Page 68 of Crown of Thorns
Four of them. Custom-made champagne glasses with golden swirls engraved. They glittered like stolen treasure beneath the dorm’s weak lamplight, each golden swirl a secret promise. I carefully took one out to investigate with precision. They must have cost him a month’s salary. “They are gorgeous, baby. So pretty. But why four? It’s just you and me, right?”
“Your family, perhaps?” He snarked but blushed all the same when I leaned in and grabbed his collar.
Nuzzling his throat, I licked up to his ear and mumbled, “I’ll put two in my kitchen, if that makes you happy. But the other two stay here. That way we can have a drink before we fuck, or during, or after.”
“Louis…”
I bit his earlobe. “Love the gift, Professor.”
Best. Gift. Ever.
Although I don’t like the idea that he’d consider spending nights without me, I still dutifully brought them to my own place. You see, I can be a good boy, too. I want him to believe that.
That’s when I took to cooking for him. The other night I made Noah mustard chicken, one of my favourite dishes. Since his room now has a small kitchenette, thanks to yours truly, he came back to his dorm to find a table set for two. He damn near had a heart attack, the way his eyes bulged. I couldn’t help but grin. At first, I thought this was it. That he was going to throw me out. He’s still obsessed with the whole forbidden nature of our relationship, and my brain has instructed my heart to be patient. But we ended up having a great night. I even put on some of his favourite classical songs.
After that first dinner with Noah, I surprised him once more with a film night. He joined me on the kitchen counter, but he is clueless when it comes to cooking. He ended up fucking me on the counter. Those damn crisps were all over the fucking place. Still, he wouldn’t let me call cleanup, because he’s too afraid someone might see us together. I don’t even remember the film we watched. Maybe it’s time for a replay soon. That was five days ago.
Yeah, I think Noah’s warming up to me. I think he secretly adores me so much that he can’t get enough of my lovely presence. Of my tight as fuck ass, since he loves to lick it, bite it, slap it. He can do whatever he wants, as long as he keeps on letting me sleep with him. He calms my mind, gives me purpose. When I’m with him, I can be just me. No parties. No competition. Just me and his grumpy self. For now, I’ll take it, because it’s better than nothing.
And look at that. My phone buzzes with a text. He’s even getting into the habit of replying to me.
Sexy Grump: I’m working out.
And now I can’t stop thinking of the image of him beating the shit out of his punching bag.
Little Devil: Do you need some help slaying your demons?
He leaves me on read, and I think I may have gone too far. Typically, I’m too exuberant. I look at my phone, contemplating sending him a quick apology, but think better of it.
Next to me, the banging morphs into a more loving rhythm. I can’t believe Arthur found his match before I did. I’m glad for them, don’t get me wrong. And I send all my condolences to Régis, because damn…where I’m all fun and easy-going, Arthur is a fucking motherfucker. Possessive in the purest meaning of the word.
I check my phone again, but there’s still no reply. I still don’t know what he’s running from, but seeing my twin getting the best of life pisses me right the fuck off. Why’s he being so difficult anyway? He’s had lovers before. Girlfriends. I want to hunt those bitches down, and welcome them to a slow, painful death for touching what’s mine.
Fuck everything.
I’m about to get myself a drink when Arthur throws open the bedroom door, my little stepbrother hot on his tail, completely wrapped up in their bubble. Their banter halts when they see me.
Régis’s face is flushed, his golden hair mussed as if my twin has yanked at it a little too hard for anyone’s comfort. “Hi Louis,” he greets me with his usual bashful smile.
My brother gives me a sceptical once-over, which I return with glee. “Love the outfit, bro.”
“Yeah, well, check yourself,” I throw back. He just cocks his head, not even bothering to look down at the bright yellow shorts he’s wearing. Speaking of ugly as fuck. I mean, where did he get those?
“Well, well, look who’s here. If it isn’t The Lost Prince.”
I scrunch my nose. “Who the fuck’s that?”
“You. Where the fuck are you hiding?”
He shoulders me to the side and grabs the champagne. He presses the bottle against my chest and cocks his head when he watches me pour it in a cup. “Since when do you drink from a glass?”
“Since when do you care?” It’s a shit thing to say. Untrue as well. But it seems that I’m out to sour my mood even further, because that’s exactly what’s happening. How the fuck did that happen so fast? Perhaps Noah was right. I love my family to bits, but I’m often afraid of not being good enough. And right now, I feel like shit for admitting that I’m jealous of my twin, who deserves all the luck in the world.
I just…ugh, I want that too, fucking hell. God, why does it hurt so much?
Arthur halts in his tracks and raises an eyebrow. “Ouch. What’s up with you, bro? And what’s with the glass?”
“Not yours.” I snatch it away before he can pick it up. He looks genuinely surprised.
