You Said I Was Your Favorite (A Lancaster Prep Novel)
You Said I Was Your Favorite: Chapter 36

I’m leaving my last class of the day when I see Arch waiting for me in the hallway, pushing away from the wall he was leaning against to approach me, taking my hand the moment he’s close enough.

I smile at him, feeling a little dazzled at this new side of Arch. The attentive, always-wants-to-be-with-you boyfriend side. I didn’t realize he had it in him.

“You busy?” he asks as we leave the building.

“Right now?” I think of all the homework I need to do. Plus, I have to study for a test and come up with the first paragraph of an essay that’s due in English by midnight tonight. “No.”

I shove all that work aside at the thought of being alone with Arch. Every other time we’re left alone with each other, we end up doing…things.

I’m dying to kiss him. Touch him. Feel his arms hold me close.

“Come back with me to my room,” he suggests, steering us toward the sidewalk that leads to the building where he lives. “You’ve never been there before.”

“I know. You never let me in your private sanctuary,” I tease him.

“Yeah, I’m not a big fan of bringing people back there. It’s my private space, you know? I don’t want JJ and the rest of my friends getting it all dirty with their shit.” He shrugs, his focus straight ahead, allowing me to study his profile for a moment.

It’s a beautiful profile. He is so attractive it’s almost painful. The minute we’re alone in his room, I’m going to tackle him. Kiss his firm jaw and his strong neck. That spot just behind his ear that makes him squirm…

I blink myself back into focus and smile. “Are you trying to tell me you’re a neat freak, Arch Lancaster?”

“Busted.” He smiles down at me and I swear my body feels light. As if I’m made of nothing but clouds and fairy dust, and that is the silliest thought I think I’ve ever had, but it’s true.

This is how he makes me feel, being in his presence. When he smiles at me. Like I have no problems and nothing can get me down.

Not when I have Arch with me.

I follow him into the building, noting how empty and isolated it feels in here. It’s not really used by the school anymore except for storage, and it’s where the Lancaster family members live when they’re in attendance. At least he has his sister in this building too. Otherwise, I think it would be way too lonely here.

We stop in front of a closed door and Arch taps at the keypad just above the door handle, the light turning green once he’s put in the code. He leads me inside the cavernous room, the door falling closed behind me with a quiet click and I stop, looking around, taking it all in.

The room is huge. He could probably have our entire senior class in here for a party and we’d all fit. There’s a giant bed against one wall and a desk nearby. There’s a massive dresser and a full-length mirror that stands in the corner of the room. There are two windows, both of them big, one of them overlooking the cottage where I live with my dad.

I turn to Arch, who’s dropping his backpack on top of his desk. “You can spy on me.”

“Yeah.” He unzips the front pocket of his backpack and pulls out a lip balm, uncapping it and slicking it on his lips. “I can.”

“Do you?”

“Not really.” My brows lift and he drops the lip balm on top of his desk, though it falls on its side and rolls right onto the floor. “Fine. I do. Sometimes.”

“If I find a pair of binoculars in this room, I’m going to freak out,” I threaten him with a smile, marching over to the window and studying my little house. The massive garden and my rose bushes, their branches waving in the breeze as usual. It’s getting cooler at night and the new buds aren’t popping up near as often as they used to.

Soon, there won’t be any flowers at all.

“There aren’t any binoculars in here,” he reassures me. I can feel him approach me from behind, the heat from his body suddenly right there, seeping into me, and I suck in a soft breath when he wraps his arms around my waist from behind. “Besides, I don’t need to spy on you anymore when I’ve got the real deal right here in my room. In my arms.”

He kisses my neck, his lips warm and persistent and I tilt my head to the side, giving him better access, resting my hands on top of his. I know why he brought me back here. Why he wanted us to be alone.

I want the same thing. I’m not scared anymore about it. It’s all I thought about over the weekend, and I wonder if he did the same.

“Did you miss me?” I ask, immediately hating how needy I sound.

“Yes,” he breathes against my neck, his hands wandering, sliding toward the front of my shirt, his fingers already undoing the buttons. “All I could think about was what we were doing before we were—interrupted.”

By my father, I think, shoving all thoughts of him right out of my brain. I don’t want to think about that moment. Not now.

For once in my life, my father’s opinion doesn’t matter to me.

This is my life, not his.

“I couldn’t stop thinking about it either,” I admit, tilting my head down and giving Arch the room to push my hair away from the back of my neck.

“I like that you’re wearing your hair down more often,” he murmurs against my skin, making me shiver.

“I’m tired of the braids,” I admit.

His hands settle on my hips, slowly turning me so I’m facing him and when I look up, the warm glow in his eyes makes me momentarily breathless. “I like them.” He curls his fingers around the ends of my hair, giving it a tug. “I miss pulling them.”

A soft laugh leaves me and before I can respond, he’s kissing me. Pushing me gently so my back hits the wall, his busy mouth never straying, his tongue tangling with mine. I slide my hands up the solid wall of his chest, curling my arms around his neck, burying my fingers in his hair. Clinging to him.

Silently hoping he never, ever lets me go.

We’re quiet, too wrapped up in each other’s mouths, his hands wandering to dangerous places. Places he’s touched before, stroked before, kissed before. I go easily when his hands dip beneath my skirt and wrap around my butt, lifting. I wrap my legs around his hips, marveling at his strength when he carries me over to his bed and drops me onto the center of the mattress, where I land with a bounce.

There’s no opportunity to give him any grief for dropping me though. The next thing I know he’s crawling on top of the bed, on top of me, his mouth finding mine once more as he settles his weight more firmly on me. I welcome it, reveling in the sensation of his hot, solid body pressing against mine. He’s hard where I’m soft, and it’s like we just…fit. Two pieces of a puzzle coming together, clicking into place.

It’s like this for long minutes, his hips rocking against mine, his erection nudging a certain spot that increases my heart rate and makes my blood run hotter. I eventually get his shirt unbuttoned, my hands roaming across his chest, fingers tracing across his pecs, smiling when I feel him shiver.

He shifts down, his mouth raining kisses across my chest before he moves lower, licking my stomach, his hands beneath my skirt, fingers curled around the sides of my panties. I wait, breathless, a gasp leaving me when he flips my skirt up, his lips blazing a trail across the waistband, coming closer and closer where I feel the neediest.

Oh God, if he goes down on me, I don’t know what I’ll do. I can only imagine how good it will feel, and when he places his hands on the inside of my thighs and spreads them wider, I know what’s coming.

Swallowing hard, I close my eyes, waiting. All of my focus on that one spot. He runs his fingers just along the inside of my underwear, brushing against my sensitive skin and I hiss in a breath. Waiting.

Waiting.

He tugs the cotton aside, pausing for a bit, and I lie there in tense anticipation, waiting to feel his mouth on me down there for the first time.

But he doesn’t do it. It’s like he’s come to a complete stop and I crack open my eyes to find he’s watching me. My face.

The moment our gazes connect, he smiles, the sight of it making my heart tumble over itself. “Don’t want you to forget who’s about to do this to you for the first time.”

“How could I forget?” I ask, my voice weak. This boy…

“Didn’t want you thinking it was one of your fictional book boyfriends.” He dips his head and before I can say a single thing, he’s pressing his tongue against my clit.

And like the greedy person I am, I’m lifting my hips, practically smashing myself against his face, seeking more.

More, more, more.

He gives it to me, his tongue searching everywhere. Leaving no spot untouched. I’m gasping for air, struggling to breathe, my eyes tightly shut and my hips moving in tandem with his thrusting tongue. He licks one spot in particular and a loud moan escapes me. He licks it again.

Another moan falls from my lips and I arch my back, lifting my hips.

He concentrates on that spot, licking and sucking so enthusiastically that maybe I should be embarrassed but I’m not. It feels too good, too magical, too otherworldly. Like I’m about to have an out of body experience. And when he slides his finger inside me, slowly thrusting in and out, the suction of his mouth right there, that’s all it takes.

I’m falling apart. Broken into tiny little pieces, my body shaking almost violently. He never lets up, his mouth zeroed in on that one spot still, his fingers thrusting hard. Harder. A keening cry sounds and I realize it’s coming from me.

When I collapse on the bed, I have a hard time catching my breath. I lie there like my body has turned to liquid. A puddle of bones and flesh in the center of the mattress. He eventually lifts away from me, his mouth gentle. Dropping little kisses on the inside of my thighs, making me tremble. A kiss for one hipbone, then the other. Until he’s sliding up, up. His face in mine, his mouth on mine, the taste of me still on his lips.

I kiss him as if I can’t get enough, my tongue licking, teeth nipping at his bottom lip. He pins me down and I revel in the sensation of his fingers clamped tightly around my wrists, my arms above my head. When he lifts away, he stares down at me, his brows lowered, his gaze roaming over my face. Like he can’t quite believe he’s got me in this position.

“You liked that.” It’s not a question.

My nod is slow, my body suddenly languid. Like my limbs are made of concrete and I can’t lift them. He kisses me again and I let him, lost in the glide of his tongue, the way I can still taste myself on his mouth and it tugs at something deep inside me. Making me want him again.

Making me want to do the same for him that he just did to me.

Reaching out, I rest my hand on his belt buckle, somehow undoing it with still quaking fingers. He doesn’t stop me. I know he wants me to do this. He’s been wanting it for what feels like forever, but he’s been so patient with me. He cares about my feelings and my wants and needs and my fears and insecurities. He’s the most thoughtful person I’ve ever met, which is hilarious because our first interactions? He was terrible. A nightmare.

A menace.

Mean and cruel, he said the worst things. Lashing out at me for whatever reason until eventually…

He became—direct quote from his mouth—obsessed with me. And I, in turn, have become obsessed with him.

Arch rolls over onto his back, folding his arms behind his head, watching me with an almost amused expression on his handsome face as I fumble with the front of his uniform pants. He doesn’t offer to help and I don’t expect him to. I’m full of too much determination to make this happen on my own, without his assistance.

Why, I’m not sure, but I can stand on my own two feet and I want to prove that to him.

Eventually the belt is undone and so is the button and the zipper. He’s lifting his hips, kicking off his shoes and when he’s finally lying there with the unbuttoned shirt still on along with his boxer briefs and socks, I can’t help but think he’s the sexiest man I’ve ever seen.

He’s all mine too.

Greedily, I run my hands all over him, shoving at his shirt until he’s shrugging out of it, tossing it on the floor. I map his flesh with my hands and fingers, silently marveling at the defined muscles of his arms and shoulders. His chest and stomach. His body is beautiful.

Perfect.

I touch him everywhere I can with my mouth. My tongue. Nip at his flesh with my teeth. I wish I could take a bite of him. Consume him…

I’m too caught up in my thoughts and my wants and needs to focus on much else, but he doesn’t seem to mind. He’s reaching for me too. His fingers sift through my hair, getting tangled in the strands, and I savor the gentle tug. The soft massage of his fingertips on my scalp, until I’m out of his reach and I mourn the loss of his touch instead. I race my lips across the flat expanse where the waistband of his briefs lies against his flesh, feeling him tremble beneath my mouth. Does anyone ever kiss him there?

I hope not. I want it to be my spot. Mine.

Just like he is.

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