Page 78 of Crown of Thorns
“I can make you apple scones,” I whisper.
“I’d like that.”
His smile hits like a punch. I can see it. Him at the table, messy papers everywhere, coffee steam curling into the air, those glasses slipping down his nose.
I almost say it.
“So,” I mutter, “if she wasn’t a date, then who was she?”
“You do know you’re a stalker, right?”
“That’s because you’re mine.”
He opens his mouth to argue, then closes it. His eyes spark. He lets out a string of low curses and surges forward, wrapping his arms around me.
Relief surges through me. My lips find his. I slide my tongue inside, tasting defiance and salt and longing.
“Don’t disappear on me again,” I whisper against his lips. “I need to know where you are.”
“Louis, stop it.”
I smile. “I’ll never stop.”
He groans.
“Gaël’s party is tonight,” I say reluctantly. “I should go. If I don’t, they’ll start asking questions, and you don’t need more eyes on you.”
I hesitate. “Unless you want to come with me?”
He doesn’t answer. I don’t expect him to.
But the tightness in my chest doesn’t go away. Not even as I mark his neck with my teeth. Not even as he moans into my mouth. One more mark he can’t explain away. Maybe I’m not just staking a claim, I’m building a ritual of my own.
“You are mine, Noah.” I’m not gentle because I care. I’m rough because I do. If I don’t mark him, someone else will.
He doesn’t say it back. But he doesn’t say no, either.
I texted Amadou to trace the identity of the blonde woman, just in case, then climbed the stairs and headed for the party.
I may not know much about him yet, but I do know that he left Saint-Laurent when he was sixteen. Why, I don’t know. Helived a rough couple of years before somehow managing to get into college. Sure, university is free, but it still costs a lot for him to actually obtain his degree. Let alone starting and finishing his PhD degree in less than six years.
On paper, the man is a genius, undoubtedly the reason the board hired him. But what sort of a man has he become? A man who doesn’t have time to enjoy the pleasures life offers. What would he have loved had he been given the chance?
Because that’s what this is about. I can feel it. About his own sexual identity. I will coax the words out of him one way or another. Perhaps I can be a patient man, too.
I want to. With him. I want him to want me, to fall for me and never get up again.
But even after tonight, the hunger won’t leave. I thought I’d feel calm. Sated. Instead, I’m worse. Restless. Starving. Like I’ve just tasted something holy and now I’ll rot without it. It’s pathetic, I know. But fuck it…I’ve never wanted anything this badly.
22
NOAH
Louis slips back into my dorm sometime after midnight.
I’m in bed, the scent of bergamot curling from a candle by the window, soft music whispering from my speaker. I didn’t mean to wait for him. But that’s all I seem to do lately, wait for Louis Deveraux. Wait for his footsteps. His moods. His hunger.
The sound of him undressing stirs something low and mean in my gut. I close my eyes, letting the faint splash of water echo softly in the room. Pretend I’m asleep. But every rustle of fabric, every sigh, is magnified. He showers, quick, efficient, familiar. He’s adopted my habits, or maybe he’s just using them to get under my skin. Routine used to mean safety, something predictable in the dark. Now it feels like a trap laced with silk and sharpened with memory, a performance of comfort masking something far more dangerous.
