Proposing to Preston (The Winslow Brothers, #2)(86)

“We said the words two years ago,” he said fiercely, leaning his forehead against hers. “But our marriage begins tonight.”

Leaning Elise’s back against the door, and holding her with one hand, he found his keys in his pocket and quickly unlocked the door, twisting the knob as they barreled into his front hallway. Kicking the door closed with his foot, he adjusted her in his arms briefly, finding her lips again as he strode down the dim hallway, through the massive, sunken living room, through an arched hallway, past his office, past a guest room, to the door at the end of the hall.

Her lips were bright red and glistening when he drew back from her, her eyes dark and languid with arousal, with desire.

“No going back,” he said—a warning, a promise.

“We belong to each other,” she vowed, her voice thick and breathy as her breasts pushed into his chest with every panted breath.

Spearing her with his gaze and forcing her to return it, Preston pushed his bedroom door open and stepped into the room.

***

Elise’s body had flooded wet and hot when he lifted her against the wall of the elevator, but now her muscles clenched in anticipation as he stared at her, the sheer intimacy of his eyes drilling hers making her feel weak and needy, like if he didn’t fill her soon, she’d scream from the high pitch of her arousal, from the intense need to be writhing beneath him, his strong body driving into hers over and over again.

“I’ve relived our wedding night a million times,” she murmured, dropping her forehead to his shoulder. “I’d lie in my bed and touch myself, trying to feel the way you made me feel, but I couldn’t…I couldn’t…”

Preston froze, his fingers clawlike, digging into her backside as his breath caught beside her neck. “You’re blowing my mind.”

The gravelly heat in his voice made her bold. “I’d rather blow something else.”

“Fuuuuuck,” he groaned, “Are you for real?”

“Try me,” she dared him, turning into him so she could lick his throat. Under her tongue, she felt his pulse jumping like crazy, and he gasped as she blew on the damp skin, then pressed her lips against it.

“I need you naked, sweetheart,” he whispered in a ragged groan. “Please.”

Unlocking her ankles as he loosened his grip on her bottom, she slid down his chest until her sandaled feet touched the floor. She slipped out of them and looked up at him, at the lust that cut his face into angles and made his eyes glitter with hunger.

He placed his palms on her shoulders, staring deeply into her eyes. She leaned her neck back slowly, until her throat was totally exposed, and let her hands droop listlessly by her sides, giving him total control. She felt her breasts push forward, straining toward him with every inhaled breath, but she was still, locked in his gaze, letting him know that she was completely his, that she’d never run from him again.

He smoothed his hands down her arms, so softly, so slowly, goosebumps rose up on her flesh and she heard the smallest whimper borrow her breath and whisper past her lips. His hands stroked the skin of her arms, all the way to her wrists, which he held, with his thumbs over her pulse.

“Your heart is racing,” he murmured.

She nodded, her eyelids fluttering, but not closing.

Skimming his palms back up her arms, he paused at her shoulders, then lifted all but his fingertips from her skin. Her trailed them—slowly, like a feather’s touch—to the elastic hem of her romper, one index finger tracing the border, his eyes still boring into hers, his breathing quick and shallow.

She felt another rush of wetness between her legs and gasped softly, her eyes widening as she realized her body was preparing for his, readying itself, and barely able to keep another whimper from leaving her throat, she gave it permission, watching his eyes as the small sound of want pulled his eyes to her lips.

His right hand—his large, warm palm—slipped under the elastic, sliding slowly to her left breast, his fingers stopping when they found her bare nipple, swollen, yet firm, and he covered it with his palm, finally dipping his head and claiming her lips with his.

She moaned into his mouth, a sound of want and fury, as he squeezed her breast, his thumb rubbing mercilessly over her aroused flesh. Inserting his free fingers into the elastic, he raked the fabric down, the friction over her exposed nipple almost unbearable until his palm covered it, soothing it, both thumbs circling her pebbled flesh as she leaned into his touch.

His tongue swept between her lips, exploring the wet heat of her mouth as his hands slid lower, abandoning her breasts and pushing her romper over her waist, over her hips…his breath caught suddenly and he groaned as he realized she wasn’t wearing panties. Her romper fell to her ankles the flowered fabric soft and light around her bare feet as Preston caressed the skin of her back.

He leaned back to look into her eyes, and she’d never seem him so wild, so undone.

“So. Fucking. Hot,” he groaned, his panted speech choppy and awestruck.

“Take off your shirt,” she demanded, unable to wait for him much longer.

He reached behind his neck and a second later his shirt was on the floor. As she stared at the chiseled perfection of his bare chest, her fingers smoothed over the ridges and stopped at his belt, quickly unbuckling him, unbuttoning the top button and pulling down the zipper of his pants. He shoved them down his legs, stepping out of them, and Elise dropped her glance to his boxers. Hooking her thumbs in the sides, she pulled the fabric up and over his massive erection, staring at the veins that pulsed and jumped under her perusal.