Rush (18 page)

He moves, rising above me, and a small shiver escapes as the warmth of his body leaves me. I’m trying to catch my breath, vaguely aware of the sound of foil tearing. I open my eyes to see him rolling on a condom, and my heart pounds in my chest.

His eyes are luminous, almost platinum in the dark, and I watch him move back to the bed. He lowers his hot skin against mine. I wrap my arms around his shoulders as his thighs spread me, and I feel the edge of him pressing hard, easing forward. He’s raised above me, watching my face, kissing me after every small forward motion…my cheek, my brow, the tip of my nose. He fills me deeper, driving new sensations into areas I’ve never felt before.

I gasp as a pinching feeling overrides the pleasure, and he stills.

“Too much?” he asks. I’m wrapped tight around every inch of him, and my head is pounding with blood.

He kisses my cheek and smooths my hair. I don’t answer him but I know he sees it. My eyes are closed, and I’m wholly focused on dousing the pain and recovering my happy place. “Easy, baby. Just breathe,” he coaxes. I do as he says, concentrating on the sound of his voice and the discomfort begins to fade.

His mouth trails down my neck, kissing and whispering, and the first wave of pleasure returns. “I’m going to move you on top of me,” he says, slipping a strong hand under my back and rolling.

My breasts press against my inner arms as I brace my hands on his hard abdomen and adjust to the position, straddling him. He raises his torso off the bed, bearing his weight on his elbows. I hold his face in my hands and kiss his mouth.

“Go slow, baby,” he says. “Take me as deep as you can.” A thin sheen of perspiration mists his brow, and his face is stoic. I know he’s doing this for me, allowing me to control the force with which he enters my body.

I settle lower, pushing myself down until the fullness is unbearable. I pause and take another breath. My inner thighs absorb the shudder that pulses through his abdominal muscles. His head tips back between his shoulder blades, and he exhales a breath. “Almost there, baby…so close,” he says. I ease off of him, wiggle my hips, and settle lower. “Yeah, that’s it…so damn good,” he bites out, and I continue rocking my hips, starting a slow rhythm. I know he’s holding back for me—I reach for him, and he sits up slowly.

“Oh my God, Preston.” His forehead is on mine, and all I can see are his eyes, swirling charcoal with flecks of blue at the center. “I never thought it would feel like this,” I say, arching and squeezing him tighter with my legs.

He pushes my hair aside, closing a tender grip behind my neck and sending a ripple of heat down my spine. “You’re so fucking sweet Priscilla.” He holds my thighs and arches underneath me, stealing my breath.

“You still with me?” he rasps.

I nod and smile, rocking slowly against him. “I’m with you.”

He pushes me lightly back with his fingertips. I moan, as he squeezes my breast and sucks my nipple into his hot mouth. His free hand moves between my legs, circling the most sensitive spot. My body jolts and my eyes fly wide. I could cry it feels so good. I’m raising and lowering my body on his cock, building torturously divine sensations.

“Slow baby…slow.”

My mind is somersaulting in a meadow somewhere, and then, floating on a cloud. “I knew it would feel like this when I’m inside of you,” he whispers low, and I’m losing my ability to think about anything other than the feel of him between my legs. “I knew you’d be sweet, and hot, and wild for me.”

His husky voice draws me deeper. The soft hair on his thighs brushes the backs and insides of my legs as I rock on top of him. My fingertips dig into his skin, riding a knot of intense pleasure, craving something only he can reach. I gasp his name, and the knot bursts apart, a mind-blowing explosion pulsing up my belly and shooting a million tingling pieces into my head. My skin is so hot, it feels like it’s melting from my bones, shedding everything except the euphoric feeling of being connected to him. He lets loose a low growl and grips my thighs, holding them tight as he arches, pressing deeper and pulsing hard. The strained expression on his features eases and his dimples appear.

Soft panting fills the dark space—in my fog, I can’t tell what’s coming from me and what’s coming from him. My head hangs over my shoulders, and I’m basking in the heavy, glowing feeling that’s holding my limbs captive. He collapses back against the bed, lifting my hand from his chest and kissing my tingling fingertips.

“C’mere,” he says, reaching for me. I lift my head and he pulls me gently down until I’m lying on top of him. His fingers thread and tangle, playing absently with my hair.

“Did I hurt you, Peep?”

I smile and raise a brow. “Do I look hurt?”

He lifts his head to look at me lying in a puddle of bliss. “It’s kind of hard to tell,” he says, squeezing my ass.

I huff out a small laugh. “Did I hurt you? I feel like I should apologize for something.”

A burst of deep laughter fills me with warmth. “For what?” he asks, still laughing, his eyes alight with playfulness. “For riding my cock like a…”

My hand cups his mouth, cutting him off. “God, don’t say it. I’m already embarrassed enough.”

“Never,” he says, kissing my hand and chuckling. “You should never be embarrassed about letting go. That’s what great sex is all about—trusting your partner enough to let go.”

“Umm,” I murmur, smiling. “Now that I know what sex is like, I’m going to want it all the time.”

Through the strands of hair covering my cheek I watch the slant of his sexy mouth moving in the darkness. “As your partner I’m committed to helping you through this difficult period,” he says, his lips curling into a sensual smile that warms my heart.

I fall asleep in his arms knowing that no matter what happens between us, I’ll always be thankful that he was my first.

It’s five thirty, and Preston is picking me up in a half an hour. We’re going to the season’s end Athletic Banquet along with Jace and Ian.

“Do
not
make my hair Texas big,” I say to Jace. She’s standing behind me, twisting sections around wide purple rollers.

“Quit squawking. Sweet Baby Cheez-its!” she snaps. “You’re worse than Sweeney when I color his hair. You’re not supposed to look until I’m finished.”

“Are you sure this lipstick isn’t too vampish?” I ask, sliding my lips back and forth. Her fingertips catch my shoulder, and she spins me away from the mirror, jabbing a Cosmo Magazine into my chest.

Ten minutes later, she reverses the spin and I’m blinking at my reflection. Wow. I actually look kind of…glamorous. Long waves sweep low over one side of my face, bouncing around my shoulders and settling at the mid point of my arms. My eyes are accented with deep smoky liner, soft shadow, and a touch of… I squint. Is that glitter? Hmmm. I don’t look like me, but I think that’s the goal. “Thanks…I think.”

“Wait ’til Mr. Football playaaa sees that,” she says, holding flat fingers under my chin, as if she’s serving my head on a platter. “Bon appetite, Monsieur. That’s French for ‘eat your heart out.’” She yanks the cord of her hot rollers out of the wall as I stand.

“All right, I just need to put my dress on. What time is it?”

She plucks her phone from the cosmetics lying on her dresser and sucks in a breath.

“What? What’s wrong?”

Her eyes squeeze shut as if she’s in pain—it’s a look I rarely see from Jace, and it sends a pang of anxiety into my stomach as I watch her sink to the bed.

“What is it?”

“Ian cancelled on me.”

“For the banquet? Tonight? Are you serious?” I walk to the bed and sit next to her. She hands me the phone, and I read his message.

Hey, something’s come up and I have to head back home for the weekend—not going to be able to make it tonight. Have a good time, Sweet T.

“Sweet T?”

“Yeah, that’s what he calls me. He didn’t even say he was sorry.”

“What a complete shit in the punch bowl,” I mutter.

She flops back on the bed, looking lost. My heart sinks. “I’m sorry,” I say, flopping next to her.

“Another one bites the dust,” she mumbles. We lay there for a minute staring at the ceiling together. Excited as I am to have this night with Preston, it won’t be the same without her.

“Why don’t you just come with us? Seriously, since when have you or I ever needed a date to do anything? Come with us.”

She sighs and drops a fainting hand over her forehead. “The thought of explaining to all my friends that Ian dumped me an hour before the event—by
text
—doesn’t sound that appealing. I’ll get over it—eventually.” She nudges my arm. “Sit up, you’re going to crush your waves, and you need to get your dress on before Lover Boy gets here.”

I hesitate to leave her. I’d like to kick a soccer ball up Ian’s cowardly ass.

“Go,” she says, pushing me to a stand.

I stop at her door and look back. “Think about it. You could still come with us.”

“Beat it!” she says, nodding me out of her room.

Cracking her door, I check for Marcus then antelope leap across the hall in my bra and underwear.

I tear the thin plastic packaging clinging to the sleeveless bordeaux sheath, lift the hem, and bury my hands inside. It slides down my body, settling like a slip. Twisting an arm, I inch the exposed zipper up as far as I can then head back to Jace’s room for help.

“Wow.” Marcus is stepping into the hallway, and he looks me up and down. “Damn, girl, I know you don’t like to wear that kind of stuff, but it sure does like to wear you.”

“Hey,” I say, lowering my voice and steering him away from her door. I want to tell him the scoop with Jace so he won’t drill her with questions when she doesn’t leave with us. “Ian texted Jace a few minutes ago and stood her up.”

His brow rises, and he glances back.

“I don’t know how she didn’t see it coming—he’s a douchebag, but she’s upset.”

Jace’s door opens and she walks out. She’s changed into her sweats, but her eyes are still heavily smoked with liner, and her hair’s pageant ready. She pauses a beat, focusing on Marcus. The doorbell rings, and a flood of butterflies take flight in my stomach. “I’ll get some pictures before you leave,” she says, pushing past us. I shrug at Marcus and follow her into the living room.

Preston’s handsome profile is smiling in the doorway. He’s wearing a black suit and tie with a gray shirt—I’ve never seen him dressed up before, and he looks so distinguished…and hot. Light catches the tips of his finger-length waves as he smiles at Jace’s announcement. “Be prepared to be astounded.”

She bows and moves aside, and a second of shock captures his features. My “Hollywood and Wine” colored fingernails pinch my palms as I concentrate on standing still. His gaze dances over me. Admiration and desire swirl behind his ashy-blue stare, transporting me back to last night, and I feel myself blushing.

Jace winks and heads to the kitchen, leaving us staring at each other. He raises a fist slowly and beats it against his heart twice, leaning his head to the right. It’s the same move Chewbacca made after we passed each other in the bathroom hallway. A warm feeling rushes through me as I bask in the spotlight of his appraisal. Now I know why women spend so much time getting ready—every poke, pin, and pluck that Jace administered in the last hour holds up in the look on his face.

He lets out a boyish laugh that makes
me
laugh, then he covers his mouth.

I cross to him, pivot, and raise my hands to the back of my neck, lifting the heavy waves. “Could you get the rest of the zipper for me?” I ask, angling my chin over my shoulder. He leans his face close to my cheek, and I draw a deep hit of his aphrodisiac scent, clean with a hint of spice. I swear I’d pull his shirt open and sniff his chest if we were alone.

Long fingers curl around my waist, gripping gently, while he raises the other hand to touch the exposed skin of my back, fingers dipping low and stroking.

He drops his forehead against my temple. “You’re stunning,” he whispers, and I smile. “Are you feeling okay…after last night?” His breathy words shoot a tingling feeling into my stomach. “Not too sore?” His fingers are moving in an exquisite, torturous pattern, slowly easing up my spine.

“I’m fine,” I respond, glancing into the kitchen to make sure Jace is occupied.

He grips my hip lower, spreading strong fingers over my belly—pressing into the exact spot where I want to feel him most—and speaks softly in my ear. “That’s good news. I’ve been thinking about last night all day. I want you, so bad. I might not be able to wait to the end of the banquet.” His voice holds a heavy, sensual promise of later, and I shudder as he kisses my neck. I turn to face him, and the realization that I can kiss him—freely, while our friends are watching—emboldens me. I move a hand to the side of his face, press onto my toes, and set my lips against his. His mouth is tender—always, but even more so now. I flick my tongue over his bottom lip, and slide a flat palm over his erection. His lips curl against mine, meeting my gaze. “Mmm, maybe you know how I feel.”

“Count on it,” I say, stepping away and drawing a cooling breath.

“All right, lovebugs, let me take some pictures so I have evidence of Priscilla Winslow in a dress.” We accommodate Jace as she poses us—his hands on my waist and lower back, dipping, kissing, laughing together. Preston takes the camera and snaps a few of Jace and me.

“Is Ian running late?” he asks, and my shoulders scrunch.

“He bailed on me an hour ago,” she replies, heading for the kitchen. He shoots me a stunned look, and I raise my brows.

“I have champagne,” she calls, barely disguising the hurt in her voice. A loud
pop
erupts from the kitchen. I return Preston’s sympathetic smile, take his fingers, and lead him to the bar stools as she sets three plastic champagne glasses in front of us and pours. The light gold liquid rushes to the rim, bubbling into a layer of foam.

“Marcus, you want champagne?” she calls, aiming her head to the hallway.

He turns the corner, shrugging into a dark blue sport coat. “Sure,” he nods.

She grabs another glass from the cupboard as Preston and I watch him adjust his cuffs. I don’t remember him saying he was going out. Jace emerges, extending a glass to him.