Page 41 of Crown of Thorns
His eyes cut to the champagne like it's a weapon. “Seriously? Champagne? You know there’s a no-alcohol policy.”
I lift the bottle and take a deliberate sip, letting the silence stretch between us. “What can I say? I’m a rulebreaker.”
He watches the movement of my throat, and something flickers darkly in his expression. “Louis, I’m serious.” The nerve in his cheek twitches again, betraying just how much I’m under his skin.
“Well, don’t worry about me, I was about to leave.” Melody stands up and ruffles Noah’s strawberry-blond strands. I fist my hands to stop her from touching him. She’s his sister, I know. But I want those to be my hands feeling his soft strands. I want those to be my nails so I can scratch his head, just like I know he loves.
“You should have told me you’d be here this early.”
“Not necessary.” She moves on her tiptoes and gives him a hug. “I just wanted to wish you a good first night in your dorm, is all. Text me whenever you need something, okay? Louis’ friend left your stuff in your rooms.”
I shrug when Noah eyes me with suspicion. “My bodyguard, she means. And don’t worry, I’ll text you the classroom.”
I don’t wait for a reply. Instead, I rise with lazy confidence and walk out like I own the damn place, because in a way, I do. Monterrey is my stage, and tonight, Noah Montague is the show.
He’s going to ignore my message. He always tries to. And that’s what makes this fun. Because by the time he realizes what I’ve done, it’ll be too late. He’ll be off-balance. Off-script. Right where I want him.
That’s the game: give him control, just enough to let him think he has it, then rip it away.
Never thought having a tutor would feel like setting a trap with lace and longing. And fuck, I can’t wait to spring it.
Noah’s dorm has gone through a full-blown metamorphosis. The kind that says: someone gives a damn about you, even if you don’t. Soft greys and forest greens punch into the walls, moody, deliberate, and fuckable. The kind of palette meant to calm a restless heart. Amadou hung the paintings exactly as I envisioned, and Melody’s mugs—galaxies trapped in clay—glint from the new shelves like quiet offerings.
He owns almost nothing. Just a few essentials and a graveyard of restraint. That’s fine. I’ll fill in the gaps. I’ll give him more than furniture. I’ll give him memories, cravings, habits he didn’t choose.
I don’t know why he finally chose to sleep here, but I’ve never been more thrilled. Because now he’s in my territory. His control. My obsession.Us.
That truth should terrify me. Instead, it electrifies me.
I hum, claiming the room like a king surveying his new land. This isn’t just a space, it’s the beginning of his surrender, even if he can’t see it yet.
The only regret? My cum didn’t stay on the sheets. But as I settle onto his bed, bare ass sinking into the freshly made lace, the smooth fabric kissing my skin, I decide this is better.
Much better.
And now, I wait.
When my phone buzzes on my stomach. It makes my dick perk up. There he is, fuckingfinally.
“Where are you, Louis?” Noah’s voice snaps through the speaker, clipped and furious.
I palm my growing erection and smile lazily.
“Same place I told you I’d be, Professor. Been waiting. Half an hour now. You’re late.”
A beat.
“Didn't peg you for the type to stand a guy up.”
Sharp breathing.
Then: “I’m waiting in my office. Where…”
He cuts himself off.
I hear it, the moment it hits him.
The silence vibrates with realization.
