Chaos and Control(60)

I scoot closer to him. “What about girls who’ve been in lake water?”

He smirks and runs his hand through his hair. “I’m on the fence.”

Taking a swig of my water, I move right next to Preston. Our thighs are almost touching. I think he does his best not to lean away.

“What can I do to persuade you?”

“A hazmat decontamination shower?” he suggests.

“Guess we’re both out of luck, then. I was really looking forward to persuading you to come over to my side of the fence.”

“Would you two just screw and get it over with?” Bennie groans.

I laugh while Preston looks mortified. Laying my towel out in the sun, I lie on my stomach and untie the strings to avoid tan lines. I can’t see through his sunglasses, but I can feel his eyes on every part of me. Preston pulls out his notebook and scribbles away.

Later, the three of us eat a late lunch before heading back to Crowley. Bennie seems happy, letting her hand float out the window. She splays her fingers and closes them, letting the wind lift and lower her arm. I smile at her ability to enjoy simple things like that. I hope, when I’m her age, I still appreciate the little nuances that make life beautiful.

When we arrive home, Bennie goes inside, leaving Preston and me in the hall.

“About that decontamination shower?”

“Yes?” Preston unlocks his door and swings it open.

“I was thinking I could shower at your place.” He remains quiet and shows no reaction to what I’ve said. Suddenly I feel like I’m pushing too hard. “It’s okay. I’ll just—”

“Wren,” Preston says, his voice strained. “Get in here.”

I laugh and run inside, dropping my bag and kicking out of my flip-flops. Preston leans against the door, watching me. I pull my shirt off and drop it while walking backwards toward his bathroom. Next are my shorts. I leave them where they fall. Spinning away from him, I untie my top, peel it from my body, and fling it over my shoulder. Stepping into the bathroom, I slide my bottoms off and toss them into the hall.

Wanting to know that my show was appreciated, I peek my head around the corner to find Preston still pressed against his front door, a tortured look on his face. The only thing is, I don’t know if it’s from my teasing or the mess I’ve left.

“I won’t be long.”

Despite my promise, I take my time in the shower. I smell all of Preston’s products before using them and make sure there is no lake-water funk anywhere on my body. When I’m done, I pull a towel from the rack, dry off, and wrap it around me. I crack the door open and look to the living room. It is now empty. My breadcrumb trail of clothes is gone, and so is Preston.

“Preston?” I call out.

“In here.”

Turning toward his kitchen, I find him downing a large glass of water.

“Where are my clothes?” I ask.

“In my washing machine.” He finishes the water, rinses the glass, scrubs it with soap, rinses again, and sets it to dry on a wire rack.

“You touched my lake clothes?”

Preston shakes his head. His eyes dart to a pair of yellow rubber gloves turned inside out and hanging over a towel bar. I nod my understanding.

“I don’t have any clean clothes here.”

Preston lifts an eyebrow in my direction. He’s not stupid. He knows I mean to seduce him. At least he appreciates the effort.

“I’ll get you something.”

I follow him into his bedroom where he pulls out a plain white T-shirt and a pair of boxers. I pull the T-shirt on and let the towel fall. His shirt hits me at mid-thigh, so it covers me like a dress would.

“Fuck, Wren.”

“What?” I ask, turning to look at myself in his full-length mirror.

Preston steps behind me and wraps his arms around my waist. “You look so good in my clothes.”

We watch ourselves in his mirror as one hand slides up to cup my left breast and his other trails lower. My body instantly reacts to his touch, a breathy moan escaping when his lips press to my neck. Fourteen times those lips meet my heated flesh. Preston’s fingers slide between my legs, and I feel dizzy from the contact. My knees are weak, my thighs tremble with the effort to stay upright. But I don’t have to fight it for long.

He guides me to his bed and sits me down on the edge. I lean back on my elbows and look up at his solemn face.

“How long are we going to play this game, Preston? How long do you think you can deny me?”

Preston drops to his knees, his hands resting on my thighs. “I’m not denying you, Wren. I’m denying myself.”

His fingers curl around my thighs and slide up, pushing the thin T-shirt out of his way. Preston’s hands slide around to my back and pull me forward, so that I’m almost hanging off the bed. The hungry look in his eyes tells me that when this is over, I won’t feel denied.

I drop onto my back and hum when I feel his stubble brush the inside of my knee. Preston places a kiss there before trailing farther up my thigh. A few more teasing kisses, and I am a writhing mess.

“Please, Preston.” My voice is barely a whisper, but the desperate tone is obvious. He switches to my other thigh, and I cry out in frustration. “Please.”

“I want to hear it, Wren.” His breath fans over where I want him most, hot and warm against my sex. “You have no problems voicing what you want. Why now?”