The Envy of Idols (Rich Boys of Burberry Prep #3)(69)

“It feels amazing,” I whisper, feeling a pang of guilt.

What about the other guys? What about Zack, and the sweet, soft sadness he carries in that big, muscular body of his? What about Zayd’s confession in the library, and the shame he carried for a whole year? And then there’s Windsor and Tristan … I imagine sex doesn’t mean much to either of them. They’ve had enough of it, that’s for sure. No, I want something more from them. I want to be held, and cuddled, and touched. I want to be talked to, listened to … loved.

I need to see their vulnerability.

“This feels right.” I sit up and put my feet over the edge of the bed, nodding my head in the direction of my suitcase. “I have condoms in my bag.”

Creed cocks a blond brow.

“How? Why?”

I give him a look, my face flushed, my body on fire. An ardent storm swirls through me … aaaaand, I’m waxing poetic again. Ugh. But it’s so true.

“I’ve been having condoms thrown at me, shoved in my locker, and piled on my doorstep since first year started. I’m a virgin, not an idiot. I knew sex would happen eventually, so why throw away perfectly good condoms.”

“They might have holes poked in them,” Creed says, and my blood chills at the implication. That’s beyond bullying, that’s practically sexual assault.

“No, I only keep the ones in the sealed boxes,” I say, and he nods, bending down and unzipping my suitcase, pushing aside some embarrassing lacey pink panties until he finds what he’s looking for. As he stands back up and reaches down for the button on his slacks, I lean over and turn out the light.

Standing up, I almost stumble, my legs weak and shaky from all the new sensations.

Creed catches me by the elbow and pulls me into the curve of his left arm. With the right, he uses his long, beautiful fingers to slide the straps of my dress down until it falls into a glittery puddle near my feet. It’s dark in here, but the city lights catch just enough of a glow that I can see the outline of his beautiful face.

“Don’t prank me with this,” I whisper, feeling the slightest sting of tears. I’m strong now, but I don’t want to have to be strong through something like this. I want to lose myself in the moment, and then find myself again in Creed Cabot. That’s the whole point. That’s why I’ve waited until now, until seventeen. This is how and when and where I want to do this. “Don’t make a bet out of me, Cabot.”

“Never again,” he snarls, and there’s such a ferocity in his voice that I shiver. I think of the tattoo on the side of Zayd’s neck for the briefest of moments, and then Creed’s kissing me again. He undoes my bra with one hand and then helps me out of it. His hand relieves the heavy weight of my breast, palming it and kneading the soft flesh. His thumb grazes my nipple, and I tremble.

We find our way onto the bed, the sparkling lights of San Francisco limning our profiles as we kiss, and Creed pushes his pants down and out of the way. There’s a bit of an awkward fumble as we figure out the condom, and get it on, and then my panties are coming down, and I’m so short of breath I’m lightheaded.

Creed climbs on top of me, curling his fingers through mine and pinning them above my head.

“Last chance, Marnye,” he whispers, letting go of me with one hand and using the other to reach between us. I expect there to be a bit of trial and error, but Creed is competent, even in new endeavors. Holy crap, this is happening. Closing my eyes, I exhale, and I wait as he touches me between the legs with more than just his hand.

Slowly, almost agonizingly so, Creed moves his hips forward and enters me. In a single moment, we go from virgins to … not virgins. At least, in one narrow world view of how virginity works. There are so many other ways, so many other opinions, but at least we have this, a single perfect moment of being joined together.

“Does it hurt?” he asks, his voice so much softer than usual.

“No,” I whisper back, and he lets go of my hand, so I can curl both my arms around his neck. He uses his elbows to keep himself partially propped up, but I can feel the weight of his body pressing me into the mattress, the smooth hard shapes of his muscles as he pulls out, and then slides back in. “It feels good.” My voice is husky, deep, almost foreign to my own ears.

“So it does,” Creed purrs, nuzzling my neck. He moves slowly at first, until we’re both slick with sweat, and then he moves faster, deeper, harder. There are no boundaries between us, and I feel like I’m coming apart in the best possible way.

We both make soft, easy sounds, grunts and moans that tangle together in the darkness.

A desperate ache builds in my lower belly, this throbbing motion that feels so good it almost hurts. When it breaks, I arch my back and press into Creed as he kisses my neck, and continues moving his hips, pushing me over the edge to the other side.

I’m shaking and panting as he finds his own climax, shuddering above me, muscles going taut as rocks before he relaxes suddenly and collapses on top of me.

We stay there like that for several minutes before Creed groans and rolls off, sliding off the bed to dispose of the condom before he joins me again.

I’m basically paralyzed, lying there on my back and staring up at the ceiling. In the distance, I can hear the faint cry of a police siren.

Creed lies down on his side, pillowing his head on his hands and watching me. He’s still breathing hard, and I shiver as he runs his tongue across his lower lip. Honestly … I could probably do the whole thing all over again. Maybe a hundred times more. A thousand.