And I can only assume it’s Kingston. I have no clue why my parents didn’t just drop him at his dorm, or why I’m not turning around to go back to my own room. But now, as I stand so close, my curiosity is piqued.
From this angle and in this lighting, he could almost pass for Sebastian: short, dark-brown hair; muscularly outlined back; sleeping on his side. But whereas Sebastian sleeps under the covers, our houseguest has the sheet and comforter shoved down past a tight, perfectly rounded ass that’s filling out his black boxer briefs in a way I find startlingly sinful. He also has his arms shoved under his pillow—another difference that makes it hard for me to pretend.
I creep a bit farther into the room, checking out his luggage: designer and monogrammed—all matching of course, and reeking of luxury and fine leather. Fancy, but mismatching horribly with the black (and admittedly sexy) combat boots that—
“Umpf,” I grunt despite my desperate efforts to remain quiet, reaching out for anything to brace myself on. But it’s no use. I fly forward, having tripped over one of the not-nearly-as-sexy-now boots.
“I was told you were the graceful one.”
His low, gravely taunt comes out of nowhere and startles me now completely off balance, throwing me backward in the opposite direction. With my hands flailing, my only hope now is that the luggage provides a soft landing.
But I never meet it, or the floor. Instead, two strong hands rescue me, snaring my wrists and pulling me down on top of one seriously hard, hot—temperature-wise, I mean—body.
“I’d presume you to be Echo and say hello, but again, not the graceful girl I was expecting. So, you are…?” He looks up at me with a smug twitch to his lip and devastating twinkle in his gray—Are they really gray, or is that the lighting?—eyes.
“I…uh…” I stammer idiotically, dressed only in a robe that’s far too revealing for the position I find myself lying in: across the bare torso of perhaps the most gorgeous guy I’ve ever seen up close, in person. And we are very up close.
I attempt to push off him, but his hands slide down to my hips and grip tighter.
“Yes,” I gasp, before battling for a sense of authority in my next response. “I’m Echo. Sorry I woke you, I just wasn’t…expecting you to be in here.” His brows rise, practically screaming that he sees right through me. “Let me up! I tripped over your big, stupid boots, then you scared me.”
“My apologies, Echo.” A quiver plays down my spine at the way my name rolls off his lips in that decadent English accent of his. “Had I known you’d be visiting my room tonight, I’d have taken more care in setting my belongings out of your way.”
“I should’ve left when I realized you were in here, so we’re even. Can you let me up now?”
His grip remains firm as his smile deepens. “I must admit, I’m rather enjoying this version of our introduction. Far better than a mere ‘How do you do?’ over dinner.” He’s sporting a full grin now, blindingly bright even in the dimly lit room.
All I can do is stare at him, words failing me. I half suspect I’m dreaming—but I can feel, long and stiff against my stomach, that this humiliation is, in fact, reality.
“I’m quite comfortable, so do feel free to stay as long as you like. And if you really want to give me a smashing welcome, don’t be afraid to wiggle around a bit.” His smirk grows impossibly wide as he thrusts his hips upward, pressing his erection firmer against me.
And just like that, my speechlessness evaporates.
“Are you insane?” I use both hands to shove hard against his chest, but I’m no match for his relentless clutch on my hips. “Let me go! You’re a guest in our home tonight—you can’t just manhandle me when the mood strikes!”
“Ah, grace period.” He nods. “Understood. So, tomorrow night, then?”
“Unbelievable!” I seethe, wriggling around in hopes of escape.
His fingers dig deeper, but the ravenous gleam in his eyes softens. “A joke, Echo. My apologies. Perhaps I took it too far.”
My anger soothes to a low simmer. He’s got a certain playful charm about him, and maybe this is just his very forward way of easing the awkwardness that I instigated in the first place by sneaking into the room in the middle of the night.
But just as I start to form a forgiving smile, he ruins all excuses I’d just mentally compiled.
“Can I be frank with you?”
“Will you let me up?” I toss back.
“Of course.”
“Then let’s hear it.”
I wait for him to say God only knows what—a heartfelt apology, maybe?—but instead, his expression sharpens into one of pure lust.
“I’ve lied to you. The truth is…I’d much prefer it if you grinded down on me a bit, Love. Wiggling is for strangers, and we’re not strangers anymore, now are we?”
“Ugh,” I growl, propelling myself off him when his laughter loosens his hold. I stomp out of the room, his sounds of amusement lingering behind me.
And that’s how I met our foreign exchange student, Kingston Hawthorne.
Chapter 2