Proposing to Preston (The Winslow Brothers, #2)(38)
She was unbelievably beautiful, trusting and responsive, and as much as he wanted her in every possible way, he reveled in this moment of bringing her to her first climax. Releasing her breast, he smoothed her hair from her forehead, leaned his head forward and whispered close to her ear, “Sweetheart, just let go.”
As if she’d been waiting for permission, her entire body tightened, crested, her hands reaching for his head and guiding his mouth to hers as a primal cry broke from the back of her throat. He swallowed the sound, stroking her tongue with his as she bucked against his hand. Her body trembled and shuddered beneath him and he gentled their kiss, brushing her lips tenderly before finally releasing them. She panted beside him, her chest rising and falling with the force of her orgasm, the rest of her body limp and sated.
“Pres….,” she moaned, the sound luxurious and deep, ending with a melodic sigh and soft, broken words she said over and over again. “I didn’t know. I didn’t know. I didn’t know…”
Sliding his hand from her panties, Preston wrapped his arms around her, pulling her against his chest and dropping his lips to the back of her neck.
“Thank you for letting me be the first,” he murmured, his heart swollen with love for her.
Her breathing was slowing down, but he felt her heart under his arm where he held her tight. It still fluttered wildly, and he felt the slight jerk of aftershocks as she settled in his arms, snuggling back against him.
“Preston,” she whispered, sniffling softly. “That was so beautiful.”
“You were so beautiful. I could watch you a million times.”
“Stay with me tonight?” she asked him, placing her hands over his, just under her breasts Just when he thought she was asleep, she whispered on a sigh, “Stay with me every night.”
His eyes closed. Slowly. As they would at a long journey’s end, or when something he’d desperately hoped for against odds was finally his. For the foreseeable future, if not forever, he would hold her in his arms, his breath against her neck, the scent of their lovemaking surrounding them and the strong beat of his heart binding her body to his.
***
Eight weeks later, Ethan Frome was a bona fide smash, but the play’s two month run was coming to a swift close. With only two shows left, Elise found she both mourned and celebrated its imminent end. Mourned because Ethan Frome had been her big break and she would always cherish the memory of working with Mr. Fischer, Garrett, and Maggie, from whom she’d learned so much. But she celebrated its close because her future in the New York theater scene suddenly seemed so bright and promising—she couldn’t wait to see what happened next.
She had signed with Mr. Durran’s agency and he assured her that when Ethan Frome folded next week, he’d have dozens of upcoming opportunities for her to choose from. In fact, just yesterday, he’d left a message that Our Town was going to be staged at the Barrymore in September and he’d already pitched her for the part of Emily Webb. Much like the part of Mattie Silver, Emily was a beloved American character that Elise had played before and knew very well. She’d whooped and hollered when she heard the message, committing to giving the best audition possible and excited beyond belief to have the possibility of another amazing role to look forward to.
Elise wasn’t the only one with good news, either. Preston had come home last night to say that he’d been offered a conditional position at the law firm where he was interning, Mulligan & McKee. As long as he passed the New York bar when he got his results in November, the job was his, and until then, he’d be paid on the assumption that he’d already passed. Suddenly he wasn’t a student and intern anymore—he was a Junior Associate at the hippest, most in-demand legal firm for athletes in New York City.
“I was sure they’d wait to offer me something in November!” he’d said, his eyes bright and alive with excitement.
“Nah!” she said. “They know talent when they see it, Pres!”
He’d kissed her, swinging her around the living room with glee. “We’re on top of the world, sweetheart. I’m taking you out to dinner tonight!”
Grinning at him, she’d slipped out of his arms and sprinted to their bedroom to change from her lounging-around sweats into a dress.
She’d stopped working at Bistro Chèvrefeuille about two weeks ago. Preston refused to take a dime for rent and without the additional expense, her salary from Ethan Frome could tidily cover her loan payments with some leftover.
Leaving her night job had the added benefit of allowing her more time with Preston. On Wednesdays, Fridays, and Saturdays, she wasn’t home until after the show at eleven, but every other night belonged to him. Her heart belonged to him. Her body—almost all of her body—belonged to him, and every morning she woke up in his arms.
No, they hadn’t had intercourse yet, but his fingers had reverently touched every plane and valley of her body, learning about her, discovering the newness of her, teaching her how a man loved a woman as he caressed the secret depths of her sex and brought her to unimaginable pleasure. And Elise was his grateful and willing student, tentatively learning about him too, remembering a touch that made him groan softly or clench his jaw with pleasure. A feather touch below his waist that would make him roll her to her back and kiss her ruthlessly like he’d never get enough of her. And when she flexed her hips, arching them into his, he would pant into her neck, whispering how much he wanted her, how much he cared for her, how wonderful and beautiful she was.