Page 7

I’m in a frenzy now that I’ve started. Like her pussy is a canvas, I paint her with my seed. An Oliver original. Branding her to prove she belongs to me. As if the next guy to come along will still be able to see me here. Taste me here.
Her thighs close around my head, telling me to get on with it. What I wouldn’t give to take my time, to fuck her into oblivion. To announce what I’ve just done and wait for her reaction.
You’re mine, Eden Astor.You don’t know it, but you are.
I drag the tip of my tongue across her pussy in the shape of anL. She shudders, and so do I. I taste me on her. The combination of our juices is intoxicating.Ois next. Her breath quickens as I finish, and when I glance up, she’s squeezed her tits so tight, I spot a hard nipple spilling over the top of her tank top.NandDI do in quick succession while my cock strains in my boxers. My lids flutter closed at her taste, but I attempt to rein myself in, finishing off the word London in slow, steady strokes that have her moaning.
London Bridge. It’s our game. We see how many times I can write those words across her pussy before she climaxes on my tongue. She tastes like sweet nothingness, a reprieve from the darkness my mind holds sometimes. I slip my hands under her ass and squeeze, bringing her closer like she’s a savory platter only for me. I finish off theEin Bridge, then flick the tip of my tongue across her clit furiously, thinking about my cum marinating inside her.
Her moans escalate to a fever pitch. She’s damn close. “Cheater,” she calls out as she locks gazes with me. I nearly nut again at the lost look of passion in her eyes. But then she closes them, shielding me from view before throwing her head back and climaxing.
When she finishes, she eases the hold of her thighs around my head and drops her knees to the mattress. Her fists that held onto the sheets during release now relax. For a moment, she breathes out in pure contentedness, then pulls herself up on her forearms, arranging her tank back into place. “How about you, number five?” She waggles her brows and peeks at the clear tent in my boxers.
Easing off the bed, I plot my escape. That’s not part of the plan. “That’s what I have hands for,” I tell her, pointing to the attached bathroom.
“You sure?” she asks. Sliding her hand along the bed, she just barely misses my remaining spunk darkening the sheets. “This isn’t a one-way street, you know.”
I cock my head at her, trying to focus on the conversation instead of the fact that she now has my cum on her hands. “Take advantage of my depressed best friend? I don’t think so.”
She frowns, sticking her chin in the air in that Astor way. I swear in some instances, her family acts more superior than mine. “I’m a big girl, Oliver.”
I give her a placating smile to smooth things over. All the things I want to say get stuck in my throat, and I over analyze until I retreat into the bathroom without having said anything. I cum quick—again. The pure white tile of a dead girl’s shower now tainted by my splooge. It was especially easy when picturing Eden glistening with my cum, moaning for it, taking it inside her unknowingly. I’ve rubbed myself raw with thoughts of her in my head before, but not like this. This was like I was a preteen again, and I was glad for the shower to drown out the sound of my own ragged release.
I’m a filthy bastard.
Afterward, I clean up, then grab a towel from a small cubby. Nothing of Eden’s is unpacked yet, so this must have been left behind. The bare countertop in front of me is crowned with an ornate mirror. Steam distorts my view as I run my hands through my hair to tame it before opening the bathroom door and reappearing with the towel wrapped around my waist.
Eden’s back is turned to me, and she’s pulling on a tie-dye shirt with rips across the midsection over a pair of shorts. I swallow my desire. I don’t know how I’m going to go through the day with the knowledge that a part of me is inside her. When she turns, I replace my look of lust with a smirk. “What are you doing?”
She reaches down to close her luggage without even glancing at me and zips it back up. “What does it look like?”
“It looks like you’re dressing like a homeless person.”
She stops to glare at me, her gaze pausing on my bare chest briefly. “You’ve never cared how I dressed before.”
“That’s because you weren’t planning on infiltrating a secret society that prides itself on breeding. In fact, you were content with doing the exact opposite.”
She frowns down at her clothes then peers at the boxes that are stacked in the corner.
Before she can crack open her sister’s things, I announce, “We’re going shopping, Edie.”
She huffs. “I’m not buying stuffy clothes.”
“I guess you really don’t care to make it into the Knights, then,” I say as I saunter toward the door.
I don’t even get that far before she sighs. “Fine. I’ll buy some new things. I guess. Though I don’t know if it really matters.”
She sure as hell does know it matters. She’s just fighting against it because that’s what Eden does. It’s impossible for her not to be herself, but if she really wants to get into the Knights and try to unveil their secrets, she can’t be herself. I take a deep breath, hating that I can see her struggling, but not knowing how to comfort her in any real way other than orgasms disguised as friendly relations. “Just stick with me,” I tell her, reaching for the handle of her door.
“Going somewhere, number five?” she asks. I peer over my shoulder to find her holding my discarded clothes in her grip. “You better put something on before one of our new roommates has a royal heart attack.” She winks at me and chuckles at her own joke.
“I can see the tabloids now.”
She throws the clothes at me as she passes. “Meet in a half hour?” she asks before slipping into the bathroom, not waiting for my answer.
Part of me wants to sneak up to my room with just the towel, but I know Eden’s right. For some reason, girls seem to lose their minds about the royalty thing. I probably couldn’t even make it up the next flight of steps without sneaky pictures being taken that will somehow make their way to my family and the gossip magazines.Bad Boy Royalisn’t my moniker for nothing. They started to run with it when I was a teenager, so I lived up to their expectations. No one actually sees me as a royal, anyway. At least no one important.
Huffing, I pull on last night’s clothes and dart up to my room. I don’t spy anyone on the way, but that never means anything.