Page 7 of Crown of Thorns (The Initiation #3)

LOUIS

P rofessor Montague is playing a little game of hide and seek. He believes that if he ignores it, it’s not there. Well, guess what…I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere. He can’t ghost me out of existence. Not when I've already seeped under his skin.

Class is a mess when I finally make my way inside. I’m usually on time, but for this class, I’ve made sure to arrive fashionably late.

Just to rile him up.

Making my way to the seat in the front row, it has been kept vacant for me, I slap one of the guys against the back of his head. “Dude, behaviour.”

He snorts, but removes his feet from his desk and pushes his chair back on four legs. Chatter dims as everyone opens their books. David flicks his cigarette outside and slides the window closed.

“Everyone!” Professor Montague shouts, but his turbulent gaze is on me. I don’t know what goes on in that pretty head of his, but I’ll find out. This goodie-two-shoes who has the reputation to fight for social equality in the world.

Oh, I’ll show him how to fight. I’ll show him how to lose. He may have given me back the phone, but that doesn’t mean shit. We’ve only just gotten started.

If social equality is what he wants, he’s in the wrong place.

“This class started fifteen minutes ago,” he barks, “but for some reason, you are the only group who can’t respect the rules. You are late, Deveraux. Next time, I will not let you into my classroom.”

“No?” I tilt my head, letting the challenge bloom slowly across my face. “You think you can stop me?”

Around us, the room goes deathly still. A held breath. Anticipation sharpening the air like a blade.

Noah doesn’t flinch. “Yes.” His voice is low but firm. A warning. A line drawn.

I step forward, just enough to make everyone hold their breath. “You’ll have to try harder than that, Professor.”

The twitch in his eye betrays him. He’s rattled. But he doesn’t rise to it. Instead, he turns to the class. “This is to all of you. Don’t let it happen again. And David, inside this building, there is a non-smoking policy. Next time I catch you smoking, I will report you to the director.”

David glances my way. I nod.

“Got it, Professor.”

Even he knows who really sets the tone.

Noah clears his throat. “Well then, let’s begin.”

And just like that, his behaviour switches 180 degrees.

The guy’s a fucking genius. I find myself engrossed in his talk of history, finance, and people's behaviour. Of how everything’s connected.

Of how he’s going to prove that to us. He’s a great teacher; I’ve got to give it to him.

Gentle and patient, genuinely willing to inspire us.

But I want him for myself.

I want him flushed and begging. So I send him a quick text.

It’s time for a reunion. I make sure to click my tongue in disapproval when his phone pings, loving how he apologizes.

And then he stares at his screen, eyes turning wild.

And…is that a blush? Fuck, that’s cute. He bites the inside of his cheek like he’s trying not to flinch. Too late.

“Deveraux,” he finally looks up. “Please leave this classroom at once.”

“Me? Why?” Fluttering my lashes, I slowly make my way out of my chair. What, he didn’t honestly think I wouldn’t have his number by now?

“You know why.” His voice is calm even though he just opened a picture of my ass, still wet from this morning’s shower. Damn, my tattooed middle finger must have given me away.

There are many, many things I want to say right now.

He’s a courageous, brilliant fool who happened to have caught my attention.

This here? My playing field. These guys?

My brothers. Right now, I can feel their eyes on me.

They’re waiting for me to challenge Professor Montague.

And I have every intention to do so. But not here, for the others to see.

So I give Noah my most convincing pout. “Of course, Professor.”

Talking, my ass.

A rthur looks up in surprise as I stroll into our dorm. “Didn’t your class start, like, half an hour ago?”

He’s by the window, phone pressed to his ear, but still talking to me, typical twin behavior. Always halfway in someone else’s business. But even his casual tone can’t hide the tight crease in his brow.

Opening the fridge, I take out a bottle of water. “You’re right, bro. But you know what? I realized I forgot something in the library.”

“The library?” His eyebrows hit his hairline. “You?”

“Ouch, you’re hurting me. Though perhaps it was the canteen? Or no…now that I’ve come to think of it, it was the football field.”

“You fuckhead. It’s too early for football.”

“I love you, too, brother. What’s up?”

“Nothing.” He glances at his phone. “Just Dad. He’s sending over a new security team for training purposes. Perhaps?—”

He trails off when Régis rushes in. Arthur’s eyes track our little stepbrother’s every move, sharp and dark as night.

“Where the fuck have you been?”

Régis pauses, eyes darting to us, then quickly shuts himself inside his room.

“That little…”

I drain the last of my drink, crush the plastic bottle in one hand, then toss it into the bin with a smirk. My eyes linger on Régis’s door.

“Anyway, catch you later.”

I’ve got somewhere important to be. While Noah Montague is giving class, I’m going to check out behind his protective walls, so to speak.

I mean, okay, sending a pic of my naked, wet backside might not have been that appropriate.

But to see the look on his handsome face?

Shock. Rage. Fucking priceless. The entire reason why it was such a good idea.

I don’t know what it is he’s fighting with, but it was there, in his murky eyes.

Present and fucking loud . I want to meet the wolves he keeps chained inside. Let them snarl at mine, tooth to tooth.

It’s not just the power. It’s the fact he makes me feel like I exist when he looks at me. Like I’m more than a punchline in someone else’s empire.

Crossing the corridor to the South Wing, I let myself into Professor Montague’s empty office. Owning a master key has its perks.

I wish I could say the place is cozy and personal, but that would be a lie.

I’ve been here before, it hasn’t changed.

It’s spacious and light. Noah’s desk sits facing the large window from where the forest is visible.

A huge bookcase is scarcely filled. There’s outdated furniture that hurts my eyes, and walls painted in a dull white.

Seriously, this place is going to need a makeover.

The punching bag surprises me. My professor is fit as fuck, with lean muscle and a wide chest, but I wouldn’t have taken him for a fighter.

There’s nothing in this room that tells me more about Noah Montague, except for his taste for topics. No photos. No degrees he wishes to show off.

Time to search his other place. It only takes one phone call to confirm which dorm has been prepared for him.

Teachers' dorms are in another wing of Monterrey Castle, where students are officially not allowed. Needless to say, that rule doesn’t apply to the likes of moi .

Noah’s suite sits at the end of the corridor, further away from the other teachers. So this is where LeChevalier has decided to put my handsome professor.

For someone hiding so hard, he’s been placed like a relic, high up, far away, untouchable. This room, too, is plain. Large, spacious, and boring. A simple bed. No kitchen facilities. No colour. No fucking nothing . That won’t do.

I take the time to inspect the interior characteristics. The bed’s been freshly made, but not slept in. He’s put a few suits inside his closet. For appearances? There are no toiletries.

So, where does he sleep?

Devilish thoughts form in my head. They make me grin with glee.

But…patience is a virtue, and I am a master player.

Still… I want to break through that stony demeanour.

I want to wear him down, inch by inch, until he begs for the very ruin he swears to resist. I want to see Noah unhinged, delirious with desire, like when we met in The Black Cat.

He’s been fighting me ever since.

Testing his bed, I toe off my shoes, then make myself comfortable against his headboard.

A black bird caws outside the window. I flick it off, smirking. Creepy little fucker.

Glancing around, I decide we’re going to need a touch of craziness to make this our place. To make him remember each and every day that I designed his room, that I’m the one who belongs to him.

On the bedside table sit a few books, one looking more boring than the other.

“Aah,” I muse when I take one out. ‘Our Fascination With The Stars’ is the title.

It’s an old book, the pages wrinkled as if it has survived many different destinations, and the corners are bent. “You really are a dreamer, aren’t you?”

Perhaps that’s what this fixation is about.

Noah’s not my usual type. He’s clever. Forbidden.

Not to disrespect my previous bed partners, but they were more notorious for their experience in bed than their IQ.

With Noah, I’m not so sure yet. Well, I am about his IQ, but not about his experience with other men.

Could he be a newbie to the bi or even gay world?

My dick likes that idea very much, thickening at my thoughts.

I want to provoke Noah. Want to coax him out and play with him. The thought that I’ve got him on a leash is thrilling. He could lose his job. He could lose a lot more if this turns sour. What I’m doing to him isn’t right. That’s why it feels fucking good .

I play Bury a Friend from Billie Eilish on my phone.

It sounds like him. Caged. Haunted. Mine to break open, I trace the bedsheets, thinking of Noah, who’s downstairs, teaching.

Noah, who’s been given this room, but doesn’t sleep here.

Noah, who’s desperate to keep all personal details hidden from the entire world.

Noah, who fights me tooth and nail. Because he wants me.

Tipping my head back, I take out my dick and give it a few lazy strokes. The music turns me on, and the thought that he could come walking in to see me lying here, on his bed, bringing myself to orgasm on his cheap sheets, makes me fucking feral.

Brushing the precum from my tip, I use it to stroke my shaft faster, grunting when I find my rhythm. The ring my fingers form is relentless, tight as fuck and making my balls tingle with need. I want to mark Noah’s bed like a dog in heat. Claim what’s already mine.

“Ahh…fuck…” I moan. “Fucking fuck…” Everything prickles.

Toe-curling pleasure ripples through me.

Right before I come, I push myself on my knees and jizz all over the fucking bedcover.

“Yes… putain …fuck…” Smearing my tip into the fabric, I feel how the tension leaves my body.

Nothing beats an orgasm. I grin and stretch my limbs across his bed like I own it.

This isn’t just defiance, it’s ritual. I’ve already made my mark. And I’m not leaving.

I breathe in the scent of sex and silk. My pulse is slowing, skin slick, dick still twitching from aftershocks. I reach lazily for my phone on the nightstand, swipe it open with a smirk.

Click.

One photo, angled down, the mess visible, my cock soft but heavy, spent against the rumpled bedcover. His bedcover.

I don’t bother cleaning up.

I send it.

No caption. Just the image.

Let him see what I did.

Let him imagine the sound I made when I came.

Let him feel what it means to be claimed—even when I’m not there.