Page 18 of Crown of Thorns
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 fuckinggood.
I playBury a Friendfrom 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.
6
NOAH
He’s been in my new dorm at Monterrey Castle.
I can’t believe it.
Here I was, thinking my move was the winning one, and that asshole took that moment to use mybed. To…to…
I throw my phone on the floor, fighting the urge to smash it to utter destruction. His message has taken control of my thoughts. Because I can’t help but look at it, over and over again. Louis’s body is…perfection.Heis perfection. From his thick, raven strands to those charcoal eyes, adorned by long lashes, his square, sharp features, defined cheekbones, and full, lush lips. His dirty mouth. His cockiness. He’s tall and lean with muscle.
The way he moves, like he owns every space he’s in, sets my nerves on edge. I remember the sting of every glance thrown my way as I walked into that classroom, the silent judgment masked behind forced smiles. It’s like walking a tightrope, knowing one misstep could send me plummeting.
