Page 8 of Crown of Thorns
I look around our private wing. Saint-Laurent Boarding college for boys is the most prestigious college in Europe.Old stone and older secrets. Every hallway whispers like it remembers things no one else does. A most entertaining location for people like me, because I am Louis Deveraux, captain of our football team and self-proclaimed Party animal. That's right, with a capital P.
Someone has turned our place into absolute chaos. Judging by the way the living room’s messed up—boxes filled with creams and fucking oils—I already know who's responsible. The very same one who's put the piano out here and left it where the couch should be. The same one, judging by the banging and moans, who’d rather fuck his boyfriend than clean up this shit hole.
Ladies and gentlemen: my cousin Gaël.
I take out two bottles of champagne, then move through the room collecting glasses. Behind the wall, Gaël’s boyfriend Dominique screams through his climax, and from the kitchen, Arthur turns up the music in our room, lingering as always to supervise the madness he pretends not to enjoy. I grin to myself. A beautiful chaos is what we are.
And, thanks to my genius manipulation, I’ve got a professor on his knees for me. He looked terrified last night when I confronted him. I get it. He screwed up and got caught. But there was something else too. Not just panic. A flicker of recognition. Like some part of him knew he'd wanted it all along and hated himself for it.
Something deeper. And I want to unravel it. I want to see how far his shame runs. What he does when no one’s watching but me. What makes him squirm. What makes him beg. What makes that smart mouth fall silent with need.
“Are you going to open that or just stare at it?” Arthur snaps his fingers, laughing when I startle and shove him off of me.
“Fuck you, bro.”
“Love you too. He’s still busy,” I say when Maxime and Julien, two of Dominique’s best friends, walk in, wiggling my eyebrows while I let the cork pop. My dick hardens at the obvious sounds of pleasure coming from my cousin’s bedroom. The fucker is as subtle as a lion.
“It sounds like he’s coming soon,” Arthur deadpans. I laugh at their flushed faces. Yup. The banging reaches a climax, much like their moans. He’ll be there any time now.When Dominique finally makes his way into the living room, looking blissfully fucked, his cheeks paint red when he sees his friends smirking. Gaël follows him out, blonde strands plastered on his sweaty forehead.
“Louis. Help me with the piano? The paint’s dry now.”
We sort shit out in their new bedroom, taking out the piles of clothes and creams and oils out of the living area. Maxime and Dominique grab the couch and by the time I’m popping two new corks, everyone’s sprawled around seats.
This is where I’m at my best.
“How was the The Black Cat?” Gaël asks.
“Delicious. And also over a week ago.” I lick my lips and grin when he huffs.
“You’re such a fucking perv.”
“What? Not my fault that you’ve gone all soft. No offense, Dom.”
Dominique looks up from his chess board, an absent look in his eyes. “None taken.”
“He didn’t even hear what you said.” Gaël ruffles his boyfriend’s hair.Gaël picks up a bottle of oil. “Any volunteers? Mom sent me this baby, lemongrass combined with jasmine. Louis?”
“No, thank you.” My cousin pouts, but I flip him off and head for the window. I’m feeling restless, which is a new one.
Someone turns up the music and I grin when outsiders look up to our window. Most of them are only just returning from the long weekend we had. They want to be here. They always do. They want in, because they can’t. People always want the one thing they can’t have, although we occasionally choose a few random lucky ones to join our infamous parties.
More alcohol and snacks are being brought in. The couch gets tossed to the side once again as people start to dance. I keep my bottle in hand while I watch the party unfold.Gaël’s right, I’m a perv. I freaking fucking love sex. And The Black Cat is the place to be. It’s one of the few places where I can just be me.
Apparently Professor Montague didn’t get the same message. He looked so jaded. Angry even, with the way I ignored his bark not to touch him. Same storm behind those glasses, those gray eyes that flinched like I'd struck a nerve. Oh, he’s about to learn that no one orders me to do anything. I am Louis Deveraux. Either your wet dream or your worst nightmare, depending on the situation. And he came down my throat.
More party goers are entering our rooms. I watch as two private helicopters land on the grass.
Making my way back to our kitchen corner, I wrap an arm around Gaël and squeeze him to my side. He wriggles himself free with a, ‘I’m busy, bro,’ then continues manhandling Dominique exactly where he wants him. People around us are staring in awe. Yeah, he’s a good-looking guy with his blond hair, buzzed on one side, longer on the other, and sparkling green eyes. The looks of an angel, the character of a devil. He can’t help it. It’s in his blood, to charm and manipulate. He’s a fucking snake.
It’s just one more thing we share. Because I’ve got a secret, and it’s fucking thrilling.One of my bodyguards makes his way to the window. “You needed me, sir?”
“Yes. I want you to look into Professor Montague. Anything you can find.”
Amadou dips his chin in agreement before he leaves again. “Thank you. Now, let’s get this party started. Who wants a Deveraux cocktail?”
People cheer. I get to it, mixing vodka with juice according to my own, secret recipe. My drinks are the fucking best. I don’t just mix liquor. I stir people, press the bruise until it flowers. That’s why they follow me. Because I make them feel something, even if it hurts.
Would Professor Montague stay in one of the staff dorms? Would he sip a cocktail if I handed it to him with a smile and a warning in my eyes? Nah. He’s too buttoned-up for anything outside the lines. I hope he’s here, inside the castle. Hope that he knows it’s me who’s throwing this party, that it’s fucking me the reason why he can’t sleep.
