Page 27 of Crown of Thorns (The Initiation #3)

LOUIS

I linger in the steam, half-washing, half-waiting.

Not because I think Noah’s going to walk in, but because some ridiculous part of me wishes he would.

He left early this morning, like he always does, slipping out while I was still asleep.

No note. No word. Just that silence he wraps around himself like armor.

But still…I wait.

Because deep down, I don’t just want the fight. I want the attention. I want to matter enough for him to come back. I want his eyes on me, even if it means they’re filled with fury.

Holy shit, this iron defiance? Sexy. As. Fuck. I want more of it. Him mouthing off to me, telling me exactly what he thinks of me and everything I stand for. Yes, please.

I meant to stay the night. Of course I did. I always do. But I thought he’d kick me out. He didn’t. He let me sleep in his bed. In his space. And then he disappeared.

When I’ve washed myself in his citrus and vanilla scented shower gel twice, I accept defeat. He’s not coming. Not this morning. Hiding again? Maybe. It’s not like he can go anywhere. I’m still in his room, though I prefer to refer to it as our room. I decorated it, after all.

Wrapping a towel around my hips, I glare at my phone. It won’t stop buzzing. Messages. One, two, three. I’d rather display myself on Noah’s bed for another round of letting him wrestle me where he wants to, but even I can refrain from stupidity.

Deveraux family chat :

Natalie: Hi boys, how are you? We’re on our way to Monterrey. We should be there soon.

Dad: You all saw the report? We’ve got three new security staff stationed near the back terrace.

Arthur: And you’re only telling us now?

Dad: It was a late decision.

Régis: They are nice

Arthur: Define ‘nice’. Did you talk to them?

Régis: And what if I did?

Arthur: I’d break their faces

Dad: Arthur…

For fuck’s sake. What the hell’s going on with my twin? There’s his usual prickliness, and then there’s this, the possessive monster. Ever since he got completely pissed during Christmas break, he’s been on edge. That’s been months now. Never thought I’d have to be the responsible one.

Louis: They seem decent enough. I’m glad you’re coming this weekend. Feels like something’s building and I’d rather not be the last to know.

I expect him to be gone, he always is. That’s his rhythm. Let me stay, then vanish before the sun catches him being soft. So when I walk out, towel clinging low, steam curling around me, I nearly trip over the shock of it.

Noah is there.

Sitting on the edge of his bed like a ghost who forgot how to disappear. Still as stone, eyes locked on his phone like it just delivered a death sentence.

“What’s up, baby?”

He looks up slowly, gaze vacant, lips curled in a dreamy, broken smile. He came back. For me? For this? He’d never say it. But he walked in when he didn’t have to. Sat on that bed like he was waiting, for me, or for the courage to say something he couldn’t text.

It’s the kind of contradiction that makes my stomach twist. “Baby?”

“Melo texted me. I…” He glances back at his phone like he’s still trying to process it.

“That you…what?”

“That I inherited land.”

“Land? That’s…good, right? Or isn’t it?” I move until I hit his knees, spreading them before settling at his feet.

“Yes, it is. It’s forest land. Right outside the castle walls. I…” He licks his lips. Our eyes meet. He looks conflicted.

Oh, baby, don’t overcomplicate everything in life.

My brows shoot up. “What? Fuck me, that’s incredible. Did your mom leave it to you?”

“My granddad did. I need to go and see the notary to discuss the details. Apparently, it was specifically left to me.”

That’s an odd agreement, but then, I have seen worse. In the land of the rich, you often see the most creative constructions to avoid certain family members.

His hand lands on my hair, his fingers gently brushing through my strands.

I rest my cheek on his knee, the gesture making me feel strangely aroused and comfortable at the same time.

I mean, he’s fully dressed, while the towel barely hides my hips and…

yes, hard cock. But there’s also something incredibly intimate about listening to him talk with that soft, husky voice.

He articulates every syllable like the professor he is, though he often needs to search for his words.

It’s clear he’s not used to speaking his emotions, if that’s what we’re doing here. Yes, my baby is a true enigma.

“Grandpa was a good man,” he says. “He and I used to go for walks when I was a child. He…I…he loved the forest. If you come from the church, from the other side of Saint-Laurent, you can walk all the way up to the wooden barrier that separates Monterrey’s land from the one owned by the church.

Well, that’s what I believed, that the forest land was owned by the church. ”

“Turns out it’s yours,” I joke, but his gaze is vacant, as if he still can’t believe it.

“I never asked myself that question, who it belonged to. I never…I mean, I was young when I left. It was always just there. The forest.”

“How much land did you inherit?”

“Four thousand square metres. Can you imagine?”

He chuckles uncomfortably. I can’t see his face from this position, but the feeling of wonder is clearly laced in his suave timbre. “Those walks were probably on his land. We’d talk and just…spend time together.”

“Were you close to your parents?” I dare ask. My hand traces the lines of his thigh. When he coughs, his muscles ripple under my fingertips.

“I was close with Mom, yes. Dad, not so much. He was a soldier and often on missions.”

“What are you going to do with that land? Build a second castle in Saint-Laurent?”

He huffs. “I may have inherited land, but with whose money do I build?”

“If you ask me nicely…” My hands slide up further to his crotch.

Noah chuckles breathily. “You really drive me crazy.”

“Well, I fucking hate how gorgeous you look, so we’re in the same situation, I guess. With one minor difference.”

“What’s that?” His fingers in my hair halt as if sensing danger. I grin to myself.

“You know what that is. Unless you want me to spell it out?”

His fingers tighten, pulling at my strands, making my eyes burn. I love how he tries to keep his cool, but how his desperation transudes through his body. He can’t help it; he’s already mine.

“No.”

“Grow your hair a little longer, baby. I love to pull it, love to snap your head back, and sit on your face. Have you choke on my dick whenever I want to.”

He chokes, face blushing prettily. “You know we shouldn’t.”

“You’re saying that now. But as soon as you lose control, you become all hot daddy with me.”

“Louis!” He pats my hand, making me laugh.

“Alright. Tell me something else,” I say instead. “Something I don’t already know about you.”

“You know nothing about me.”

“Well, I know your favourite coffee is a flat white, that you prefer croissants to pain au chocolat, that you love apples but dislike bananas, that your favourite sport is football, which is excellent taste by the way, that you even played it when you were a kid and secretly adored Zidane, who, yes, was an incredible player, that you have a soft spot for fancy cars, but drive in an old barrel yourself, that you studied sociology but would have preferred studying archaeology…” I take in a much-needed breath.

Noah doesn’t talk. He sounds breathless. I look up to find him staring down at me with those stormy eyes. In the light, they look silver. Beautifully adorned by thick lashes and filled with a wonder he shouldn’t have anymore at his age.

“You really suffered as a teenager, didn’t you?” I whisper.

His jaw clenches, turning to stone, and his lips press into firm lines of disapproval.

“You really have been stalking me then.”

I shrug. “If that’s what you want to call it.

I’m simply trying to get to know you. But the closer I get, the further you hide.

The more I talk, the less you share. And though that information was relatively easy to find, it still leaves me with the biggest missing piece of the puzzle. What happened fifteen years ago?”

His silence this time feels different. His entire body stiffens. Like I struck a nerve buried too deep to name. He pulls back just enough that I feel the shift, something cold snapping into place. A breath, a flinch, then he shoves me.

I stumble back—too fast, too easily—and hit the floor with a thud that knocks the wind out of me.

By the time I manage to suck in air, he’s off the bed and pacing like he doesn’t recognize the ground under his feet.

“I want you to leave. Now.”

He sounds winded. Shaken. But I don’t move. Instead, I reach for his ankle, catching him before he retreats again. I want him close, want the explosion, the fire, even if it burns me.

Noah yelps, stumbles, and crashes down. In the scuffle, he kicks out, his heel grazing the side of my head. Doesn’t matter. I’m still here.

He doesn’t know yet what persistence looks like. He should. He loves football, doesn’t he? He should know I play to win.

I climb up his body, arms winding around his waist. His fists hit, then falter. The air between us shifts, snarls giving way to panting, nails digging into my thighs as my towel slips open.

“Damn you,” he growls.

“Damn you right the fuck back, baby.” I grip his forearms, fingers brushing the hidden shape of the knife holster beneath his sleeve. So that’s where he keeps it.

“Stop being so skittish and talk to me.”

“I want you to leave,” he repeats. A shirt sails at my chest. “And put this on. I can’t watch you. Just…get out.”

I cup his throat, not to hurt, just to anchor. His whole body trembles.

“Tell me why.”

“I can’t.” His voice breaks, and his eyes shimmer with something too raw to name. “I need to be alone. Please.”

It’s that word— please —that undoes me. I wish he’d begged in any other way. But now I have no choice but to let go.

I rise slowly. He watches me like he’s starving and scared all at once.

“I knew you had a tattoo on your back, but I didn’t realize it was a crow.”

The crow’s wings have always been mine, inked over my bones like armor. I didn’t think he’d notice. I didn’t think I’d want him to.

The crow’s wings cover my shoulder blades; its head sits in the interscapular region. Pulling on his shirt, I rotate back, wanting him to see I’m still hard for him. Yeah, we can talk feelings and all that and I’ll still want him to fuck me.

“You backed out after one gathering because you couldn’t handle the sex. But you missed more than that. I thought that a professional like yourself would be able to see through the obvious. But I guess I was wrong. Just know that I’m here whenever you’re ready to talk about it, or anything else.”

Noah has lost all the fight, looking gorgeous and flustered and shit as he stares back at me, allowing me to kiss him goodbye. Allowing me to leave while he clearly doesn’t want me to.

I hate that it affects me. Hate that the thought has me all hot and bothered when he’s locking me out of his glorious mind, like always. This has nothing to do with me being his student and everything to do with whatever he’s hiding from.

I hate that he keeps me at a mile distance while others feed me crumbs about his past. I want to be the one he talks to, the one he confides in.

Because if I’m not, then I’m just another body in his bed, another name he won’t remember once the storm passes.

And that scares me more than I’ll ever admit aloud.

He let me stay last night. And that should mean something. But here I am, walking out like it never happened.