Chaos and Control(45)
“Notorious B.I.G.? Is that your version of seduction music?”
He takes a seat next to me, his glass of whiskey in one hand. The other hand smooths down the front of his shirt several times before coming to rest on the couch behind my head. He looks at me over the glass as he empties it in one swallow.
“I wasn’t aware I needed the aid of seduction music.” This new confidence captivates me in the most effortless way. My willpower to take things slow is vanishing.
“You’re right. I’m a sure thing.”
Preston reaches out, one hand sliding behind my neck and urging me forward. I go willingly. With little effort, I am straddling his lap while he kisses me breathless. I slip my arms through each tiny strap holding my dress up so that it now sits low on my chest. Both of his hands drop to my thighs, pushing my dress up farther and farther until my purple panties are revealed. Preston stops now, dropping his gaze to that little scrap of material. His chest heaves, fighting for oxygen and, I think, restraint.
I shift my hips and feel his hardness pressing beneath me. Preston groans, and his hands fly to my hips to stop my movements. He closes his eyes as the muscles in his jaw tighten. I run my fingers through his hair and rest them on his tense shoulders.
“Are you okay?” I whisper.
“I’m…” He blows out a breath toward the ceiling and opens his eyes. There is a desperation present that I haven’t seen before. “God, I’m a fucking mess.”
I press my chest to his and place my lips at his ear. “Tell me what you need, Preston.”
His hands slide up my sides, stopping on my ribs. His thumbs move in a sweeping arc below each breast.
“I need to touch you, Wren. But I need…”
“Control. I know. It’s yours. I’m yours.”
A growling kind of groan comes out of him as Preston stands with me still in his arms, my legs wrapped around his waist. He walks us to his bedroom and lays me on the bed, like I’m delicate, breakable. Then his weight is on me, and it’s amazing. Preston’s lips kiss and bite from my ear down to my shoulder while he rocks his hips against mine. I pull the top of my dress down so that it is now just a black band around my waist. His belt buckle is cold against my skin. One of his hands cups my left breast, and his thumb skims lightly over my nipple. I cry out, but his mouth covers mine, swallowing down the sound.
“Preston, yes,” I say, because there is nothing coherent left.
I am overwhelmed by the sounds he makes, the scent of him, and the possessiveness of his touch. Just when I think I’ll scream from frustration, Preston sits back on his heels. His fingers slide down each side of my ribcage before curling around the thin purple ribbons on my hips. His eyes meet mine, asking permission, and I nod. Too slowly, he pulls my panties down my legs and drops them onto the floor.
If it were anyone else, I might feel self-conscious with the way he’s just sitting there, watching me. His eyes leave a trail across my body, and when I can’t take not touching anymore, my hands reach for him. Preston comes willingly, stretching out beside me. My hands slide over his arms and chest before I start unfastening the buttons on his shirt. He closes one hand over mine to stop me and shakes his head. He pulls both wrists over my head and holds them there.
“Just let me,” he pleads.
I nod, willing to give him anything. Preston walks the fingers of his free hand over my heated flesh. He moves between my breasts, over my dress, and past my belly button. When his large, warm hand slides between my legs, I let out a sigh. One finger slips in, and he drags it back and forth, circling where I need him most. It is the kind of torture that is equal parts pleasure and frustration.
“You’re so wet for me, Wren,” that low voice whispers. I thought Preston’s voice was sexy before, but hearing him talk dirty is a whole new level of torment.
I whimper and press my hips up, seeking more friction. Preston slides a finger inside me, then another. He has me writhing beneath his touch, moving in and out in a steady motion.
“Yes. God, Preston.”
We are a dance of stuttered breaths, kisses, and that unforgiving rhythm. My body bucks against his hand when he brings his thumb up to tease my clit. The feel of his clothes against my naked flesh, the press of his body into my side, only heightens every sense. Stretched out before him, I feel each nerve in my body come alive. The pressure inside builds and builds, until I can no longer contain it. I let out a cry, blinding lights dance beneath closed eyelids as my body bows up off the mattress. Preston keeps working me, keeps touching me until it’s torture to my overly sensitive body. When I get my voice back, I beg him to stop with a blissful smile. He releases my wrists and withdraws from my body. I am boneless and spent.
Preston places a kiss on my lips, just two pecks before retreating. But I don’t let him go. Instead, my hands lock behind his neck and hold him to me. Our tongues tangle and taste and seek each other out until neither of us can breathe. I let him go, and he ends this with eight kisses to my swollen lips.
A deep crease appears between his brows, the muscles in his neck pulled taut. I can tell that his steady rhythm of deep breaths is deliberate.
“How are you?” I ask.
Preston sighs and rolls onto his back. “I hate that you have to ask me that.”
He hops up from the bed, adjusts his crotch, and slips into his bathroom. While he’s in there, I straighten my dress and slip my arms back through the straps. I hear him wash his hands twice before emerging. Preston leans against the doorframe and crosses his arms. I sit on the end of his bed, waiting.