I don’t mean to, but for a moment I rest my cheek on the fabric of his blazer and let him soothe me. I shouldn’t be calming down right now, but somehow the smooth timbre of his voice and the sweet, terrifyingly overwhelming words he’s saying calm my erratically beating heart, and I feel my tense muscles start to relax against him.

“Sebastian?”

“Yeah, baby?”

“Why do you keep calling me little bird?”

His hand curves up my spine and beneath my hair, resting against my neck and rubbing soft fingers over the skin. “Because your name is Starling, and because you’re beautiful and wild like a bird, and because I want to clip your wings and tie you to me almost as much as I want to watch you soar.”

His honesty is almost as disconcerting as his regal beauty. The things he’s saying are making goose bumps prickle along my skin and a cold chill waft over me. But no matter how much I know I should be running from him, there’s a lethargy in my muscles that won’t let my natural flight instinct kick in. I should be fighting free of his disarming hold, but instead I’m sitting placidly in his lap, like this is where I want to be.

Confusion over my reaction to him consumes me. Boys have never really been on my radar. Of course I’ve had crushes, but they’ve all been unrequited and unmentioned. The middle school Courtney and I attended was in North Acres but even at the ages of nine and ten, the kids in my grade knew my house was smaller than theirs, my clothes were from Target not Ralph Lauren, and my summers were spent in Maine, not Mauritius. Nothing in my life so far has prepared me for Sebastian Lockwood. He looks like a man, sounds much older than his years and is so far out of my depth I’m already drowning, and only my toes are in the water.

“What time is it? I need to go home and get ready for school,” I say, forcing my arms to life and pushing away from his chest, struggling to free myself from his hold.

“Relax,” he coos, curling his hand around my ribs and stroking the underside of my boob with his thumb.

I freeze beneath his touch. “It’s a little after seven. Your uniform is washed and pressed and your mom brought you some underwear last night.”

His thumb lifts a little higher. “There’s the shampoo, conditioner and body wash you like in the shower, but if you’re still feeling unwell, I’m sure your mom wouldn’t mind calling in for you.”

At the first swipe across my nipple I feel myself go completely tense, it’s barely second base, but it’s the most provocative way I’ve ever been touched by a boy.

“We could spend the day relaxing and getting to know each other better,” he suggests as he cups the weight of my breast in his hand.