You Said I Was Your Favorite (A Lancaster Prep Novel)
You Said I Was Your Favorite: Chapter 29

I need this from Arch. Kissing him and touching him. Having him touch me. It’s an escape. One I desperately sought, and while I told myself when I was crying that there was no way any of this was going to happen tonight, now I’m glad it did.

And it’s still happening.

My gaze sticks on his erection, straining against the front of his black boxer briefs and with tentative fingers I touch him, tracing the length of him. His words echo through my head and I want to do what he suggested.

Pull it out. Touch his bare skin. He’s warm, I can already feel his heat seeping through the cotton and I can’t resist any longer.

I tug on the front of his boxers, indicating what I want to do and he eagerly helps out, lifting up and helping me pull them down. His erection springs free, thick and long, the crowned head waving a little.

“Umm…” My voice drifts and he grips the base, giving himself a single stroke, his head falling back against the seat as his eyes slide closed.

Something tugs deep inside me at the sight of him like this. It’s hot. A word I don’t ever use for anything, but seeing Arch with his fingers wrapped tight around his shaft, his throat stretched and his breathing ragged, that’s the only word floating through my mind.

Hot. He’s so hot.

And when I reach out to touch him, I find that he’s hard yet soft, almost velvety. But I can feel the ridge of steel beneath his skin, fear trickling through my blood at the thought of him pushing inside me. Sometimes his fingers can almost feel like too much.

How is he supposed to slide inside me with ease? I’ve read enough romance novels featuring both virgins and non-virgin characters and they make sex sound so easy. Even with the scared-out-of-her-mind virgin, which is who I am right now.

“Fuck, Daze,” he bites out at one point when I begin to stroke him.

I pause. “What? Am I doing it wrong?”

“No.” He frantically shakes his head. “You could never do it wrong. Just—you can go a little faster. Squeeze a little harder.”

I do as he requests and he groans, the ragged sound settling between my thighs, making me pulse. Making my panties flood with moisture. I stroke him faster. Squeeze him harder, fluid appearing in the slit of his cock’s head.

He grabs hold of me, his fingers tangling in my hair when he kisses me with a ferocity I’ve never experienced before. His tongue lashes against mine, circling. Thrusting in time with my strokes and I squeeze him as hard as I can, earning a groan against my lips.

“Feels so good,” he whispers into my mouth, his tongue licking. “Don’t stop.”

I don’t stop. My fingers move faster and eventually he joins in, gripping the base, his mouth devouring mine. Until he pulls away with a muttered, “Oh fuck.”

His erection jerks in my hand and he’s coming, semen spilling all over my fingers, his shaft pulsating. I watch in complete fascination, my gaze hurriedly switching from his face to his cock and back to his face again.

This moment feels almost…sacred. The most intimate thing I’ve shared with another person ever. I just made him come. After he made me come. We now share something that I have with no one else.

“I made a mess all over your hand.” He blows out a long breath, closing his eyes and pressing the back of his head against the seat. “There are napkins in the glove compartment.”

With my clean hand, I reach over and fumble with the latch before it falls open and I’m digging up a couple of napkins, cleaning off my fingers before I try to wipe away the semen still on him. He takes the napkins from me and finishes off the rest, balling them up in his palm before he tosses it in the back seat.

Then he’s reaching for me, kissing me for long, tongue-filled moments, like he’s channeling his gratitude for what I just did from his lips to mine. I cling to him, rocking against him, my clit on fire for contact with his bare skin though I’m still wearing my panties.

He eventually pushes me off his lap, his touch gentle, his smile full of regret when I plop back onto the passenger seat. “I should get you home.”

“Why?” I’m truly confused, my brain still fuzzy from what we just did.

“Your dad is probably wondering where you are.”

His words sober me right up and I worry for the rest of the drive home, nibbling on my lower lip, still tasting the ghost of Arch’s touch on my skin. His mouth. I glance over at him as he pulls into the long driveway that leads to Lancaster Prep. How relaxed he looks, how utterly in his skin he appears as he drives. Without a care in the world.

While I sit here and fret over my father’s reaction to coming home and discovering I’m not there.

“I can feel your stress,” Arch says once he’s parked his car in the east lot. Not many students can have a vehicle on campus, but of course Arch does. “Do you think your dad will be mad at you? Me?”

“I don’t know.” I shrug. “I’ve never done this before.”

I settle my hand on the door handle, ready to climb out of the car, but Arch is reaching for me, pulling me into his arms, delivering the softest kiss ever to my lips. “Don’t worry,” he murmurs, his gaze lingering on my mouth. Like he’s dying to devour it again. “I’ll walk you to your house.”

“You don’t have to—” I start, but he shakes his head, kissing me again.

“I want to.” His voice is firm and I can tell I won’t be able to argue with him.

So I don’t.

We walk back to my house hand in hand, the chilly air making me shiver. Eventually he wraps his arm around my shoulders and keeps me warm as we walk and I feel protected.

Safe.

If I didn’t feel safe with Arch, I would never do any of this with him. But I trust him. He seems to care for me and wants to make sure I’m okay, which is the absolute best feeling in the world.

My father has been my protector for the last six years, while I basically let no one else into my life and neither did he. Oh, I became friendly with the staff here at Lancaster Prep but that’s different. They don’t feel like friends, no matter how many conversations I find myself in with Vivian or whoever else. They’re authority figures, not my friends.

Arch feels like a friend, but more than that.

He feels like he could be my everything.

“Hey.” He tugs me closer with his arm, pressing his lips against my forehead as we walk. “You’re awfully quiet.”

“Thinking,” I tell him, my voice soft.

“Hopefully about nothing bad.” He’s trying to play it off but I can tell.

He might be a little worried.

“Nothing bad at all,” I agree, refusing to let my sad memories and emotions weigh me down. “You really did make today pretty great, Arch.”

“Yeah?” He glances down at me with the faintest smile on his perfect lips.

“Yeah.”

We approach the house and trepidation fills me. I left a single lamp on before I left and I can tell it’s still lit, its light shining from behind the closed curtains. I turn to Arch as his arm slips off my shoulders and give him a quick hug. “Thank you.”

“Happy Birthday.” He presses his mouth to the top of my head in a soft kiss before making a sweet offer. “Want me to go in with you?”

Who is this person and what has he done with the flippant, arrogant boy I despised for years?

Shaking my head, I reluctantly pull away from him. “I’ll be okay.”

“Can I confess something to you?”

I’m frowning. “Of course.”

“I told JJ I would go with him to that party tonight,” he admits, his voice low. “The one Cadence is throwing. Remember?”

My frown deepens, hating how I feel when her name drops from his lips.

Jealous, when I have no reason to be. He’s not with her tonight.

He’s with me.

“But then I turned him down. I didn’t want to go to that party. I’d rather be with you. Alone.” He grabs my hand and pulls me close, whispering in my ear, “Tell your dad you were at Cadence’s party if he asks where you were. That might make things easier on you.”

He pulls away before I can reply, offering a sweet smile as he starts walking backward. “Go inside, Daze.”

Smiling faintly, I watch him, realizing he’s not going to turn and walk like a normal person until I’m in the house so I do as he says: unlock the door and hurry inside, leaning against it for a moment and closing my eyes once I’m inside the house, trying to calm my racing heart.

“Where in the world have you been?”

I crack my eyes open to find my father sitting on the edge of the couch, his hair standing up on end as if he’s been tugging on it for the last few hours.

“I told you I was going out,” I say, my voice trembling.

He jumps to his feet, concern etched in his features. “I was worried about you.”

“Did you text me?” I glance at my phone to find I have no texts from anyone. Nothing unusual.

“No. I only got home about thirty minutes ago and when I realized you weren’t here, I started to panic. But then I checked Find My Phone and saw you were driving home. Or more like someone was bringing you back here.”

“Yeah, I got a ride back. I went to a, uh, a party.” I nod, remembering what Arch said. Using his excuse.

“Oh.” Dad’s face brightens. “Was it in celebration of your birthday?”

“No, Dad,” I say softly. “It was just a Friday night party, you know? But I had fun.”

“You did?” He sounds hopeful. I thought he’d be mad I was out, but he’s not. He wishes I was more social and had friends so this aligns with what he wants. “I’m happy to hear that, sweetheart. You only deserve the best on your birthday.”

His words don’t match his previous years’ thoughts and I wonder if we’re actually making progress for once. Mourning my mother—his wife, the love of his life—has consumed us every year at this time for the last six years.

While I had a moment in the car with Arch, it feels like telling him the story of that day was almost like a purge. The sadness that always lingered in my chest and made me push everyone away isn’t as strong.

“I had fun, but I’m tired.” I push away from the door, pausing at the mouth of the hallway. “Did you have a nice night with Kathy?”

“I did.” His expression grows distant, a tiny smile curving his lips, and I wonder if he’s thinking of her. I can’t imagine him feeling the same way about Kathy as I do about Arch. That’s just…no.

Impossible.

“I’m glad you had a good time with her,” I say as I head for my bedroom. “Good night, Daddy.”

“Night, sweetie.”

I lock myself away in the bathroom seconds later, breathing a sigh of relief as I slump against the door. I don’t like lying to my father, but I was too afraid of how he might react if he found out I was actually with Arch. He doesn’t like him. At least that one time we talked about him, I got that sense.

And I like Arch. A lot.

Probably more than I should.

Staring at my reflection, I wash my hands, staring at myself hard. Looking for a difference in my eyes, my face, my anything.

But again, there’s no difference. I’m just me. After everything I did earlier tonight—my cheeks literally turn pink at the memory, I am witnessing it happen in the mirror—with Arch, I figured I would maybe look like a new person. Older. More mature.

My hair is down. That’s really the only difference but as I dry off my hands, I realize something.

I feel different. There’s more to my world now than just me and Dad and the roses and school. There’s Arch. Arch and me.

Me and Arch.

My heart thumps harder than usual and I rest my hand over my chest, inhaling deeply. It’s scary, thinking of us together. Publicly. I don’t know if I’m ready for that.

Is he?

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