the game of Twister and moving over to the large empty space of floor on the right side of his bed. “No matter what you do, it won’t work. I’ve seen the real you, and that’s not something that can be undone.”
“You don’t like me. You can’t possibly,” he scoffs, sounding a lot like Creed did the first night we …
“Why? Because you’re fiercely loyal, sharp as a tack, and the only person I know who can keep up with me on an academic level? Or maybe it’s because you have hair like a raven’s feathers, eyes the color of the moon on a cold night, or abs so hard they could probably crack nuts?”
“Crack nuts?” he echoes, and I grin as I lay out the plastic sheet with all the colored circles on it.
“Yeah, like, stick a walnut between your abs, flex, and voila. Nutcracker abs.” Tristan exhales, like maybe he’s just too stressed to laugh. No problem. I am, too. All I can think about is him on top of me, the tip of him pressed into my core, and the amount of self-control that must have taken him to pull away.
“What the hell is this you’re putting on my floor,” he asks as I hand him in the spinner and kick off my shoes. I’m wearing a cream-colored satin dress that Miranda insisted I try on, so not ideal for the game, but man, Tristan Vanderbilt needs to loosen up a little.
“It’s called a game. Ever play one of those before?” I tap my finger on the spinner. “We can even make a bet out of it. If I win, you have to keep dating me until either you or I decide we don’t like each other. If you win, you can decide whether or not to keep dating me, regardless of reason.”
