Page 18 of Crown of Thorns (The Initiation #3)

LOUIS

N oah is brilliance in the shape of a bashful, handsome man.

In the few months he has taught at Monterrey, he has caused a revolution.

Students fucking love him. His classes have a waiting list. Yet he’s a man with many contradictions.

They form multiple shells over his heart, laced together by habits.

There are so many of them. He always has the same breakfast: espresso with hot milk and cinnamon sprinkles with a croissant.

Always that ugly briefcase. Glasses, no matter how cute he looks with them, are meant to fit that same image.

His clothes, cheap and ill-fitted, are a mixture of navy blue, white, and brown.

It makes me want to ravage those habits he has created and make our own.

But it's his temper that forms the true contrast to all the above. Because Noah is a fire without realizing how devastatingly hot he is. And I don’t just mean his looks. Or his needs. Because he is. Needy. He doesn’t realize it, like with so many of his emotional traits.

He doesn’t want me close, but likes his thigh between mine.

He pretends he’s in control, but keeps me locked out of his head. It’s infuriating.

Still, if it means having him close, I’ll gladly feed that illusion. But how long can I keep feeding it before it devours me too?

Today, it’s been exactly a week since our sexy-as-hell shower incident, and frankly, I’ve had enough. Seven days. One hundred and sixty-eight hours. I’ve counted every goddamn one of them.

But tonight is different. Word reached me through the right mouths: Noah is finally spending his first night in his dorm in the castle. And I’m elated. Giddy, even. Because now, he’s in my world.

Little Devil: How are you doing, baby?

Little Devil: I had football practice today and I imagined you watching me. Then I could impress the fuck out of you

Little Devil: I’d love that, you know? To impress the fuck out you. But you never reply and honestly, I don’t know how to really impress you. Want to see my dick?

It’s shameless. I know it. But he needs a push.

Now, that has him reacting. For the very, fucking, first time.

When I see him typing, I fistbump the air.

Grumpy Bear: No, and I’d prefer you not text me anymore

Little Devil: Liar. Come on, tell me you want to see it

Grumpy Bear: No

That’s progress, no matter how short the word. Real progress.

I look up to see Melody arriving through Monterrey’s reception hall, the door held open by that weird as hell new cleaner.

A mute with a curious glare. Two of our bodyguards follow her as she makes her way inside the castle.

With them is Amadou, who’s carrying the artwork I commissioned as a welcome gift for Noah's dorm.

Tonight, he will spend his first night in the castle.

When she sees me, she gives me a happy little wave and walks into the canteen.

She plops down across from me, colourful paper clips holding back her wild curls.

Her face is smeared with something that looks like clay, and the tight, black dress that fits her like a glove has the first few guys already salivating.

Like her brother, Melody is unaware of her charm as she still takes in the place with wide, green eyes.

“Oh my god, this place is huge.”

“Well, it’s a castle after all,” I deadpan.

Her eyes flick back to mine, and she lets out another laugh. “And you! Telling me you’re a friend from Paris. I believed you, you know? Turns out you’re a student. Yeah, he’s pretty cool, isn’t he? My brother?”

“Hmm. Very cool indeed.” If only she knew.

“So…this is what I made for you. You said dark green walls, right?” She takes out a series of mugs and a tray.

Sparkles with clusters of golden stars shine at me.

“When you mentioned it was for my brother, this was the first pattern that came to mind. We had a similar painting at home when I was a child, and I remember being fascinated by it.” She gives me a bashful smile. It’s so similar to her brother.

“It’s fucking stunning. He’ll love it.” Wrapping my arm around her, I snap a picture of us.

“Let’s make a true artist of you. With my connections, you’ll be ruling the world in no time.

” I make quick work of sending our selfie to Noah, then have Amadou put all my purchases up to his room.

I’m elated. I've managed the finishing touch before he’ll sleep here, at Monterrey, for the first time tonight. “Now, what do you say to a drink?”

She beams. “I’d say I’m thirsty.”

“Cool.” I open a bottle of champagne I brought for the occasion. There’s a no-alcohol policy on campus, but not for everyone, of course. “So, how is it that you and your brother lived together until now? It’s awfully cute, but you’re both adults, so I can imagine you’d want some privacy.”

“We were separated for many years.”

“Yes, I heard that somewhere.”

“Noah left when he was sixteen. I was only seven, so I don’t remember much.

He came back a few months ago, after Mom and Grandpa’s funeral.

Mom left us the house, so he moved in with me.

He’d been living in Paris, but things have gotten so expensive, this setup’s a total lifesaver.

” I hum in agreement, though I wouldn’t know.

My trust fund makes more money every year.

She takes a drink. “He doesn’t talk about it. My parents never did either. All I ever got was: he was a rebel. That’s it. Like that explained everything.”

“And you believed them?”

“At the time? Yes. Until I didn’t. Right now, I’m just happy that he’s back in my life. Even if it means him sleeping here. He’ll come home during the weekends and holidays.”

“Absolutely. You?—”

The air sharpens. Static prickles across my skin, tension curling at the base of my spine. It’s not sight, but instinct. I feel him before I see him.

Noah.

A storm in slow motion, wrapped in a button-down, all tension and thunderclouds. That signature static of his, charged, unreadable, dangerous, rolls in before he even enters the room.

The canteen door bursts open like it owes him something.

His eyes scan, lock, and burn. Noah Montague: fury in a pressed jacket, sunlight on sharp cheekbones, and a scowl hot enough to scald.

There’s no one else here to see it, but I feel the moment settle like static. Thick, charged, and only for me.

“Melo.” His voice slices through the air, sharp and urgent.

He storms into the canteen like a man chasing a flame.

His own, probably. Drop-dead fucking gorgeous with a jawline sharp enough to make angels weep.

And yes, fuck, he’s had a haircut. Clean lines, shorter at the sides.

I want to lick the skin behind his ear just to feel how close the buzz comes to bone.

“Nooms!” Melody’s eyes beam, but Noah doesn’t see it, too busy staring at our glasses in horror.

His eyes cut to the champagne like it's a weapon. “Seriously? Champagne? You know there’s a no-alcohol policy.”

I lift the bottle and take a deliberate sip, letting the silence stretch between us. “What can I say? I’m a rulebreaker.”

He watches the movement of my throat, and something flickers darkly in his expression. “Louis, I’m serious.” The nerve in his cheek twitches again, betraying just how much I’m under his skin.

“Well, don’t worry about me, I was about to leave.

” Melody stands up and ruffles Noah’s strawberry-blond strands.

I fist my hands to stop her from touching him.

She’s his sister, I know. But I want those to be my hands feeling his soft strands.

I want those to be my nails so I can scratch his head, just like I know he loves.

“You should have told me you’d be here this early.”

“Not necessary.” She moves on her tiptoes and gives him a hug. “I just wanted to wish you a good first night in your dorm, is all. Text me whenever you need something, okay? Louis’ friend left your stuff in your rooms.”

I shrug when Noah eyes me with suspicion. “My bodyguard, she means. And don’t worry, I’ll text you the classroom.”

I don’t wait for a reply. Instead, I rise with lazy confidence and walk out like I own the damn place, because in a way, I do. Monterrey is my stage, and tonight, Noah Montague is the show.

He’s going to ignore my message. He always tries to. And that’s what makes this fun. Because by the time he realizes what I’ve done, it’ll be too late. He’ll be off-balance. Off-script. Right where I want him.

That’s the game: give him control, just enough to let him think he has it, then rip it away.

Never thought having a tutor would feel like setting a trap with lace and longing. And fuck, I can’t wait to spring it.

N oah’s dorm has gone through a full-blown metamorphosis.

The kind that says: someone gives a damn about you, even if you don’t.

Soft greys and forest greens punch into the walls, moody, deliberate, and fuckable.

The kind of palette meant to calm a restless heart.

Amadou hung the paintings exactly as I envisioned, and Melody’s mugs—galaxies trapped in clay—glint from the new shelves like quiet offerings.

He owns almost nothing. Just a few essentials and a graveyard of restraint. That’s fine. I’ll fill in the gaps. I’ll give him more than furniture. I’ll give him memories, cravings, habits he didn’t choose.

I don’t know why he finally chose to sleep here, but I’ve never been more thrilled. Because now he’s in my territory. His control. My obsession. Us.

That truth should terrify me. Instead, it electrifies me.

I hum, claiming the room like a king surveying his new land. This isn’t just a space, it’s the beginning of his surrender, even if he can’t see it yet.

The only regret? My cum didn’t stay on the sheets. But as I settle onto his bed, bare ass sinking into the freshly made lace, the smooth fabric kissing my skin, I decide this is better.

Much better.

And now, I wait.