Page 80 of You Said I Was Your Favorite

“What?” I whisper.

“Will you take your hair out of the ponytail for me?”

A simple request that I can manage. Automatically I lift my arms, fingers tugging on the hair tie, pulling it from my hair, wincing when it snags on a few stray strands. My hair tumbles past my shoulders and I’m sure there’s that annoying bend in it from the hair tie, but from the way Arch is watching me, I don’t think he minds.

I shake my hair out before I start to finger comb it but suddenly Arch is there, standing directly in front of me.

“Let me do it,” he says, his voice husky.

I drop my hands to my sides when he runs his fingers through my hair, exhaling softly when he massages the back of my scalp, sending tingles scattering all over my skin. His touch feels so good, making me want more of it.

“So pretty,” he murmurs, and I lift my gaze to his, noting how heavy his lids are. The hot, intense way he’s watching me. “You need to wear it down every day.”

“It gets in the way,” I protest weakly. “And it’s so hot still.”

“Your hair is beautiful.” His fingers sift through the strands and I lean into his touch. “Wear it down. For me.”

When he says it like that, I want to do whatever he asks of me.

He gathers my hair together in his fist, his knuckles brushing the back of my neck as he tugs me closer to him, and I go willingly, as if I’m in a trance. His other hand rests on my hip, his touch light, almost as if he’s not touching me at all, and when his mouth finds mine, his lips sear me where I stand. Hot and damp and persuasive, his tongue sliding inside.

I give in like the weakling I am when I’m in his presence. There is something about the way he looks at me, touches me, kisses me.

All I want is more.

As we kiss, he guides me across the room, until the back of my legs hit my bed and then I’m falling, landing on the mattress with a soft thud. He follows me, somehow scooting me up the bed with his persuasive hands and soft mouth and hard body. Until I’m lying in the center of my double bed, my head on the pillow, my hair spread out everywhere. I part my legs, my skirt riding up, most of my thighs on display, my knees bent and feet planted on the mattress, Arch lying between them.

Our mouths fused.

“Tell me to stop,” he murmurs against my lips, his breath hot, his weight solid as he lies on top of me. I can already feel him, hard beneath his uniform trousers.

I slowly shake my head, a little surprised that I want to keep doing this. “No.”

He kisses me, his lips soft and warm and oh so persuasive. “You sure?”

“Yes,” I whisper, a shuddery breath leaving me when he traces my lower lip with his tongue.

I told myself—I’ve even toldhimthat I didn’t want to go too fast and here we are, going too fast and I’m willingly along for the ride. I want him. I wanted him all over me and he granted my wish. We’re kissing and kissing and it’s as if I can barely breathe, but I somehow am. His tongue is a hot, wet brand and when he breaks our kiss to slide his lips down the length of my neck, his tongue licking at my skin has me shivering. Wanting more.

Always more.

He doesn’t say a word as he nibbles on my neck, his fingers pulling on my tucked-in shirt until it slips out of the waistband of my skirt. His hand tunnels beneath the cotton shirt, his fingers hot and rough on my skin and I lift up, seeking more.

Disappointment slams into me when he removes his hand, replaced by relief when his fingers find the front of my shirt and he slowly undoes each button, his fingers brushing against my exposed skin. He lifts away from me so he can watch what he’s doing, and when his fingers hit the last button, his gaze lifts to mine, questioning.

Can I go further?Is the silent request.

My answer is a barely-there nod.

That last button is undone and then he’s spreading open the fabric, his gaze locked on me. My plain white bra with the tiny bit of lace trim. The goosebumps on the tops of my exposed breasts. He reaches out, tracing the lace with his index finger and I bite down hard on my lower lip, a soft noise sounding from deep in my throat.

“You sure you want to do this?” He slides his fingertip back and forth across the front clasp of my bra. “If you don’t, I’ll stop right now and we can go get one of those pathetic sandwiches you’re always eating in the dining hall.”

I almost laugh at his words, but I’m too caught up in the fact that he notices I eat a lot of those pathetic sandwiches in the first place. He notices everything about me.

And I love it. For once…

I feel seen.

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