Page 22 of Crown of Thorns
LOUIS
Noah’s back thwacks against the wall with such force that one of the new frames clatters down. Shards of glass are thrown all over the wooden floor. His silver eyes glare in rage, and a vein pulses in his throat. I trail my finger over it, following the dip to where it meets his collarbone. “Let go of me before I call security.”
“You still don’t get it, do you? No one will come. If it’s your word against mine, who do you think they’ll believe? Hmm?”
“You…you…”
“I know.” I smile my shark-like smile, slow and gleaming, loving how his gaze dips as he takes in every second of it. “So, what’s it gonna be? Fight, or give up?”
He wants to fight this so badly. He wants to rearrange my face with his fists, his inner furor begging to be released. To destroy everything in their wake. But he can’t. Because we’re standing here where anyone could walk in. And because, unlike his, my promises bite, and he knows it.
“Let me be very clear on something, Noah.” My fingers move to unbutton his shirt, slowly exposing what treasures it holds. “I touch whatever the fuck I want.” A sun-kissed skin, golden and warm like temptation. His chest is broad and defined, smoothand hairless. Cocking my head, I watch his expression morph into one of bewilderment. His lips beg to be kissed, pillowy and wet. “This.” I press a dark nipple between my fingers, and his mouth falls open. “Or this.” My free hand cups his prominent bulge. “Tell me, Professor, do you want my mouth around this cock again?”
“You are crazy,” he snarls, pushing me off of him with renewed force. His chest is heaving, looking glorious on full display. My gut aches at the sight, a throb catching low in my stomach like hunger sharpened to a blade.
“I know. That’s why people love me so much.”
“I’m notpeople. Now, listen. Please.” Wrapping his hand around my throat once more, he keeps me at arm’s length. This time, his grip doesn’t smother me. “This has been going on for long enough now. I messed up, you took advantage of it, I get it. It’s fun. It’s exciting. But let me tell you, it’s old news now. So let’s just move on.”
“Aww,” I pout. “You seriously want to ignore our first meeting?”
“Yes. That was an unfortunate event that won’t repeat itself. If it is apologies you want, I?—”
“I don’t want your apologies,” I huff out a laugh. “You tasted divine. All shy and uncomfortable and so very, fucking hungry.”
Noah’s nostrils flare as he glares at me. “What did you say?”
“Was it your first time with a guy?”
“Of course not,” he growls.
“Well, you tasted like a virgin. I would have thought Paris had plenty of entertainment to offer.”
“I was busy studying,” he snaps.
“I know you were. At twenty-six, you were the youngest professor in the country. I would have thought that someone with such status could afford better housing.” As if stung by awasp, he lets go of me and pushes me with full force against the wall. “Careful, you don’t want to break any more frames.”
“How do you know about my life in Paris?” he barks.
“Wouldn’t you like to know? What would you give for that information?”
“What?” His eyes flash. “Nothing. Is everything a game to you?”
“Maybe.”
“Well, not to me.” He leans forward and presses something cool and very sharp against my throat. A pocket knife. His survival instincts kick in. So my resources didn’t lie. He did live on the streets. Making this a very,verytouchy subject.
“How do you know about my life in Paris?” he asks again.
“What do you think?”
“Listen, I just want you to back off.” His hand shakes as he visibly deflates, shoulders slumping and eyes clouding over with something too heavy to name. The anger drains from his face like a tide receding, leaving only exhaustion in its wake. Wrapping my hand around his, I keep the blade on my throat. A shiver runs through my body, making my cock harden even more.
“Not. Gonna. Happen.” Pushing our hands forward, the knife presses closer against my throat. I close my eyes and shudder. I’ve always loved a little danger, but my usual type of person is a very specific kind of twink—my favorite sex worker—and while his holes perform magic, he’s not paid to be violent. Now this…to have my otherwise collected professor riled up is a whole different ball game. Why is he so worked up? Because I know of the shelter he lived in in Paris? What other skeletons does he have hidden in his closet?
“Name your prize, Louis. And this will go away.”
I roll my hips against his groin, not surprised I find him as hard as I am. His gray eyes widen, and the tip of the knifescrapes at my skin. I hiss at the sudden sting. He watches my blood trickle down my throat with dilated pupils. The room fills with the familiar, metallic scent.
