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

I’m a nervous wreck and I hate how jumpy my emotions make me feel. Guilt swamps me at having Arch in my house without my father’s knowledge. If he knew we were here unsupervised, he wouldn’t like it. It feels like I’m breaking all sorts of rules, letting Arch into our home. My room.

The moment he enters the tiny space, it’s as if he sucks up all the air, leaving me breathless. His tall, broad frame seems even taller and broader in here with me, and I stand there helplessly, while he looks his fill, seeming to drink in every detail of my private sanctuary.

“I like your room,” he declares once he’s facing me. He shrugs out of his jacket, dropping it on the desk chair that’s right next to him. “It feels like you.”

“Feels like me how?” I’m curious at his choice of words—specifically the feel part.

“All warm and cozy, I don’t know.” He shrugs, seemingly uncomfortable, and I marvel at this for a moment. Is he nervous too? He’s always so confident and sure of himself. Charming and irresistible.

“You think I’m warm and cozy?” I don’t take the words as an insult.

“You’re all sorts of things, Daze.” He stares at me for a moment, his gaze tracing over my face as if he’s trying to memorize it. “I have a request.”

“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 told him that 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.

His gaze finds mine, hot and unfocused, his features strained. He’s doing his best to keep himself in check and that is a thrilling realization. That I somehow undo him like he does me.

“I don’t want a sandwich,” I tell him as sincerely as I can.

His smile is slow. Devastating. With skilled fingers he undoes the snap, the cups of my bra loosening but not quite exposing me. I wait with my breath lodged in my throat as his big hands brush the first cup aside, and then the other, his gaze never straying from my chest.

I went from let’s take this slow to letting him get my bra off in about fifteen minutes. Maybe less. Does this make me amoral?

I don’t even care anymore. I want his hands on me. My nipples are hard, stiff peaks that ache to the point of pain and if he doesn’t touch me there soon, I might scream.

“You’re beautiful,” he rasps and I can hear the sincerity ringing in his words. In the way he looks at me, his head’s slow descent, the back of his hand drifting across my right nipple, making me gasp.

He does the same thing to my left breast, that barely-there touch twisting my insides, leaving me throbbing between my legs. His mouth is back on mine, his touch becoming bolder, his hands squeezing my flesh, thumbs brushing my nipples and I whimper against his lips, wanting more. Greedy with it.

Arch ends the kiss, his mouth finding my neck, drifting down. Across my collarbone, my chest. The tops of my breasts. I sink my fingers into his hair, holding on to him lightly, afraid he might pull away, though he doesn’t. He kisses my breasts, all around my nipples, and I bring my legs in, pressing my thighs against his hips, frustration streaming through my blood.

When his tongue darts out and licks at my nipple, I almost fall apart. And when he draws it into his mouth, sucking it deep, I cry out.

The insistent pull of his mouth creates an answering pull low in my belly and I wind my legs around his hips, clinging to him, his erection brushing against me. He presses closer, his weight settling more firmly on top of me and I welcome it.

Crave it.

He crawls up my body, his hungry mouth on mine, the kiss almost feral. Sloppy. Teeth and tongue and gasps and spit and groans. His hand drifts, his fingers skimming my skin, disappearing for a moment only to return, sliding up my skirt, my thighs, streaking across the front of my panties.

“This isn’t taking it slow,” he murmurs against my lips and I can’t help it.

I laugh, spreading my legs wider, eager to feel him there again. And he doesn’t disappoint. His fingers test me, stroking. Teasing. Sliding inside me until I’m clinging to him, a gasping, writhing mess. Coming so hard I swear I see stars.

Long minutes later and we’re walking back to campus, Arch wearing a knowing smile the entire time. Me with a haphazard, sloppy bun on top of my head, still dazed from the orgasm he gave me. I don’t even know how I’m upright. My legs feel like wobbly noodles, barely able to stand.

He sends me a look at one point, so much heat and promise in his eyes that I swear my skin catches fire. How I don’t just burn up in flames where I stand, I’m not sure.

“What are you doing tonight?” His voice is casual, his hands sliding into his pockets as he walks and I stare at him, unsure how to answer.

Dad won’t be around. He’s going to dinner with Kathy. The distraction he’s looking for I suppose. This is what I’d hoped for. That Arch would ask me to do something to celebrate my birthday. And what I want to do might shock him, but for once in my life, I’m going to be brave.

I want to give him what he’s given me. An orgasm with my hands or maybe even…my mouth?

Nervousness races through my veins and I don’t know if I’m that brave.

Yet.

“Nothing,” I answer, hating how breathless and hopeful I sound. I shouldn’t be afraid to show my emotions to this boy, but I still sort of am. It’s a hard habit to break.

“Cadence is having a party,” he starts, and the disappointment that crashes into me is strong enough to make me stumble.

That was the last thing I expected him to say.

“Oh yeah?” I try to sound as casual as I can.

He nods. “Let’s go. You’ve never been to a party before, right?”

I shake my head. “Not the parties you go to.”

“Well, let me take you then.” He smiles, and in this moment, I refuse to fall under his sway.

“Arch…” I come to a stop and so does he, confusion on his handsome face. “She’s your ex-girlfriend.”

“Uh huh.”

Is he being purposely dense?

“She might not want me there.” I hesitate. “With you.”

“She won’t care.” He waves a dismissive hand.

“Cadence will care.” I’m a girl. A woman. I know she will care. I know she still has a thing for him. It’s obvious. “If she invited you to this party, I’m guessing she didn’t plan on you bringing a guest.”

“It won’t be so bad. Other people are going and she’ll have food. Liquor. Dr—” He snaps his lips shut, his expression one of pure innocence. I know what he was going to say.

Drugs.

I am not about that. I don’t really want to drink either. Alcohol and drugs alter your mind and that scares me. I don’t like the idea of losing control.

“Look, Daze. I gotta say—if we’re going to become something, then I want to bring you around my friends, you know? You should get to know them so you can hang out with us more. At lunch and whatever.” He shrugs, his expression earnest.

I know he means well. He somehow believes his friends will accept me into their fold easily and we’ll hang out for the rest of senior year. I’ll be known as Arch Lancaster’s girlfriend and I can’t lie.

That is about the most exciting thing that’s ever happened to me. He’s the most popular boy on campus and I’m an absolute nobody.

I’m also not stupid. His friends won’t easily accept me into their group. Why would they? I’ve gone to school with all of them for the last three years and they’ve barely acknowledged my existence. Why would they now? Because Arch says so?

Maybe. He does have a lot of influence…

“I want to hang out with your friends,” I say, though I’m sort of lying. “But it’s my birthday, Arch. I’d rather we spend it by ourselves.”

He’s nodding, reaching for me, pulling me into his arms and giving me a squeeze. I let myself enjoy the feel of his arms wrapping around me, cradling me tight, not caring that we’re on the edge of campus and anyone could see us.

“You’re right,” he murmurs into my hair, his voice so low it feels like it’s vibrating through me. “We’ll do something tonight. Just the two of us.”

I nod, pressing my face against his shirt, inhaling his clean, soapy scent. “Just the two of us.”

When we pull away from each other, I turn my head, spotting a cluster of girls blatantly watching us, shock registering on their faces when they realize who Arch is hugging. One of them is Mya, and standing right next to her is Cadence.

Who doesn’t look pleased.

At all.