Page 2 of Crown of Thorns (The Initiation #3)

NOAH

“ N oah. It’s a pleasure to see you again. I trust you had a successful move back from Paris?” Xavier LeChevalier, director of Saint-Laurent Boarding College for Boys, pats me on the shoulder like I’m an old frat brother he hasn’t seen for years.

I slam the door of my sister’s ancient Ford Fiesta, painfully aware it’s the only car in the lot worth less than a single tire of the nearest Aston around the entrance of Monterrey Castle.

“ Monsieur , it’s an honor.”

“Don’t be so formal.” A squeeze in my shoulder this time.

“Just call me Xavier. And this dinner is our welcome to you for starting your journey with us here at Monterrey. We appreciate our own.” The word lingers while we climb the stairs and make our way through the impressive building.

Inside the reception room, waiters welcome us, their trays filled with champagne.

A large table has been set. A massive Christmas tree stands next to the floor-to-ceiling windows, its lights a silver brilliance.

People are standing around in quiet clusters, chatting in low voices, their faces lit by the tree’s glow.

“Professor Montague.”

Xavier’s hand slides off me and he slaps it around the newcomer. “Jean-Luc, I’m glad you could make it. Did you bring your boys?”

“Wouldn’t want to miss this. I brought Louis, yes.” Piercing brown eyes take me in. The man’s a brick; tall and broad, muscles rippling in his navy-blue suit. His dark hair is slicked back, putting his chiseled features on full display. He looks like someone I don’t want to mess with.

“And you must be Professor Noah Montague. A pleasure. One of the youngest in the country, if I’m not mistaken. Thirty-two, right?”

I blink at the compliment, throat tightening before I manage a polite smile. “So I’ve heard. Nice to meet you, sir.”

“Please call me Jean-Luc. After all, we’ll be colleagues.”

“Jean-Luc is an honourable member of the board of Saint-Laurent,” Xavier explains.

More champagne is being served as personnel subtly ushers us towards the table. Silver candlesticks are lit, and a framed menu sits waiting for us.

“I’m so glad you accepted our offer,” Jean-Luc says. “We needed a change. A breath of fresh air.”

He lifts his glass to call for a waiter while sitting down at the table.

“New, young talent such as yourself. If I tell you how long I've been debating with the rest of the board?” He shakes his head, amused by his own thought. “Anyway, you are the first professor who’s both specialized in Sociology and Finance. Had I been younger, I’d surely have attended your classes. ”

“Thank you, sir.” “Thank you, sir.” My face feels warm from all the praise. When LeChevalier told me about the welcome dinner, I didn’t expect… this .

Around us, other people are being seated as the starter is served.

Jean-Luc leans forward, eyes narrowing slightly as if coaxing a secret from me. “So, how did you end up with both a degree in Sociology and Finance?”

I shrug.“Passion. I started with sociology, but quickly realized I needed more. I needed to understand the facts aside from the events.”

Movement across the table makes me look up. A guy sits down with the slow, entitled grace of someone who’s used to being noticed. He’s young, a bored look on his face as he glares at his phone, but there’s a sharpness in the way he moves, like he’s cataloging the room while pretending not to care.

“After graduation, the university offered me a spot in their PhD program, on the condition that I also take on a teaching assistant role. It was intense, but I said yes. It felt like everything I wanted was finally within reach.”

“Nice.” Jean-Luc looks impressed. “And which university did you graduate from? I can’t recall.”

“Uhm—” I hesitate, the syllable sticking in my throat. Of all the credentials on my CV, that one name still feels like a stain I can't scrub clean. The university has the worst reputation in the country. I open my mouth, then close it again, silently cursing the heat crawling up my neck.

“Belval. Isn’t that right, Professor?”

I gape across the table in surprise. The guy from before is no longer on his phone.

He’s watching me now, dark eyes glimmering with amusement.

His blazer, tailored and dark, mirrors the tousled strands of his raven hair—slicked back on the sides, messy on top.

A crisp white shirt hugs his chest, hinting at the hard lines beneath.

His face is all angles, high cheekbones, a square jaw, lips full and wet from the rim of his wineglass.

One eyebrow arches in challenge. There’s something familiar about him.

Jean-Luc blinks in surprise, then lets out a low chuckle. “How did you know?” He asks, clearly amused and more than a little proud.

“It says so on his blazer.” He points his glass at my chest, the fabric of his jacket straining around his biceps that tighten and flex when he leans back. Landing a hand through his hair, he smirks.

“Typical of you to see the details. Professor, please meet my son, Louis.”

My cheeks blush from embarrassment. It’s such a small detail, the pin embroidered into the material, that I believed no one would notice. Now I feel ridiculous attending this dinner wearing a suit from my previous employer. But it’s the nicest one I have.

“Nice to meet you, Louis Deveraux.” I taste his name on my tongue and stretch my hand out over the table.

Louis just smiles at me, holding my hand a little longer than necessary. “Nice to meet you too, Professor. I don’t follow Sociology but perhaps I should.”

“Yes, you should,” Jean-Luc agrees with a grin. “You’ll turn my boy into a motivated student.”

I force a smile. Something about the phrasing makes my skin tighten.

The waiters begin serving the first course, and conversation shifts to small talk and wine pairings.

All through dinner I feel Louis’s attention on me.

I feel it when he’s on his phone, bored and obnoxiously sexy.

I feel it when he flirts with the waiter.

I feel it when he watches me, unbothered and direct.

I still wonder why he looks so familiar, but then these past weeks have been crazy.

Being back here in Saint-Laurent has brought a blanket filled with dust that should have been locked up in the closet with skeletons. A reunion, a funeral, a job.

As if stitching new roles over the old ones could stop me from unraveling.

More wine flows. I’ve excused myself a few rounds before, per usual, skin itching as I’m reaching the limit of attention span for social gatherings.

Unfortunately, French dinners can last for hours.

Finishing yet another glass of water, I excuse myself and head for the toilets, grinning when I check the message from my baby sister.

Melody: Still alive over there?

I reply.

Me: Barely

My phone pings immediately.

Melody: Want me to pick you up?

I don’t reply right away.

The toilets are empty, quiet in a way that feels too pristine.

I automatically head for the private stall, the one farthest from the door.

I’m about to flush when the entrance bursts open with a jarring clatter.

Someone bumps inside, soft chuckles as clothes get wrestled off.

There’s a clunking sound, followed by a ‘ Merde !’ More chuckles.

“Fuck, I’m so hard,” Louis Deveraux rasps.

“Yeah, that’s it, take it out, it’s all yours, baby boy.

Fuckkkk…” Wet, sucking sounds fill the restroom, accompanied by grunts.

My breath catches. I go rigid. Not just with shock, but something molten and uncontrollable that coils low in my stomach.

Louis hums, the sound like a spark to dry tinder, going straight to my own dick.

It hardens instantly, my pulse a drumbeat in my ears.

I stay frozen in place, breath shallow, skin flushed.

“Faster, baby, yeah, just like that. Choke on it, I wanna hear you struggle,” he growls.

My dick pulses, sharp and aching, together with a shot of awareness so intense it leaves me reeling.

No. It can’t be. Can it? No way. Now I know where I know him from. He’s the guy from the club.

That voice. That filthy confidence. My skin crawls as everything clicks into place.

Holy—no. No, no, no. Louis Deveraux was the one who had dropped to his knees for me that night.

My stomach twists. I stay rooted to the spot, still locked in the stall, mind racing.

My stomach heaves. A cold flush drains the blood from my head. My legs almost give out.

Cold sweat breaks out at the realization. Does he know it’s me? It was dark inside that room. It’s very possible he doesn’t know it’s me. Right?

Now I’m trapped inside a stall, being forced to listen to Louis getting a blowjob. It’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever heard. His low moans, cries of pleasure, the dirty talk…

Whoever’s on his knees for him, is making a gagging sound. My hand cups my erection, unable to keep away. Stifling a groan, I fight against the desire I don’t want to feel.

“That’s it. So good, baby boy. You’re so good for me,” Louis croons. He really has a sensual rasp to his tone.

I jolt when my phone pings.

Melody: Aaannd? Want me to pick you up?

I fumble with my keyboard, hand shaking.

Me: I’m okay. I’ll text you when I leave.

Louis lets out another moan. “Fuck, you’re gonna make me come.”

She replies, the sound making me bite my lip in frustration.

Melody: Yes, boss

I don’t know if I should laugh or growl. Fumbling to silence it, I freeze, but judging from the choking sound, they haven’t heard it.

“Fuckkkk…” Louis groans. I press a hand against the wall, trying to ground myself against the sudden, uncontrollable need pulsing through me.

There’s the sound of kissing. “Hmm, I needed that. Love you in this outfit. You should wear it more often when you come and serve me.”

“And I love your cock. Always love to drink from you.” The waiter, without a doubt.