Chapter 3
Devlin’s lips press against the skin of my neck, and my entire body erupts in goosebumps.
“Are you nervous?” His breath is hot against my throat. “Your heart is beating so fast.”
The sensory overload is making my brain short-circuit—the heat of his mouth, the solid weight of him pinning me to the door, the rain hammering against the window.
Something reckless rises in my chest.
“I’m not nervous.”
The words come out breathier than I intended, but there’s a edge of defiance in them. A challenge.
Devlin goes still for a half-second. Then his mouth opens against my neck, and he sucks.
My knees nearly buckle.
“Oh that’s—” The sound that escapes me is mortifying, somewhere between a gasp and a moan.
He’s making me tremble, his tongue doing something that should be illegal, and then I feel it—his cock, hard and agressive, pressing against my hip through our clothes.
The realization hits me like lightning: Devlin Bower is aroused. Because of me.
My own body responds instantly, heat flooding south as my cock begins to swell.
Shame burns through me, hot and overwhelming, because there’s no hiding this, not with him pressed against me like this.
“You’re reacting just like a gay guy, sweetie.” His voice is rough, mocking, the endearment twisted into something cruel.
His hand slides down to my thigh, gripping firm and possessive, and I lose what little control I have left. My hips roll forward of their own accord, seeking friction, grinding against his knee.
I can’t stop. I can’t think. I can only feel.
Devlin laughs—low and predatory. “Maybe I should call the whole team over. The ones you tried so hard to convince you weren’t gay? I think they’d love to see how you’re reacting to me right now. "
“No.” The word comes out pitiful, desperate. “Don’t—don’t call anyone.”
He pulls back suddenly, and I almost whimper at the loss of contact.
His dark eyes bore into mine, taking in my flushed face, my parted lips, the way I’m practically panting.
Several seconds of silence stretch between us, thick and suffocating.
“I guess, you win,” he rasps, his voice like gravel. “I’m keeping this to myself. I’ll never let another soul see you looking like this.”
Then his mouth crashes against mine.
It’s punishing, aggressive, his lips bruising against mine like he’s trying to prove a point. Like he’s angry at both of us.
But I don’t care.
This might be my only chance in life to kiss Devlin Bower, and I’m not going to waste it worrying about what he thinks of me. That ship has already sailed, burned, and sunk to the bottom of the ocean.
I kiss him back—uncertain, gentle, trying to match his intensity but not knowing how.
My hands come up to grip his wet shirt, and I move my lips against his, learning the shape of his mouth, the taste of rain and something darker.
“Fucking hell,” he mutters against my lips, and then he’s kissing me intensely, desperately, like he’s drowning and I’m air.
We crash together, all tangled limbs and gasping breaths. He’s breathing loudly into my mouth, biting my lower lip until I gasp, swallowing the sound.
His hands are everywhere—in my hair, on my waist, gripping my hip hard enough to bruise.
I’m lost in it, lost in him, and when my hips roll forward again, seeking the hard length of him, grinding our erections together—
He tears himself away.
His eyes are hazy and menacing all at once, his chest heaving.
He retreats a step, then another, his expression hardening into something glacial and lethal.
“You’ll pay for this too.” His voice is low, deadly. “I’ll make your life hell for trying to play me like this. And you know what? Your brother is no longer here to stop me.”
Then he’s gone, storming out of my room without a backward glance.
I stand there, stunned, watching the space where he was.
The door is wide open—has been open this entire time. Anyone could have walked by. Anyone could have seen us kissing.
And there’s a thunderstorm raging outside, lightning illuminating the hallway in brief, violent flashes, and Devlin just walked out into it without his jacket, without even closing the door behind him.
I give myself exactly one minute to process what just happened. To stand here with my back against the closet, my lips swollen, my body still thrumming with need.
Then I rush to the door, lock it, and press my back against the solid wood.
Holy heavens.
What just happened?
And what am I supposed to do now with this—I look down at myself, at the obvious bulge in my jeans—situation?
* * *
I think about it all through breakfast.
Through my morning biology lecture, where I take exactly zero notes and Dr. Chuck has to call my name twice before I realize she’s asking me a question.
Through lunch, where I sit with Liz and Luke but contribute almost nothing to the conversation, just pushing pasta around my plate and nodding at appropriate intervals.
“Val?” Liz waves her hand in front of my face. “Earth to Valentine Wylie. You okay?”
“Fine.” The word comes out automatic. “Just tired.”
“You’ve been weird all day.” She narrows her eyes at me. “Did something happen?”
Did something happen? Did Devlin Bower show up at my door in a thunderstorm, accuse me of sending him an explicit Valentine’s Day card, kiss me until I couldn’t breathe, then threaten to make my life hell?
“No,” I lie. “Just stressed about the fundraiser.”
They don’t look convinced, but they let it drop. I make my excuses as soon as I can, claiming I need to check on the animals.
Which isn’t entirely a lie. I do need to check on them. I just do it as quickly as humanly possible, rushing through feeding schedules and medication times, barely stopping to give Gerald his usual lecture about his attitude.
My mind won’t stop replaying last night.
The way Devlin’s body felt pressed against mine. The heat of his skin through his wet clothes. The hard length of his cock—god, I can’t stop thinking about that. The fact that Devlin Bower was aroused. For me.
Except he wasn’t, was he? He was probably just aroused by the situation. By the power dynamic, the confrontation, the opportunity to humiliate me. That’s the only explanation that makes sense.
Someone like Devlin doesn’t get hard for someone like me.
By evening, I’ve managed to pull myself together enough to participate in the group chat like a normal person. I type out a message about needing extra study time for organic chemistry, which is true even if it’s not the reason I’ve been avoiding everyone.
I’m walking back to my room, mentally preparing for another night of not sleeping, when I see Will Nakagawa in the hallway.
“Hey, Will.” I paste on my brightest smile. “How’s it going?”
He stops, and something in his expression makes my stomach drop. He’s polite but distant, his usual warmth nowhere to be found.
“Val. Hey.”
The silence stretches awkwardly.
“I wanted to ask—” I swallow hard. “Did I upset the hockey team? With the flyers? The fundraising thing?”
“No, it’s fine.” His tone is flat. “I’ll come to the fundraiser. I’ll bring an old jersey for the auction. But I can only stay about fifteen minutes. Duty and all that.”
“Oh. Okay. Thanks, I—”
“See you around, Val.”
He walks away before I can say anything else.
I stand there, frozen, as several other hockey players pass by. They don’t look at me. Don’t acknowledge me at all, except for one who mutters something to his teammate that makes them both smirk.
Oh.
Oh.
The entire team saw Devlin receive that Valentine’s Day card. They know what it said—or at least they know enough. And they all think I sent it. That I was mocking Devlin, playing some cruel prank.
The reality of the situation finally sinks in
This is so much worse than I thought.
I make it to my room on autopilot, my mood completely shattered. I need to fix this somehow, but that would mean talking to Devlin. Explaining. Trying to convince him I didn’t send it.
And after last night, after the way my body responded to him—
My feelings toward Devlin Bower are complete chaos.
The thought creeps in, insidious and terrifying: what if I’ve been falling for him all along? What if all this confusion, this obsessive attention, this inability to stop thinking about him—what if it’s not intrigue at all?
What if I’ve had a crush on him for months and been too afraid to admit it?
I shove the thought away violently. No. That’s ridiculous. I can’t have feelings for someone who’s almost bullied me, who mocks everything I care about. Ans especially who just threatened to make my life hell.
I collapse onto my bed, fully clothed, and stare at the ceiling.
A knock sounds at the door.
I ignore it. Whoever it is can come back later. Or never. Never would be good.
The knocking continues, more insistent now.
My heart starts to race. What if it’s Devlin again? What if he’s come back to—
I force myself to stand, to cross to the door, to open it.
A freshman stands there—one of the student Cupids, still wearing the ridiculous costume. He looks deeply annoyed.
“Dude.” He shoves a red piece of paper into my hands. “You don’t think I’m going to stand here all evening to give you a sexting message from your nerdy girlfriend.”
He’s gone before I can respond, stomping down the hallway and muttering under his breath.
I close the door slowly. Lock it. Stand there holding the Valentine’s Day card.
I should have a thousand thoughts right now. I should be panicking, or angry, or something.
Instead, there’s just emptiness.
Finally, I unfold the card with shaking hands and read.
The words blur together at first, then sharpen into focus, and my entire world tilts sideways.
“What the hell?” I whisper to the empty room. “Shit, this can’t be true.”
The Valentine’s Day card slips from my fingers, drifting to the floor like a fallen leaf.
And all I can do is stare at it, my heart pounding, as everything I thought I knew rearranges itself into a completely different picture.