Page 31 of Crown of Thorns (The Initiation #3)

LOUIS

Little Devil: Whatcha doing, Professor?

Little Devil: Baby…

I ’m lying on my bed, listening to my twin banging Régis in their bedroom.

Ever since they became official, Arthur’s become less of an ass.

Clearly, being able to show the world to keep their fucking hands off of what’s his has helped.

I’m glad for my little stepbrother. He’s had a shit life up to now, with a motherfucker dad who abused him.

I can’t imagine the grief he’s gone through.

Still, their sweet groans and hard thrusts make me want to get some myself.

Still thinking about that damn night at the bar, too.

The way he came to me—in public—and claimed me like I was already his.

We ended up fucking in my favourite private room, and I swear, it’s the way he sees me that fucks me up the most. But as usual with Noah, one step forward means two steps back.

He likes my persistence, I know he does.

He hasn’t once shown me the door when I sneak in late at night.

Instead, he got me my favourite shower gel, citrus and vanilla, from my favourite brand.

At first, I wasn’t sure how he had obtained that kind of information.

Then I hoped that perhaps he was as obsessed with me as I was with him.

Now I suspect Amadou blabbed. The damn giant seems to have a soft spot for the broken souls. Still, I’m not complaining.

The other day, Noah surprised me with a gift. “I wish to pay you back for everything you’ve done for me, Louis. Off the record,” he said. “Baby, you don’t have to pay me for my ass,” I teased, then laughed when he looked mortified.

“I didn’t mean?—”

“Just kidding.” I traced a finger over the velvet box, and I felt strangely moved by the gesture. Not many people buy me gifts. It’s mostly just money. Or favours.

“I’ve kept the receipt,” Noah added, watching me untie the soft knot.

Lace ribbon fluttered as I opened the lid. More sparkly shit sat inside. “Holy fucking shit. Is this what I think it is?”

“You like it?”

“Are those glasses?” I couldn’t stop staring at them.

“Well, you can’t exactly always drink from the bottle.” Noah grinned boyishly. “Thought maybe it’d make things feel less chaotic. Like… it’s something we do.”

Four of them. Custom-made champagne glasses with golden swirls engraved.

They glittered like stolen treasure beneath the dorm’s weak lamplight, each golden swirl a secret promise.

I carefully took one out to investigate with precision.

They must have cost him a month’s salary.

“They are gorgeous, baby. So pretty. But why four? It’s just you and me, right? ”

“Your family, perhaps?” He snarked but blushed all the same when I leaned in and grabbed his collar.

Nuzzling his throat, I licked up to his ear and mumbled, “I’ll put two in my kitchen, if that makes you happy. But the other two stay here. That way we can have a drink before we fuck, or during, or after.”

“Louis…”

I bit his earlobe. “Love the gift, Professor.”

Best. Gift. Ever.

Although I don’t like the idea that he’d consider spending nights without me, I still dutifully brought them to my own place. You see, I can be a good boy, too. I want him to believe that.

That’s when I took to cooking for him. The other night I made Noah mustard chicken, one of my favourite dishes.

Since his room now has a small kitchenette, thanks to yours truly, he came back to his dorm to find a table set for two.

He damn near had a heart attack, the way his eyes bulged.

I couldn’t help but grin. At first, I thought this was it.

That he was going to throw me out. He’s still obsessed with the whole forbidden nature of our relationship, and my brain has instructed my heart to be patient.

But we ended up having a great night. I even put on some of his favourite classical songs.

After that first dinner with Noah, I surprised him once more with a film night.

He joined me on the kitchen counter, but he is clueless when it comes to cooking.

He ended up fucking me on the counter. Those damn crisps were all over the fucking place.

Still, he wouldn’t let me call cleanup, because he’s too afraid someone might see us together.

I don’t even remember the film we watched.

Maybe it’s time for a replay soon. That was five days ago.

Yeah, I think Noah’s warming up to me. I think he secretly adores me so much that he can’t get enough of my lovely presence.

Of my tight as fuck ass, since he loves to lick it, bite it, slap it.

He can do whatever he wants, as long as he keeps on letting me sleep with him.

He calms my mind, gives me purpose. When I’m with him, I can be just me.

No parties. No competition. Just me and his grumpy self.

For now, I’ll take it, because it’s better than nothing.

And look at that. My phone buzzes with a text. He’s even getting into the habit of replying to me.

Sexy Grump: I’m working out.

And now I can’t stop thinking of the image of him beating the shit out of his punching bag.

Little Devil: Do you need some help slaying your demons?

He leaves me on read, and I think I may have gone too far. Typically, I’m too exuberant. I look at my phone, contemplating sending him a quick apology, but think better of it.

Next to me, the banging morphs into a more loving rhythm.

I can’t believe Arthur found his match before I did.

I’m glad for them, don’t get me wrong. And I send all my condolences to Régis, because damn…

where I’m all fun and easy-going, Arthur is a fucking motherfucker.

Possessive in the purest meaning of the word.

I check my phone again, but there’s still no reply.

I still don’t know what he’s running from, but seeing my twin getting the best of life pisses me right the fuck off.

Why’s he being so difficult anyway? He’s had lovers before.

Girlfriends. I want to hunt those bitches down, and welcome them to a slow, painful death for touching what’s mine.

Fuck everything.

I’m about to get myself a drink when Arthur throws open the bedroom door, my little stepbrother hot on his tail, completely wrapped up in their bubble. Their banter halts when they see me.

Régis’s face is flushed, his golden hair mussed as if my twin has yanked at it a little too hard for anyone’s comfort. “Hi Louis,” he greets me with his usual bashful smile.

My brother gives me a sceptical once-over, which I return with glee. “Love the outfit, bro.”

“Yeah, well, check yourself,” I throw back. He just cocks his head, not even bothering to look down at the bright yellow shorts he’s wearing. Speaking of ugly as fuck. I mean, where did he get those?

“Well, well, look who’s here. If it isn’t The Lost Prince.”

I scrunch my nose. “Who the fuck’s that?”

“You. Where the fuck are you hiding?”

He shoulders me to the side and grabs the champagne. He presses the bottle against my chest and cocks his head when he watches me pour it in a cup. “Since when do you drink from a glass?”

“Since when do you care?” It’s a shit thing to say.

Untrue as well. But it seems that I’m out to sour my mood even further, because that’s exactly what’s happening.

How the fuck did that happen so fast? Perhaps Noah was right.

I love my family to bits, but I’m often afraid of not being good enough.

And right now, I feel like shit for admitting that I’m jealous of my twin, who deserves all the luck in the world.

I just…ugh, I want that too, fucking hell. God, why does it hurt so much?

Arthur halts in his tracks and raises an eyebrow. “Ouch. What’s up with you, bro? And what’s with the glass?”

“Not yours.” I snatch it away before he can pick it up. He looks genuinely surprised.

“Since when do you not share stuff with me?”

It pisses me off even more. I piss myself off even more.

“Don’t. Touch.”

“You wouldn’t keep any secrets from me, would you?”

“Fuck off.” I wipe my mouth clean with my sleeve. Leaning back against the fridge, a slow smile spreads across Arthur’s lips.

“Ahh, come on, spill the beans. I’m your brother, man, you can tell me.”

I snort. “Perhaps you’d notice if you weren’t too busy fucking your other brother.”

His hand flies to my throat, his darkened eyes shooting daggers, nostrils flared. “Keep him out of it.”

“Arthur!” Régis’s smaller hand lands on my brother’s shoulder. “Stop. Please.”

“ Merde .” The front door shuts with a loud bang. “Am I too late for the show?”

“Fuck off, Gael,” Arthur and I snarl at the same time.

His face appears right next to Régis’s, who’s still standing behind Arthur, a hand on his shoulder. His green eyes, painted with black eyeliner, sparkle with mischief. “Now, why would I do that?”

Gael sighs, throws up his hands, and mutters something about not being paid enough for this before vanishing back inside the dorm.

“You’re hiding something from me.” Arthur’s glare is lethal. “Or someone. You think I forgot you attacking me in Professor Montague's class? I thought we talked to each other.”

“We do.”

“But you don’t. You…” Arthur purses his lips like he wants to say something else. He doesn’t. Instead, he loosens his grip on my throat and walks off.

I get why he’s pissed. Maybe I should open up to him about my relationship with Noah. Stake a visible claim.

But one night at the bar doesn’t change what we’re risking. Noah is still my professor. Letting it spread would set chaos on fire and possibly ruin his career. I can’t risk that. He’d hate me forever.

And just like that, Noah’s back in my mind.

Omido’s The Ride plays through the place, doing absolutely nothing to extinguish this simmering unrest that sticks to my undercurrent permanently.

Arthur’s right.

I’m not talking to him.

And I’m running out of time.

If his suspicion grows, he’ll tell Dad like the sanctimonious tattletale he’s always been. I’m surprised he hasn’t connected the dots since the classroom incident—but then again, my twin’s probably too busy railing Régis to think straight.

And if Dad knows, he’s going to have his brand-new security team follow me around permanently.

I need more time.

And a plan.

When I see the group of nerds dropping down onto the couch, chessboard set up on the table, an idea forms in my head.

A brilliant idea, if I may add.

“Dominique.”

“Yes?” Gael’s boyfriend looks up. Excusing himself, he walks up to me in the kitchen.

“Remember those morning walks you do?”

“Of course I do.”

“I’ll be joining you.”

He blinks, confused. “You?”

“Not really,” I say, lowering my voice. “But if the others ask where I am, I’m with you. Tu comprends?”

He stares at me a beat longer than necessary, then nods.

“Sure…? Okay. You all right?”

“Peachy.”

“You don’t look it.”

I almost say something real, but it sticks in my throat. So I just flash him a grin. “Thanks, kitten.”

I stick around for a few drinks, but I’m not into it anymore.

Because it’s not enough, this temporary excuse to keep me in Noah’s bed longer.

When I first became obsessed with him, I loved the idea of having our little secrets.

But now I’m ready to un-secret our truth and let the whole fucking world know that we belong together.

Filling up a final round of drinks with my Deveraux cocktail, I polish one off and leave the others.

They’re all having a good time.

Everyone, except for me.

That is…disturbing.

I should be out there, in the center of their interest, dancing and flirting and kissing and grinding my hips to any willing hard dick.

But tonight, for some reason, the music’s too loud, or maybe it’s my thoughts that won’t go quiet.

Whatever it is, it’s annoying the fuck out of me.

This is not me.

And yet it is.

Because when I make my way outside and head through the corridor like a thief in the night, in search of my favourite man, my one and only man, my heart thumps like fucking crazy.

I’m excited.

I always am when I know I’m about to see him.

Proper goosebumps and sweaty palms and flutters in my stomach and chest and fucking everywhere.

Tonight’s no exception.

Opening the door, I see him lying in bed, the book fallen shut on my side.

He’s asleep.

Dressed in his unusual black, flannel pajama pants and top—which, yes, were another gift by moi —his glasses and messy curls are a huge turn-on.

I carefully slide them off his nose, and place them on his bedside table.

The classical music, the incense…it makes me take a deep breath.

Makes me feel a lot better.

Makes me feel so good that I don’t want to sleep yet.

I want the night to last.

Leaving the music on, I make my way to the kitchen area on my tippy toes.

And then I get to work. I love to bake, always have.

While Noah sleeps peacefully, I bake scones.

The oven’s heating up the place, vanilla and butter smell all over.

It’s weird. The kind that feels like a promise I’m not sure I’m ready to keep.

What would he dream about?

I creep close and watch his face.

He’s so beautiful it hurts.

Full, wet lips agape, his face smoothened out, not a care in the world.

I flick a curl off his forehead.

His skin’s soft as hell, with the faintest stubble along his jaw, and it somehow keeps me steady while the night drags on.

Every shift of the floorboards outside makes my chest tighten, like the whole world’s listening in.

One screw-up and it’s done. Noah’s career, my family, everything gone.

I keep telling myself I’m cool with all this.

That showing weakness is for suckers.

But when I’m alone?

Hell, all I want is him.

More than I’m ready to say.

In a few hours, he will wake up to the smell of freshly baked bread.

Humming to the music, I clean up the kitchen, then get ready for bed.

I put the warm scones on a plate and leave them to cool off.

Then I crawl into bed and press my chest to Noah’s back, curl my limbs around his, inhale his scent.

Press a kiss to his nape.

Give him a gentle rock of my hips when he hums.

For now, I’m just here, next to him, and that’s enough to keep the chaos at bay.