Chaos and Control(16)

I sip my drink while he pours himself another.

“And which do you prefer?” he asks. His normally deep voice is even lower and gritty. It reminds me of the static scratching noise when an album finishes playing.

“I like both—individually and at the same time. I like to be owned by a kiss.”

Preston leans back on the couch and sips his drink again. He stares out at the store.

“Seems like a lot of pressure for a kiss.”

I turn sideways, sitting on my knees, and set my glass down on the table.

“It is. Not every kiss will be perfect, but there’s a difference between a good kiss and a great kiss. Surely you’ve been kissed before?”

“I have.”

“Tell me about them.”

He gives a slight shake of his head and sips his whiskey. “Not much to tell.”

“Come on,” I say, leaning in closer. “I don’t want your complete sexual history, just tell me how they made you feel.”

Preston’s gaze flicks to my mouth and away again. “They were a means to an end, a way to get something else I wanted. More of a necessity than a desire.”

He stretches his arm out along the back of the couch, his hand holding the drink near my head. His body is more relaxed than I’ve ever seen him, and while I don’t want to make him uncomfortable, I do want to take advantage of our positions. I debate on how far to push Preston. If I come on too strong, he could shut me down completely, and I’m not sure I could handle outright rejection. I fear that once I lose his trust, I’ll never get it back.

I decide the chance of having his hands on me is worth the risk.

I throw one leg over Preston’s lap so I can straddle him. The muscles in his jaw twitch as he sucks in a deep breath, holding it. He’s nothing but solid man between my thighs. He smells like whiskey and aftershave, my own personal aphrodisiac.

“What are you doing, Wren?” he asks, releasing his breath. While his voice is calm, I know that things inside his head must be on red alert.

“Which do you feel right now, Preston? Necessity or desire?”

He doesn’t answer, but I feel the muscles in his thighs tighten beneath me.

“What are you thinking right now?” I ask.

“I can barely think with you so close. My thoughts are scrambled.”

I lean forward and stop with my lips hovering just inches from his.

“Tell me one of those thoughts.”

His eyes are on my face. “There’s an eyelash on your cheek.”

“Do you need to get it?” Our words are barely more than breathy vapor between us.

Preston turns his head, brings his drink to his lips, and finishes the second glass of whiskey. He turns back and nods in the affirmative.

When he reaches for my face, I close my eyes. The tip of his finger sweeps across my cheek removing the eyelash, then traces the curve of my jaw and lifts my chin. I feel his body shift and hold still to keep from scaring him away. The moment stretches between us. I can feel his breath against my lips, and I want to lean in.

Preston’s mouth is tentative at first, barely brushing mine. There’s a hum from inside my throat urging him on. I keep my hands on my thighs in an effort to take things slow. When his tongue sweeps across mine, I taste mint and whiskey—a delicious combination mixed with Preston. Our kiss becomes more hard than soft, more demanding than asking.

I turn my head to take a much-needed breath, and Preston’s lips trail down to my neck. The scratch of his prickly facial hair rubs against my collarbone, and I hum in satisfaction. My hands have a mind of their own, finding his ribs and sliding around to the solid muscles of his back. I am on sensory overload, consumed by this moment, when he abruptly pulls away.

Climbing off his lap, I try not to feel rejected. There is now two feet of space between us, but we are an obvious display of mirrored passion. Heaving chests, flushed cheeks, and an internal fire fueling my racing heart. I lean against the opposite arm of the couch, smoothing my shirt and pulling my knees up.

“What are you thinking now?” I ask, my voice just above a whisper.

“Half of me is thinking about all the disease-causing agents we could have just exchanged.” His voice is shameful as he leans over, elbows on his knees, head hanging low.

“And the other half?”

“The other half is wishing I didn’t have to stop.”

Preston stands, grabs the bottle and glasses, and disappears through the swinging door.





A formidable foe

Trying to reclaim what was once his While I own no part of her

I want to slay him with blades Of confidence and possession

But I do not own those weapons But then, she is looking at me Eyes that tempt and tease

Mouth that defines kissing like It is landing on the moon

Words and physical beauty

Live in the shadow of those kisses She eclipses all that I am

The taste is candy lips and whiskey tongue The effect is a hard reboot

Even with her calming elixir

My mind screams its objection

I hold that demon back

As long as possible

Too needy for her touch

Eventually he wins and

I must crawl back inside myself But at arm’s length

Wren Hart still rules my thoughts Making her my only obsession