Chaos and Control(79)
“Yeah.” I twist my fingers together in my lap and take a deep breath. “I understand why you didn’t tell me about Bennie. I’ve always understood why. I just wasn’t able to deal with the news of her being sick and feeling betrayed by you at the same time. It was too much. It still is. I took out all my anger about everything on you. It was easier to blame you than to deal with it.”
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“I know you are. I’m sorry, too, about the terrible things I said to you. I’m an ass.”
“I won’t pretend like it didn’t hurt to hear those things from you. But it’s okay.”
“It’s not okay. But I promise to make it up to you.”
Preston nods and looks away. “My therapist got an earful.”
“You have a therapist?” I ask, staring at his profile.
“Every Monday at one o’clock.” He taps his watch twice.
I nod, remembering his appointments in Franklin on Mondays. “Well, apologize to your therapist for me.”
“Nah. That’s what she gets paid the big bucks for.”
There’s a silence that falls around us. I lean forward in my chair and open my mouth, but “I’m sorry” is not enough. Preston watches as I struggle to find the right words.
“I try to keep my distance, but it is futile.”
Preston recognizes the words from his confessional poem, and his expression lifts into one of awe. One side of his mouth pulls up, and my favorite eye crinkles appear.
Standing, I move forward until I’m between his knees. He smells like wood and sweat and something uniquely Preston. I place a hand on each thigh and lean closer.
“I miss you,” I practically whimper. “So much.”
“God, I miss you, Wren.”
Preston’s arms wrap around my back and pull me against his chest. Our lips meet in a frenzied kiss that has been building for too long. It is redemption and relief, pain and glorious pleasure all rolled into one. My fingers claw at his ribs through the thin material of his beater. I want it gone. I need to feel him. Clutching the material in each fist, I lift until he releases me and lets me pull it off. Beneath the bright shop lights, he is all muscle and flawless skin. My eyes travel over his heaving chest, down to abs that flex with each breath, and trail down to the cut of his hips.
“You’re so pretty,” I say.
He gives me a smile and stands from his stool, now towering over me. Preston’s hands grab my hips, and he lifts me onto his workbench, sweeping the carefully placed tools out of the way. Now, he stands between my knees, nipping at my lips. I place my hands on his shoulders and run them down his arms.
“Pretty shoulders, pretty biceps, pretty elbows,” I say between kisses.
“Elbows?” he murmurs against my lips.
“Yes. Elbows.” My hands continue their exploration, enjoying the feel of his body beneath my fingertips. “Pretty chest, pretty abs, pretty little happy trail.” I scrape my nails through the bit of hair that disappears into his jeans.
Preston stops moving and pulls his lips from my neck. He leans his forehead against mine, and we exchange panting breaths that say more than words ever could. I’m sorry. I’m not perfect. I need you. In one swift move, he has my shirt off. Next is my bra. I have to show him that it clasps in the front. Preston fumbles with the closure, but finally gets it unhooked. He pushes the garment from my shoulders. I feel exposed, but in a good way. Proud to be on display for him.
“You’re beautiful, Wren.”
His lips return to mine, and when his warm hands wrap around my waist, I moan into his mouth. He slides his palms up until each breast rests in his hands. Preston squeezes gently, as if trying them out, before his thumbs sweep across my nipples. I cry out and shift my hips against his, needing something more, anything he’ll give me.
My hands reach for the button of his jeans, and I get it undone before he steps away. We face each other, both topless and trying to catch our breath. I shake my head, confused by his reaction.
“We’ll get there. Not yet.”
“But I can’t keep my hands off you, Preston. I need you. I have no control when it comes to you.”
He gives me a devious grin and stalks forward. Preston grabs his black beater from the floor and wraps it around my wrists, tying a knot between them. My pulse quickens at the primal look in his eyes. He is pleased with himself. Raising my hands above my head, he pushes my wrists against the wall. I gulp when he grabs the nail gun, presses it between my wrists and fires three nails into the shirt. I am now tethered to the wall.
I test my restraints and see the satisfaction on Preston’s face when they don’t budge.
“You once offered me control, Wren.” He leans over me, running his nose along my hairline until his lips are at my ear. “If you’re not okay with this, tell me now. I’ve got to say, you look fucking amazing tied up and at my mercy. I’m tempted to keep you here, locked away in my tower.” His words, along with the hard resonating timbre of his voice, ignites a fire in my body.
“Preston, please. Touch me.”
My head and shoulders rest against the wall, with my hands pinned above. He pulls my bottom to the edge of his workbench, my body stretched out before him. Preston unlaces my boots before pulling them off. His fingers unbutton the fly of my shorts and then curl into the waistband. Preston tugs them off me, along with my panties. I am a wanton mess, squirming under white-hot lights and his gaze.