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“Is that what you want to do—be gentle?”
He continues to kiss and lick me, dragging his tongue up my body while he stands up. “Yes. I want to show you how good I can make you feel. I want to spend all night worshipping your body, Presley.”
He kisses me, walking me back to the bed where he spends an hour buried between my thighs, devouring me. His tongue knows just how to flick, tease, lick, his fingers finding every perfect angle inside me to bring me to orgasm.
When he does finally enter me, my body is on edge already, so primed, so ready to feel his body move over me. Everything about the way he moves and touches me is erotic; the way he kisses me is like he’s fucking my mouth with his tongue.
“Are you ready for me, sweetheart?” He pins my hands over my head, his cock already pressing into me.
“Yesss,” I moan as my back arches, my thighs falling open to finally welcome him inside me. He inches his way inside me, his head falling forward as his lips wrap around one nipple and then the other.
“God, you feel so good, so fucking good.” He grunts, sliding out and back in slowly. His movements are slow and long, nothing rushed or rough. “Look at me, Presley.”
I open my eyes, his staring into mine right above me. His lips are close to mine, his breath warm against them as he continues to move inside me. Something about this is different than any other time we’ve been together. It’s not just slow; it’s romantic, emotional. My chest tightens as I try to decipher what his eyes are saying but I’m scared. Scared to read into things. I know he meant it earlier when he says that I mean something to him, that I’m special and he cares for me, but this, this feels like so much more than that.
An hour later I’m lying on top of him, my chin resting on my hands that are folded across his chest while he’s on his back. His hand is behind his head, resting against a pillow as the other plays with my hair.
“What’s on your mind?” I finally ask, unsure about if I really want to hear the answer.
“The weight of the world.” He smiles, silence settling between us before he speaks again. “I think there’s something going on right under my nose and I can’t figure it out.”
“What do you mean?”
“This Meridian deal. Nelson seems off. He’s been particularly up my ass lately, to the point I had to raise my voice at him, something I don’t like doing. He isn’t leaving well enough alone.”
“Oh.” That was not the answer I was expecting. “Did something specific happen?”
He looks away from me toward the window where the glow of the moon peeks through the curtains. “No, just a gut feeling and my gut is never wrong. I hate that I can’t put a finger on it though.”
“Anything I can do to help?” I know there’s nothing but I hate seeing him this way. I sit up, placing my hand next to his waist as I prop myself up on it, my other resting on his chest.
He looks back toward me, a slight smile on his lips as he stares at me. “You are so beautiful.” His words are quiet, his hand coming up to brush against my cheek. “I’ll be okay, baby. Just being here with you helps.”
I lean into his hand, turning my face to plant a kiss on the inside of his palm. “Will you stay?” I take the chance, my breath catching in my throat.
“It’ll never work, Presley.” Sadness is back in his eyes. He answers a question I didn’t even ask, at least not one that I verbalized, but I didn’t have to. I can only imagine that it’s been written on my face most of the night.
“Why not?” I whisper back. I feel the threat of tears, but I refuse to let them fall.
“Because you are sweet and good; you have a heart of glass, and I don’t have one at all.”
I want to tell him that he can try, that he doesn’t have to be this person the world thinks he is, but I know there’s no point. He’s already resigned himself to the fate that the poor choices of his past have paved the way for his future.
“Just stay tonight, please.”
“Just tonight,” he repeats, pulling me into his arms.
Chapter 23
Cyrus
I’ve barely slept since spending the night with Presley in my arms a week ago. I toss and turn, flipping my pillow to the cold side, only to flip it back over a moment later. Finally, I give up, tossing the sheets to the side and flinging my legs over the edge of my bed.
The image of her sitting on my bed that night I gave her a tour of my house rushes back. Part of me is glad that she didn’t let anything happen between us in this room because it would be a million times harder trying to sleep in it after… but part of me regrets it, wishing I had the memory of her in my bed just once.
I stand up, reaching for my phone to see that it’s just after four a.m. I stretch, then walk over to my closet to change into my gym clothes. I flick on the light, standing there, staring, deciding a second later that I don’t have the energy after a week of restless sleep.
The thought of coffee makes me trudge downstairs. I brew a double espresso and take it back upstairs to my office. I sink back in my chair, sulking at the fact that not only have I been left an insomniac since leaving Presley’s apartment, but because of both of our busy schedules, I’ve barely seen her since. Hell, I haven’t even kissed her since the morning I left her sleeping with just a peck on her forehead. I had left her a note, explaining that I had an appointment to get my car serviced that morning. A half-truth, because I called the dealership as I left her place to see if they could, in fact, squeeze me in for an oil change.
