Page 101 of Crown of Thorns
I don’t know how I manage to walk all the way down the Champs d’Elysees, the most famous street in Paris, which looks glorious in the sunshine, but I do. I even manage to listen to Noah as he talks more about the places he used to hang out. Because I want that part of him, too. Hidden beneath Noah’s stubborn, stoic appearance lies his younger, broken self. The boy who ended up living on the streets in Paris, though he still doesn’t tell me what made him come here in the first place.
It’s hard for a man like me, but I need to give him some form of space. Right? I mean, it would be bad if I pinned him against the wall and choked him until he confesses every secret he hasn’t spilled yet?
It doesn’t sound bad. It sounds like a fantastic plan. But I told myself I’d impress him today, on our first date, and surely, he won’t be impressed by that sort of behaviour. So, I leave it for now and take whatever the fuck he’s giving me.
It’s a lot. He’s talking more than he has in the past months, and I drink up every single word. I need to swallow it down, swallow him down, so I can understand the person he once was, the person he has become.
“How did you manage to enroll at university without having a fixed address?” I ask as we reach the hotel. Fuckingfinally. I’m starving.
He gives me a playful smile. “I just gave the university the address of the shelter I stayed at.”
“Clever.”
“I can be, when I want to.” He doesn’t say anything when I check us in, nor does he comment when the valet takes us up to the penthouse in a private elevator. But when we’re left by ourselves, he opens the garden doors to a large, sunny terrace and sighs. “You’ve thought of everything, haven’t you?” The table has been set for two, and food trays stand waiting to be exposed and enjoyed.
“Impressed?”
He turns over his shoulder. “Very.” His eyes linger on the skyline beyond the terrace, where the Eiffel Tower gleams like a sentinel of possibility. The view stretches wide, golden sunlight glinting off rooftops and spires. A panorama of the city that once held his sorrow, now shimmering with hope. For a moment, it feels like Paris itself is holding its breath, waiting to see what comes next.
“Good. I didn’t think you’d feel comfortable with a waiter.”
“No…I wouldn’t.” He takes a few steps onto the terrace. “This feels very surreal.”
“I want to make you happy.” Slipping out of my coat, I throw it away, then grab the bottle of champagne that sits in a bucket with ice. Pouring us a drink, I kick out the chair. “Sit down, Professor.” I gesture to the table, the silver lids gleaming with heat, the air scented faintly with rosemary and butter. “Thank you for sharing so much with me today. I thought we’d start with something fancy—your favorite, maybe even dessert first—but…” I lean in, voice dipping lower, “suddenly I’ve got a different appetite.”
“Fuck, Louis.” But for once, he listens like a good boy. He takes a drink. Sits down, watches in silence as I put on Ari’sBabydolland sway to the rhythm of the beat.
“The first song I danced to for you,” I remind him. He looks as conflicted as he did the first time. It’s not his usual bitterness, no. This is inner turmoil. He’s fighting himself. Against what, I’m still not sure. But the truth will come out, even if I have to wait longer. I could wait forever formyman. And I’ll start with a show that will make me unforgettable as well.
“Take another drink, baby, relax a little.” Lifting my shirt over my head, I let my fingers slide up my chest and linger at my nipples. Tweaking them, pleasure zaps through me, and I let out a low moan. “Spread your legs, Professor.” My hips roll in rhythm with each beat of the song. Raw desire is written all over Noah’s face. His pupils have drowned the grey of his irises, making them dark and intense. His nostrils flare when I roll my pants down and step out of them, revealing my silver lace.
“Fuck, sweetheart,” he manages, and he licks his lips when I swagger closer. Pressing his nose against the soft material, he lets out a low rumble that makes me hiss. “You’re driving me crazy. Always. Fuck, come here Louis.”
“Uh uh. That’s not how this works, baby.” I clasp both my hands around his nape and let my fingers run through his curls. “Kiss me, Noah.” He mouths my laced dick as it rolls against his lips. “Fuck, yeah, like that.” Tipping my head back, I let out a groan. “Can you feel how wet I am for you?”
“Hmmm. I need to unwrap you, little devil.”
“Yeah?” I pull his head back by his hair, smearing my laced crown over his mouth. His tongue is out, tracing every single bit of lace he can find. When I let go of his head and skid my fingertips over my stomach down to the tiny waistband of my G-string, he follows every movement with hungry eyes. “You want me to take off what little I am wearing?”
“Yeah,” he rasps. “If you don’t hurry up, I’ll do it with my teeth.” My hands halt. Cocking my head, I take him in. His skin, otherwise sun-kissed, is flushed. His hair, after my treatment,looks properly mussed. But it’s that turbulent look in his eyes that gives him away.
“Do it.” I trace my finger over his pillowy lips. “Work for my cock.” He squeezes his eyes closed and inhales greedily, before letting out a sexy grumble. Then his teeth get to work, growling and nipping and mouthing to get access to my dick. It’s the hottest, fucking thing I’ve ever seen in my life.
My lace doesn’t stand a chance against his attack. His teeth slice viciously, and he tears the material with a roar, then hooks one hand around my waist and squeezes a handful of my ass cheek, pushing me impossibly closer. The material flutters down, light as a feather, and then he wraps his mouth around my tip and sucks.
“Fuck,” I pant, hips bucking forward. Ari’sWorshipis now playing, the rhythm an aphrodisiac to the fire licking at my insides, but my body now moves by the grace of my professor. He’s feasting on me the way he needs it most, in complete charge. His stubble rubs against the tender skin of my inner thighs, and his grip is almost painful, nails digging into the skin of my ass. He fists the base of my cock, bossing my shaft around while licking from my slit like it’s the sweetest of treats he’s ever had.
I moan. The Eiffel Tower shines. My orgasm is pending, but too far out of reach. Noah keeps on changing the angle, working me into a frenzy. “Baby, please…”
He pops off my dick, licking away precum and saliva. His eyes are hooded, their heat searing my insides. “What do you need, little devil? My mouth or my dick?”
“I don’t know.” My hips roll desperately, searching for friction. Then he opens his mouth, sticking out his tongue. Waiting. I choke on my next moan, whimpering in my attempts to beg him to release me from my misery. Noah’s smirk is satanic. The fucker knows exactly what he’s doing to me. Lovingit. I do, too. But, fuck me, right now I just need to come. I need it so badly. His tongue flicks at my slit, and he hums when my dick pulses in his grip. “I’m so close,” I mewl. Finally, he slides my cock back into his mouth, moving his hand from my base to my balls, fondling them softly in his palm while his throat works around my raging erection.
I howl, toes curling, eyes rolling back, hips bucking so badly he needs to keep me from falling into him. My orgasm roars through me, consuming me entirely. Noah drinks me down, holds me tight, prevents me from falling. He milks me until there’s nothing left to give, then gets up from his seat and rises to his full height. His kiss is violent. With teeth and tongue, he fights for dominance, his fist in my hair keeping me under his control.
I fucking love it. Need it. Crave for this dominant side of him.
I will find out what makes him so guarded. I will find out and destroy it, tear down his walls, and slay his demons. He can still boss me around all the fuck he likes, but it won’t be a necessity anymore, but something he does because he desires it.
