Heart of Thorns (Shadow Valley U Book 2)

Briar sits on the bed and stares up at me. I take a second to make sure the door is locked—Rhys would probably pick this exact moment to burst in otherwise—then return to her.

She’s so sexy it hurts.

I run my hands up her legs again, this time hooking my fingers around the waistband of her panties when I reach her hips. I slowly drag the black fabric down, carefully removing it and tossing it to the floor beside me.

“Grab on to the headboard,” I order.

Her eyes widen, and she reaches over her head. Her tits strain against the t-shirt I put her in last night, and I make a mental note that next time, I’ll pay them the attention they deserve.

Right now, though, I must be between her legs.

Immediately.

I spread her legs and lean down, running my nose and mouth up the inside of her thigh. All the way up, up, up, until I can smell her arousal.

“Oh God⁠—”

I swipe my tongue through the folds of her pussy and barely suppress my groan. When the tip of my tongue trips over her clit, her hips jerk. I smile to myself and do it again. My hands wander in, and I slide one finger inside her.

“Fuck,” she hisses above me.

Her hands stay locked around the edge of the headboard.

“Good girl,” I croon. “Now just come on my fingers and tongue and I’ll give you what you really want.”

In her heightened state, it doesn’t take her long. I curl my fingers inside her, pumping as my lips fasten around her clit. Her legs clamp around my head and tense with her climax. Her back arches off the bed, and she twists away from me.

“One down,” I tell her. I straighten and shed my sweatpants, pausing only to grab a condom from my nightstand. I kneel between her splayed legs and roll it on, enjoying her heaving chest.

It would be better if it was brighter in here… and if she wasn’t wearing a shirt.

I push the fabric up, exposing her chest, and my dick gets even fucking harder.

My hand joins hers on the headboard, and the other guides my cock to her entrance. She’s slick, with her cum and more arousal, and her wide eyes are locked on my face.

I meet her gaze, pause, then thrust into her.

We both moan. Her muscles tighten, pulsing around me, and I have to stay still for a moment so I don’t completely lose my shit.

I’m supposed to be good at this. I mean—I am. I’ve fucked my fair share of girls. But she feels different. Closer to heaven than anything else I’ve experienced.

A slice of guilt drops through me at that thought. I shouldn’t compare her to other girls.

But there it is.

“You feel so good,” I tell her, slowly withdrawing until just my tip is still encased inside her.

I push in an inch at a time, and her eyes roll back. Her muscles tremble, her abdomen tensing. My self-control is hanging on by a thread, but I’m going to fucking milk it until it snaps.

Slow. Torturous. Teasing.

In and out. One hand on her hip, one on the headboard. My fingers are so close to hers, but just barely not touching.

“More,” she finally says. “Please, Thorne, more.”

I close my eyes briefly, then nod.

I can do more.

“Hold on tight, kitten.”

I pull out and slam into her harder, and the whole bed jerks. I do it again, and pleasure radiates up my spine. I chase that feeling, bent over her, while her hips rise to meet me. Her heels dig into my ass, and she releases one hand from the headboard.

I watch its path down her body warily, but she slides it down her abdomen and touches herself. Her fingers stroke her clit in fast, tight circles, until she’s gasping and falling into another orgasm.

Her pussy clenches and releases, waves of her orgasm seeming to go on forever. I’m right there, too, my balls tightening, my muscles burning, until I tip over the edge.

I still inside her, groaning through my teeth, until it finally stops.

I slip out and climb over her, then pause.

This is the part where I would dispose of the condom, maybe get the girl a towel or something, and then wait for their quick exit. But then again—it would be midnight, or three in the morning. Not seven o’clock in the morning.

She already spent the night.

I remove the condom and tie it off, chucking it in the trash in a wad of tissue, then climb back over her before she can move.

Her eyes widen. “What are you doing?”

“Making sure you’re satiated.” I eye her. Do I kiss her? Is that crossing a line?

“I… yeah.” Her cheeks are red. “Thanks for the help.”

“Anytime, kitten.”

“Well, no.” She shakes her head. “This was a one-time thing.”

My body hovers over hers. Barely touching, except our hips, and her breasts against my chest. But at that, the ice comes crashing down on me.

Of course she would see it that way.

“Right.” I clear my throat. “Then…” I roll off her.

Her gaze drops to my cock. She stares at it for so long, it grows half-mast under her attention. Then, slowly, to full hardness.

“You want another round?” I ask. “Or maybe you should take a picture. It’d last longer.”

She shakes her head and staggers to her feet. “I just need to pee.”

Her limp is more pronounced, and I sit up fast. She hobbles into my bathroom and closes the door, and I swear under my breath.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

This is fake.

This is fake, and worse, it was my idea. I can’t be the one to fucking immediately catch feelings for her when she’s clearly just humoring me.

I find clean boxers and jeans. I rummage around for my phone, which still has a charge on it. There’s a text from Rhys, which was just the flame emoji—guess he saw me leave with Briar, even if I didn’t actually see him while I was there—and another from my dad.

Sent only a few minutes ago.

“Fuck.”

“What’s wrong?”

My head whips up. Briar reentered the room, and she stands in the middle of it with a t-shirt clasped to her chest.

“I…” My mouth goes dry. “Um.”

“Cat got your tongue?” She cocks her head. “You look like you’re spooked.”

I am spooked.

“We’re screwed,” I say softly.

Her brows furrow. “What? Why?”

I show her the text from my father. “We need to get our stories straight. We need to—we need to be able to be affectionate in public without freaking out. We need to be able to tell them our first date, and each other’s favorite color, and our coffee orders. And movies! What if they ask about what you like to watch? Do you even like Star Wars? Not that they would give a shit, really, I’m pretty sure my dad turns up his nose at that kind of thing⁠—”

She grabs my face. “Thorne? Breathe.”

I take a long, ragged inhale.

Her palms are warm on my cheeks. “You’re freaking me out.”

“Yeah, well, I’m freaking myself out. They’re…” I wince. I can’t say it.

“They’re what?”

Shaking my head, I lean down and grab the shirt she dropped. “I think we need to discuss this over breakfast. Get dressed.”

The diner down the street is technically open twenty-four hours, but the prime people-watching time is from seven to ten in the morning, give or take. It’s when they’re at their busiest with people in all the stages of life.

You’ve got the corporate people in suits. The blue-collar folks getting ready to start their shifts—or, in some cases, just coming off them.

And then the students.

Grad students, looking harried and stressed.

Undergrads, half-asleep in their giant mugs of coffee after a long night out.

And us.

I wouldn’t say Briar and I stand out, by any means. We fit in amongst the harried and half-asleep, tucked into a booth at the back. I took the side with my back to the wall, because some thoughts have filtered through my brain about how to make my parents accept this fake relationship, and I don’t think Briar will like any of them. So I’ve been avoiding her gaze by people watching.

“Just spit it out,” she eventually says.

“Spit what out?” I focus on her.

Her lips press in a flat line, and I get the sense that she’s one lie—or omission—away from getting up and going home.

Not that I can blame her.

It suddenly occurs to me that she had her own freak out this morning. And I reacted the same way she did to mine, grabbing her face. Helping her calm down.

“Let’s talk about you,” I suggest. “Who did you think I was this morning?”

Her face reddens. “No. I’ll tell you that later—if you can just say what you’ve been stewing on since you read that text.”

Right.

I shift in my seat. “Well. My family has, uh, generational wealth.”

She blinks. “Obviously.”

“Like, they’re really fucking rich.” My voice stays low. “And I know, this is literally the definition of a first-world problem. Or a one-percenter problem, I guess. But the rich tend to only socialize with… themselves.”

Briar glares at me. “Thorne, I’m going to be honest, you’re driving me crazy.”

I hold up my hands in surrender. “Fine. They’re judgmental, okay? To a neurotic degree. They judge me, they judge their peers…”

“They’ll judge me,” she finishes. “I gotta say, I was expecting this.”

I pause. “You were?”

“All parents are judgy assholes. That is not groundbreaking.”

I rub the back of my neck. “Well, I think we have some ways to, uh, stave off the immediate ordering of our breakup.”

Her warm brown eyes narrow.

“Just a little makeover, is all,” I mutter. “For the game.”

She scoffs.

“You don’t have to change how you dress…” I make a face. “You just have to change how expensive the clothes are.”

Her eyes bug out. “You’ve got to be kidding me. I can’t afford⁠—”

“Kitten, I am not saying this is going on your credit card.” I tilt my head. “Don’t you want to spend some of my parents’ money before they act like witches toward you?”

She considers that. Then, slowly, her lips curl into a smile.