I’ll Always Be With You (Lancaster Prep Book 4)

I FEEL like we’re living on borrowed time, West and me. And I can’t even begin to explain why. Maybe it’s the way he acts. Almost like he’s desperate. He holds on to me like he never wants to let me go. I catch him looking at me like he fully expects me to disappear at any moment. When we’re in public together, he rests his hand on me somewhere, anywhere he can reach, as if he’s trying to claim me. Remind me that I belong to him.

Or maybe he’s reminding himself that I’m right there, by his side.

He doesn’t say much. We talk about surface things, like what’s going on at school or with our friends. He doesn’t speak of his family, not even his father who was hospitalized with pneumonia recently, but seems to have recovered fully.

My family is my least favorite subject to speak of, so it’s easy for me not to talk about them. I don’t talk about the future either. That part is scary—I have a feeling we won’t be together. We never made any promises to each other, and while at the time of that rather odd conversation in the coffeeshop, I was fully intent on going to London the very second I graduated from Lancaster Prep, now …

Now I don’t like thinking about my life without Weston Fontaine in it.

Stupid, I know. I’ve turned into the very girl I used to make fun of. The one who would be lovesick over a boy who everyone knew they didn’t have a future with. I always wondered why girls would waste their time with boys like that. We’re too young. People change. Our lives take us in different directions.

I was so smug, so confident that I would never subject myself to a pain like that, and now here I am, neck deep in my feelings over West, knowing that something will eventually happen and we’ll be over.

Sometimes late at night, when I’m lying in my bed alone and can’t fall asleep, I think about the many ways I could end things with him. I could be brutal and just tell him I don’t care about him anymore, but that would hurt. Or I wouldn’t be able to choke the words out. I could tell him dance comes first in my life always, and I almost believe he would understand that. He might not have something like dance to give him purpose, but he’s got the family business he’s going to be responsible for someday. It will have to be important to him too.

Sexually, we’ve not done much beyond oral sex, and I know he wants more. He wants to fuck me. He’s told me that already. Multiple times. But I keep pushing him away, making him wait.

I’m scared. That once I give that last little piece of myself that solely belongs to me, I won’t be able to get it back. I’ll become someone else. Someone who belongs to a man. A man who I won’t actually be with forever. Instead, he’ll become that constant reminder, that one guy who took my virginity and now I’m forever linked with him.

Why is there so much importance put on a girl’s virginity? A boy can fuck whomever he wants and no one makes a big deal about it, but a girl should save herself. She’s pure that way. Untouched. Innocent.

It’s kind of gross.

I can’t stop thinking about it. To the point that I’m starting to reverse my feelings on the subject and I bring it up to Sadie one lunch period when we’re at the library instead of the dining hall with our boyfriends. We like to get away and have conversations on our own, like we did when we first met.

“Have you had sex with Brent yet?” I ask her.

She practically chokes while taking a drink from her water bottle. “A warning would’ve been nice,” she sputters.

“Sorry.” I watch as she wipes at her face with the back of her hand before recapping her bottle of water. “So, have you two had sex?”

Her gaze meets mine, her expression blank. “That’s a very—private question.”

I roll my eyes. “Come on. We’re friends. Tell me.”

“Yes,” she admits, and I must give her a look because panic floods her features. “I know we moved fast, but oh my God, every time we’re alone together, we start going at it and I swear he makes me so hor—”

I hold my hand up, stopping her. “That’s enough. I don’t need all the details.”

Sadie laughs. “I gather you two haven’t done the deed?”

I shake my head. “I think I’m putting too much pressure on myself, preserving my virginity for whatever dumb reason.”

“Those are societal issues that we have nothing to do with,” Sadie points out. “You can’t let that make you feel guilty. Just go with how he makes you feel.”

He makes me feel completely out of control lately, and I don’t like that. I’ve been in control of everything in my life since the age of thirteen—save for the moment my parents made me come here, and now with my relationship with West. “I don’t think our relationship is like yours and Brent’s.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” She sounds vaguely offended.

“I’m not knocking it, I promise. You two are just … moving faster than me and West.”

“I see the way he looks at you.” Sadie’s smile is sly. “I think he’s ready to move it as fast as he possibly can with you.”

I didn’t realize he was that obvious about his feelings toward me. “Maybe. I don’t know. Sometimes he seems … troubled. Like something is weighing on him.”

“Like what? You think he’s having a hard time with all the talk around campus about the two of you?”

“What talk?” This is the first I’ve ever heard of “talk.” I know people are gossiping about us. Of course, they are, we’re a couple now. He’s never had an actual girlfriend, and I’m a Lancaster. We automatically produce gossip.

“The usual stuff.” She shrugs. “Mercedes tries to start a lot of talk about you two. How you stole him from her for one.”

I burst out laughing. So loudly, Miss Taylor, the librarian, shushes me from her desk at the front of the building. “Please. She wishes I stole him from her.” Seeing Sadie’s confusion, I continue, “He was never hers to steal in the first place.”

“Oh, right. Well, she loves to spin a good story. She’s kind of awful.” Sadie makes a face.

“She’s totally awful. I hate her.” I glance over my shoulder to make sure she’s not lurking behind a book shelf, ready to use whatever I say against me. “She needs to go find a new victim to torment.”

“Agreed.” Sadie offers me a thoughtful smile. “If you think something is bugging West, you need to just ask him about it.”

I nod, though I don’t say anything. What she says sounds so logical. So simple. I should just ask him what’s wrong, but will he tell me the truth? I feel like anytime I ask about his family, he evades the question. Or flat out changes the subject. Maybe it’s upsetting, knowing his father isn’t doing well, health-wise. Maybe he feels helpless that he’s stuck here while his parents live in California.

They’re the ones who went there. Who left him, just as he was barely starting his freshman year at Lancaster Prep. He shouldn’t feel guilty.

They should.

“What about Halloween?” Sadie asks, changing the subject.

“What about it?”

“Are you two going to wear a couples’ costume? That would be fun, don’t you think?” Sadie opens her phone and starts scrolling. “I have some ideas, but everything I suggest to Brent he totally shoots down.”

We spend the rest of lunch talking about Halloween costumes and it’s just the distraction I need to focus on something that’s fun versus worrying over West all the time.

And as I walk back to my building after class, I tell myself that he’s basically an adult. We may be in high school, but he’s eighteen. And when he’s ready to discuss with me what’s bothering him, he’ll come to me. Maybe he’s still trying to process things. Maybe his parents are evasive with him and he has no choice but to be evasive with me as well.

I enter the building and head for my suite, unlocking the door and pushing my way inside, stopping short when I see what’s waiting for me on my desk.

A giant bouquet of the palest pink roses I’ve ever seen. Two dozen of them at least, maybe more. The flowers are already open, their delicate petals turned toward the sun and I drop my bag on my bed as I make my way to the desk, plucking the cream-colored envelope that’s nestled in the arrangement and tearing it open.

It’s from West. I recognize his handwriting, and while I knew before I even saw the note that the flowers were from him, it still gives me a little thrill, seeing his name signed on the card.

The color reminds me of you.

Xo,

West

“YOU LIKE THEM?”

I turn to find him standing in my open doorway, his hands braced on either side of the doorframe. He’s wearing the uniform trousers but no jacket, his biceps straining against the white fabric of his shirt, the sleeves rolled up, showing off his strong forearms.

My knees go weak and I smile at him like an idiot. “I love them.”

He drops his arms and enters my room, stopping when he’s standing directly in front of me. “Brent and I went off-campus at lunch and bought our girls gifts.”

My heart leaps over itself at the words our girls. “What did Brent get Sadie?”

West grins. “I’ll let Sadie tell you.” He yanks me into his arms, holding me close. “I meant what I said in the note.”

“About the color reminding you of me?” I brace my hands on his chest, my fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt.

“Yeah. You turn that shade of pink when you’re embarrassed.” He leans in and drops the softest kiss on my lips. “And when you’re turned on.”

I kiss him back, trying not to be embarrassed.

“The deepest pink on the roses? That’s the color of your lips.” Another kiss. “Your nipples.” This kiss is deeper, with plenty of tongue. “Your pussy.”

“West,” I whisper, full-on embarrassed now. “Seriously?”

“Seriously.” He starts to walk, guiding me backward, until the backs of my legs hit the bed. “I’ll show you.”

He releases his hold on me, and with a gentle push of his fingers on my shoulder, I fall back onto the bed, my gaze never leaving his. He stands in front of me, his hand going to his belt buckle, absently undoing it.

“What are you doing?” My voice is shaky with excitement, my entire body trembling. I recognize that look in his eyes.

He wants me.

“I’ve missed you.” He pulls the belt from the loops of his pants, letting it drop onto the floor with a loud clank.

“I’ve been right here all along,” I remind him, my lips parting when he untucks his shirt from his pants, flashing me a glimpse of his flat stomach.

“I’ve been preoccupied.” He must see my confusion. “Family stuff.”

Right. The stuff we can’t talk about.

“And I think I’ve been neglectful.” He undoes his trousers, sliding down the zipper, exposing his black boxer briefs. “Toward you.”

If he means because we haven’t messed around lately, I figured that was because of midterms. They’ve been particularly intense, though for me that’s because I rarely had an intense testing schedule when I was in London. Only for dance.

“I didn’t feel neglected.” That might be a minor lie, but I don’t want him to ever feel guilty. I’ve always been an independent person, who doesn’t need to rely on someone else for their entertainment. Most of the time growing up, I preferred to be alone. I did my best to escape from Sylvie, who was too needy, every chance I got. She wanted constant entertainment, mostly to keep away from our mother.

I suppose I can’t blame her.

“Good.” He lets his pants drop, toeing off his shoes before he kicks them off while also unbuttoning his shirt. “You should get undressed.”

Laughing, I shake my head, my hair sliding over my shoulders. “Why don’t you undress me instead?”

With a growl, he lunges for me, pouncing on the bed and making me squeal. His mouth is on my neck immediately, his hands working the buttons down the front of my shirt, undoing each one with smooth precision. No shakiness involved, no frazzled nerves on display. Just my sexy, confident boyfriend undressing me while he kisses along my jaw. My chin. Until that soft, warm mouth finds mine.

I sink into his kiss, our tongues tangling lazily, the bedframe squeaking when he shifts his weight more on top of me. I part my thighs, giving him room to settle between them and the moment our torsos connect, hot sparks singe my skin. I can feel his erection rubbing against me perfectly and I lift my hips, desperate for the connection.

“Hey.” He grabs my wrists and pins my arms above my head, holding me there. I open my eyes and stare up at him, drinking in his every feature. His beautiful eyes and dark eyebrows. The way his longish hair hangs over his forehead. His firm jaw and square chin, offset by that sweet, sexy mouth of his. His chest is on display, leanly muscled and smooth, warm skin. “No getting off too fast.”

I pout, struggling against his hold but that only makes him tighten his grip. “You’re no fun.”

“And you’re always the one who’s rushing toward the fun.” He dips his head, his mouth moving against mine when he speaks. “Let’s draw this out a little bit. There’s no need to rush.”

My problem, I think when he kisses me again, his tongue sweeping through my mouth, is that all I want to do is rush once he touches me. I’m chasing after that feeling only he can provide. The delicious tingles. The clenching low in my belly, the throb between my legs. He’s responsible for my impatience.

He spreads my shirt open wide, his mouth never moving from mine, his hand cupping my breast, kneading it as he drifts his thumb back and forth across the front of my plain cotton bra. I should get lingerie. Something sexy and lacy, instead of boring and functional. I want to tell him my plan when he breaks away from my lips to mutter, “Your sweet little cotton bras drive me fucking crazy.”

Sweet?

He rains kisses on my neck and chest, shifting downward, his fingers fiddling with the clasp on the front of my bra. “Same pink as the roses,” he murmurs, flicking the tiny bow stitched above the bra’s clasp.

Before I can say anything, he has it undone, the cups falling away from my chest, my nipples hard and pointing toward his mouth. I watch, breathless as he tongues one hard, pink point, drawing it into his mouth and sucking it deep before he lets it go. My hard flesh glistens from his lips and tongue, the cool air hitting it, making me shiver, and I cup the back of his head when he does the same to the other one, holding him to me. The more he sucks, the more restless I become, and that familiar, needy throb intensifies down low.

“You’re so little,” he tells me once he lifts away from me slightly, his fingers drifting over my ribs. My stomach. “But so strong. You’re nothing but muscle.”

I used to worry he might not find that attractive, but right now? He’s worshiping my body with his hands and mouth. It’s obvious he likes me.

“You could probably kill me with these muscular thighs of yours.” He presses his hands on the inside of my thighs and spreads me wide open, my skirt riding up. “We need to get rid of this.”

Within seconds, the skirt is gone. So is my bra and shirt. Until I’m lying there with just my panties on, my shoes now on the floor but my socks still on my feet.

“West.” I squirm beneath his visual assessment, both loving and hating how he watches me so carefully. “I wish we could …”

My voice drifts and I press my lips together, wondering if I can say it out loud.

“You wish what?” He sucks my nipple back into his mouth, his teeth nibbling, making me cry out in both pain and pleasure. “Use your words, baby.”

Never before has he called me baby and any other time I would be like, ew, no.

Not this time. A surge of moisture floods my panties at the endearment and I thrust my hands in his hair, holding him to me.

“I wish we could fuck.”

The words leave me in a breathless rush and he lifts his head, staring at me with those intense brown eyes, my core tightening in anticipation of the promise I see in their depths.

There’s a loud clatter that comes from nearby—possibly the hallway? Like someone dropped something to the floor. We both lift up, staring at the door, which is still standing wide open.

Shit. We forgot to close it.

“Stay here,” West commands as he rises from the bed and pads over to the open door, carefully peeking his head out to survey the hallway. It swivels left, then right, and he stares for a long, quiet time until he carefully closes the door, turning the lock before he returns to the bed.

I’m shivering by the time he returns, completely freaked out. Did someone just witness us together like this? Did they hear what I said? Was it someone on staff?

It could be anyone.

“No one was out there.” He gathers me in his arms and holds me close, murmuring reassuring words against my temple but just like that the mood is ruined. I can’t stop thinking about what happened.

Who was out there? Who snuck in?

And are they going to tell anyone what they saw?