You Said I Was Your Favorite (A Lancaster Prep Novel)

He takes me deep onto the school’s property, far from campus until we’re close to the woods that divides the property from the beach. We’re so far out, I can hear the ocean roaring in the near distance. The breeze is cooler out here, directly off the water, and I shiver despite the warm sun shining down upon us.

When the old ruins appear, I know where he’s taking me. To the building that used to house staff on campus before it burned in a fire years ago. The annual Halloween party is held out here for students. It’s all student-run, the school doesn’t sanction it, and I know for a fact they hate that this party happens, but since it’s normally a Lancaster organizing it—or a friend of—they look the other way and pretend they don’t know about it.

I haven’t gone to the party, so I don’t know what it’s like. I’ve never been to this burned-out building at all. Not even my dad has taken me out here, but from what I can see, it’s kind of beautiful.

A little sad but still beautiful. You can tell the building was stately before it burned. There are crumbling old bricks still covering part of the front, and what was once white clapboard is now withered wood with peeling paint. The building is nothing but a shell. There’s no roof, and only some of the walls still remain standing, though enough was left behind for it to protect us from spying eyes.

Somewhat.

Would anyone even think to follow us out here? I doubt it.

Arch is holding my hand—I really love it when he does that—and he squeezes my fingers as we both come to a stop in front of the rickety staircase that leads to the front door, which is really just a frame. An outline of a door.

“Have you ever been out here before?”

I shake my head. He has to already know that answer.

“You’ll have to come to the Halloween party this year. It’ll be a rager.”

“I don’t really go to parties.” I try to hide my disappointment that he didn’t say he wanted me to come with him to the party. That’s still so far away. Who knows where we’ll be by the end of October?

“You’ll go with me.” He says this like a statement, as if I don’t have a choice, and my worry from only a few seconds ago evaporates. Just like that.

He tugs on my hand and I follow him up the front stairs, careful where I step. We walk through the open doorway and my gaze is everywhere, touching on everything. I can’t make out what anything is supposed to be anymore. The wood is weathered with a silvery gray hue to it and I go to where a window used to be to look out. The glass is mostly gone but the frame is still there and I peer through it, watching the sun shine upon the water in the distance.

“It’s pretty out here,” I murmur, sucking in a breath when Arch stops behind me, slipping his arms around my waist. “The view.”

“It’s a great view,” he says, his voice muffled against the side of my neck. “I mean, look at you.”

I rest my arms over his, my hands on top of his. I’m shivering. Cold despite the sun and Arch’s big body wrapped around me. And so, so nervous. “I wasn’t talking about myself.”

“I know, Daze.” His hand slips from beneath mine, reaching for the hem of my skirt and I wait, breathless as his fingers slide up the outside of my thigh. “You’re trembling.”

I close my eyes, fighting my nerves. “I’ve never done anything like this before.”

“Never been kissed?” He presses his mouth against my neck. “Never done anything? Ever?”

“Only been kissed by you,” I whisper, a dull ache starting between my thighs at his touch.

“Gonna be the one who takes every single one of your firsts, Daze, but not all of them today.” His hot breath fans across my neck, my ear, and I close my eyes when he bites it. Nibbles on the lobe, his fingers drifting up and down the outside of my thigh.

Guilt trickles through me, brief and startling, and my eyes fly open. I shouldn’t be doing this. I shouldn’t let Arch do this to me. My father always said I should save a moment like this for someone special.

For someone I love.

But I’m almost eighteen—in less than twenty-four hours, I will be eighteen. An adult. If I choose to let Arch slip his hands into my panties like I’ve fantasized about for weeks, then I’m going to do it.

He’s special. He makes me feel special. And besides…

I can’t save myself forever.

Arch grabs hold of my shoulders and gently spins me around, crushing me to him, his mouth on mine. His lips and tongue busy. Messy. It’s an out-of-control kiss, both of us frantic, panting, our tongues battling, my hands somehow finding the front of his shirt and undoing the buttons with shaky fingers. I wasn’t even conscious of my doing it until I break away from his still seeking lips and spread his shirt open, my lips parting at all that warm, hard flesh on display and I do what feels natural.

Leaning in, I press my mouth against the center of his chest, breathing in his scent. His warmth. The pounding of his heart matches mine and I close my eyes, my mouth running over his skin. I want to consume him.

I want to feel him inside me.

Groaning, he slips his fingers beneath my chin and tilts my head up, his mouth finding mine once again. I let him kiss me, overwhelmed by his constantly moving mouth and tongue. I can feel his hand wander down my side. From my rib cage to my waist to my hips. Down along the side of my skirt, his fingers curling. Gathering the fabric.

His fingers slip beneath my skirt, his tongue circling mine, making me groan. All while his fingers drift across the side of my panties, toying with them, tugging on them. Teasing me.

I’m wet. I can feel it. And his touch is making me even wetter. I didn’t know sex—foreplay, whatever you want to call it—could feel like this. All-consuming and scary and wonderful all at once. I’m tempted to both push him away and beg him for more. It’s too much.

Not enough.

His fingers slip beneath the fabric of my panties, drifting along my hip and I’m restless. Desperate for him to touch me where I really want.

“Are you wet for me, Daisy?” His fingers get closer and air lodges in my throat, making it hard for me to breathe. “Are you?”

“Y-yes,” I stutter, a gasp escaping me when he gently shoves me against the wall, the wood rough on my back. His fingers never stop moving, sliding closer. His other hand rises up, gently holding my throat, pinning me in place and I wait there. Helpless.

Desperate.

“I want to watch your face the first time I touch you,” he whispers, making my legs wobble. Thank God I’m leaning against the wall, his big body holding me up. “But if I take it too far, tell me. Okay? I want this to be good for you.”

I nod, my hair brushing against the splintered wood, strands getting stuck on it, yanking on my braid. I keep my eyes closed, holding my breath as I wait. It feels like even my heart stops for a moment, hanging on that edge, desperate to feel his hands on me.

His fingers move, encountering pubic hair before they slide down, fully cupping me. I suck in a breath, my eyes still closed, everything focused on that one spot where he’s touching me. He removes his hand from my neck and I exhale, a whimper leaving me when his fingers press, splitting me open.

A rough sound leaves him, making me throb.

“Soaked,” he murmurs, sounding pleased. “Damn, Daze.”

I should probably be embarrassed, but I’m not. I like that he found me wet, and that it pleases him. I like the sound of his fingers searching me. Testing me. I spread my legs a little and crack my eyes open, keeping my head bent down so I can watch. His arm and hand shifts beneath my skirt, his fingers sliding back and forth just before his thumb presses against a spot that has me moaning.

His mouth lands on mine, swallowing the last of my moan, his tongue thrusting. I return the kiss, clinging to him, spreading my legs farther, his busy fingers rubbing, his pace increasing before he shifts downward. He teases my entrance, slipping just the tip of his finger inside and I squeeze my thighs together, trapping his hand.

“Does that hurt?”

“N-no.” I shake my head, wincing when my hair snags on the wood.

He pulls away so he can stare into my eyes and we watch each other, his finger still inside me. The reality of what we’re doing smacks into me like a punch, and I can feel my entire face turn hot. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You’re not,” I whisper, struggling with embarrassment.

He pushes his finger deeper inside me and I part my lips, exhaling softly, my tongue sneaking out to touch my upper lip. The embarrassment dissipates, and I am wholly concentrated on that spot where we’re connected. His thick finger curling. Slowly sliding out before thrusting back in. I whimper when his thumb brushes my clit again and he keeps doing it. Faster. Harder.

A gathering sensation starts in the pit of my stomach, my breaths coming quicker. Harder. He kisses me again, his lips and tongue all over me. My mouth and cheeks and chin and jaw. My neck, my ear. Hot and frantic and all-consuming. When his hand drops away from me, the disappointment nearly swallows me whole.

And then he slips both of his hands beneath my skirt, gripping my butt and lifting. Without hesitation, I go willingly. His mouth thankfully on mine once more, he pulls me close, my center pressed against his unmistakable erection and I go still, startled.

Though I have zero experience in situations like this, he seems huge. Thick and hard and intimidating. Fear creeps over my skin, along with a healthy dose of nervousness, and I tilt my hips forward almost mistakenly.

The strangled groan that falls from his lips has me feeling brave and I do it again.

Again.

“Fuck, Daze.” He sounds dazed. Consumed. With me?

That’s how I feel with him. Consumed. Obsessed.

Arch begins to move his hips, nudging against me in the most perfect way possible and that feeling is back, tenfold. The gathering sensation low in my belly. The throbbing, the heat pouring through my veins. I move with him, against him, the friction between that one spot where our bodies rub and strain making me hotter.

I’m burning up.

My climax smacks into me out of nowhere, so strong it’s like I can’t even breathe. It goes on and on, my lips parted on a silent scream as I clutch onto him. Until I’m finally slumped against him and he gathers me closer, the shudders wracking my body for what feels like forever.

“Happy Birthday,” he whispers against my ear when my orgasm is over.

Making me smile.