Prologue 10 Years Earlier #2
While approximately eighty-four percent of my brain is doing inner eye-rolls and laughing at the lameness of his lines, I’m ashamed to say sixteen percent is eating. It. Up.
‘Nope.’
‘Tough crowd, aren’t you? Well, you do. They’re enormous. I’ve never seen eyes that big and gorgeous before.’
‘Sure you haven’t.’
‘I’d call you Cinders, but I’m sure you’re not a total doormat like she was. How about Belle?’
He’s moving closer, his eyes sweeping from mine to my mouth and back again, giving me the perfect opportunity to note how brown and liquid his are.
‘Uh, Belle has brown eyes,’ I squeak.
‘You’re right. Yours are more like Cinders. Huge and blue-green. But Belle’s got long, brown hair. Like you. And she’s a total badass. Which I can tell you are. And given you made it as far as Cambridge, I’m pretty confident you know what belle means. So I think it’s the perfect name for you.’
His thumb moves from my jaw, ghosting over my skin till it traces the underside of my bottom lip.
‘Whatever you say, Mr—’
‘Montague.’
Now I do snigger. ‘Seriously? Of course that’s your name. Well, if I’m Belle, you’re definitely Romeo.’
He has the grace to look abashed. ‘That may have been my nickname at school.’
‘Something tells me it had nothing to do with your surname,’ I mutter.
‘You’re a feisty one, aren’t you? Belle and Romeo.’ He lowers his head to mine, and I tilt my chin up expectantly as he mutters against my lips. ‘A match made in heaven.’
I’m expecting him to start with a subtle brush of his mouth against mine. Smooth, like everything else he does.
But that’s not what I get.
Nope. Theo Montague curls one hand around my neck, his other hand sliding down my back, pulling me in against him.
Hard.
And as he does that, his mouth clamps down on mine.
His lips press firmly. Demanding. I open so he can take more.
He wastes no time, his tongue searching for mine.
And there’s something so primal, so grown-up, about this kiss that I can’t help but respond to him.
I drag my thumb along the gorgeous ridge of his jaw and grope wildly at the muscles of his shoulders, straining under his t-shirt as he holds me as close against him as he can.
This kiss is kind of how I imagine actual sex to be.
Heated.
Desperate.
Out of control.
I tilt my face and he bites lightly down on my tongue as I move, just enough to twist it between his teeth.
Holy crap.
This guy knows what he’s doing.
I have never been kissed like this.
As we devour each other with lips, teeth and tongues, Theo’s hand smooths over my bum and gives it a squeeze before dragging up the bare small of my back, up under my t-shirt, his fingers sliding between my bra clasp and my skin.
And then those fingers drag back down with nails.
He digs in just enough to feel seriously good.
Seriously primal. I arch into him in what’s basically sheer bloody ecstasy, and as I do, his hardness against my lower stomach is unmistakable.
We continue like this for a few minutes.
Tongues tangling. Lips gliding. Skin sliding.
Nails scraping. Because let’s say I took my cue from him and burrowed under his t-shirt, letting rip on the gorgeous bare musculature of his back.
This guy is ripped. As I scratch him gently, he emits a low groan into my mouth and if I didn’t have better things to do with my hands right now I’d punch the air.
Theo comes up for air and I let my head drop back against the stone wall, catching my breath as I survey the sight in front of me in deepest appreciation: Theo Montague, hair mussed and mouth swollen and chest heaving and eyes glazed.
Yesss.
I did that.
I sneak a peek at his crotch.
I did that, too.
This Cambridge place is, like, seriously brilliant.
‘Fucking hell, Belle.’ His voice is low. Rough. He cups his hand around my waist and it turns into a pincer grip. He’s staring at me. ‘You little fucking beauty. You kiss like a wild cat.’
I don’t say anything, mainly because I’ve lost the power of speech. And because I had no idea I was capable of kissing like a wild anything until he came along and showed me what to do. I stand there and survey him in a smug, lustful haze.
He releases my waist and takes my hand.
‘Come on. Let’s get out of here.’ He smirks. ‘I have an excellent room this year. I can have you naked in my bed in under two minutes.’
And just like that, the situation turns serious. Because, even though he’s just rocked my world, I have zero intention of getting naked with Theo. Not right now. Not tonight. I haven’t got naked with anyone before, and when I do, it’ll be pre-meditated. Romantic. And, ideally, vaguely sober.
I shake my head in an exaggerated manner. ‘No. No. I’m not going to bed with you.’
‘Really?’ He looks genuinely baffled. I imagine not many people say no to this guy. Especially not girls. ‘Oh, I’m sorry. I thought…’
I’m sure if you’re him, kissing always leads to far more extreme things. But not for me.
Not even if it’s the best kiss I’ve ever had.
A kiss, the heat of which I didn’t think was possible.
I won’t be pressurised to rush into anything. Especially not with someone like him. Dangerous. In demand. And, I suspect, not the boyfriend type.
‘I liked kissing you. I’m just not going to go to bed with you.’
He shrugs. ‘Fair enough. Pity, though. I would have made it worth your while. Night, Belle.’
And he kisses me on the bloody forehead and strolls away, back towards the party.
I spot him, not half an hour later, through the crowd, snogging the face off a blonde.
The next morning, all I have left to remember Theo Montague by is a stinking hangover and some scratch marks down my back that mesmerise me when I twist to study them in the mirror.
At least I didn’t let him pop my cherry.