by Beth Flynn
“I’ll be in our room, Grizz darlin’, waitin’ for ya, honey. Just come on home when you’re done and I’ll show you how a real woman feels underneath ya.”
I watched her walk to the motel, open one of the doors and walk in. I looked back up and he was staring down at me. Without taking his eyes off mine he said, “Moe, take her to number four. Settle her in. Stay with her.”
Take who? Me?
A tiny person rose from the ground. She’d been sitting close to the fire and had been staring into it during the whole scene. At first I’d thought she was a young boy. I remember thinking they had kids here so it couldn’t be too bad. Now that hope was gone. She had short, jet-black hair. She was wearing a Black Sabbath T-shirt, black jeans and combat boots. As she rose and walked toward us, I could see her face was done up with black eye makeup to the extreme. She probably had a pretty face under all that paint. As an adult I would see young girls made up during the Goth craze, and I would think none of them held a candle to Moe. The original Goth girl.
Without saying a word she walked over to me and just stood there. She didn’t meet my eyes, but looked at the ground. I looked to my right where Monster was sitting. He wasn’t even looking at me. Sometime during the last ten minutes (or had it been an hour?) he’d gotten a beer and was sitting there with his head thrown back, chugging it. To his right was the man called Froggy, the one who tried to help Willow. He was looking down at the broken lawn chair. Maybe he was trying to see if he could fix it. I don’t remember anyone else, although I know they were all there that night. Sitting around the campfire, watching, waiting, obeying.
I stood up and Moe slowly walked toward the motel. I clutched my bag to my chest and looked straight ahead as I followed her. Without turning around I knew with certainty that those mesmerizing eyes would watch me until I was behind the closed door of room number four.
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Nine Minutes
From S.E. Hall
If you haven't met my dear friend, S.E. Hall, allow me to introduce you to a taste of her recent novel, Elusive. I hope you'll enjoy her writing as much as I do!
Elusive
Princess Presley Duet Book One
Full Circle Series
By S.E. Hall
©2018, S.E. Hall
She was looking for a boy,
who would one day be king.
Who could slay the dragons,
that guarded her cave.
And make her remember,
that she was a queen.
-Atticus
Prologue
A while back — I pretend not to remember the exact date, time, and day of the week it was — I went to a Sam Hunt concert with my cousins JT and Brynn… and there he was.
Sutton Ellis.
In all his big badassery. Well over six-feet of solid muscle, green eyes, shaved head and a cocky smirk to make hearts skip a beat.
He’d traded his ticket, unbeknownst to the “other guy,” so he could sit with us. Or more specifically, sit by me. And when “other guy” came looking for his seat, Sutton sent him running scared.
It was hot.
Very hot.
And, a bit like a match made in Heaven, I may have done some scaring of my own that night. Might’ve called the bitch sitting behind us a twat, called out her lawsuit worthy nose job, and perhaps threatened to “vag drag” her outside to set her on fire.
In my defense, she insulted Bellamy, JT’s girlfriend, repeatedly, so she had it coming.
But, I digress; not pertinent to my story.
What is? Sutton called me “Sugar,” and “the Boss.”
The Boss!
He just… got me; spoke my language, right from the start. And to further prove it, he pulled out the big guns — told me he rode a Harley.
He was the first man in… ever, to truly intrigue me.
After the concert, we all went to IHOP. I ate half his pancakes, he ate all of everyone’s hash browns, and then I took him home with me.
And fell asleep.
Untouched.
Which only made me crazy with wonder how it’d feel to be touched by him.
Fast forward through a couple more serendipitous meetings, where, again, I didn’t get laid, and we’re to the part when I did.
Knowing what I’d never admit, good ol’ JT invited Sutton to a family cookout. And, one thing led to… us screwing like animals.
In my aunt and uncle’s house.
Yep, after I’d worked so damn hard to ignore all his attempts at contact, I hammered home my “unattainability” by fucking him.
Couldn’t be helped, I had to have him. And dizzy from all the wondering, avoidance, I got a little tripped up… and fell on his dick.
And now, after suffering through another long drought of feigning disinterest, I want to fall on it again.
Which is why I’m standing at his front door.
* * *
Chapter 1
Presley
“Umm… hey?” His mumble lands somewhere between caught-off-guard politeness and inquiry as he rubs the back of his neck. “What… uh… what’re you doing here?”
Okay… not quite the knowing, and eagerly receptive, welcome I was half expecting, wholly hoping for... but it has been a while, so I let it slide. Besides, I’m guilty of faux ignorance too. I actually tried kidding myself on the drive over here that I was merely “out for a drive” and accidentally took a wrong turn at “just wanted to see how you were.”
But with all six-plus, glorious feet of him now standing in front of me, wearing only a pair of gym shorts that rest deliciously low on his hips, my charade may be in danger of discovery. The mesh material — as though manufactured with my neglected libido in mind — clings to outline his dick superbly, leaving nothing to wonder. He’s hanging to the left this evening, every bit as long and thick as I fondly remember.
Yep… pointless game of denial over… I’m ready to admit with actions that will scream far louder than any words precisely why I’m here.
Sutton remains silent, still, allowing my prolonged lack of reply to his questions, so I use the borrowed time to let my hungry eyes wander unchecked. That broad, sculpted chest, and the mesmerizing ‘V’ etched into his lower abs, begging to be traced by the tip of my tongue, even sexier than I recall. After this — my very thorough, shameless perusal — there’s not a shred of hope left that he’s still wondering as to the motives behind my surprise visit.
Bottom fucking line — Sutton Ellis is a huge, tatted, masterpiece of flesh, and I can’t control my physical attraction, reaction to him any better than I can the vividly torturous dreams I have of him almost every night.
Nor could I hold out any longer. Pride be damned… I had to see him.
Further thought or inhibition a waste of time, (the latter never having been my strong suit anyway), I launch myself at him like a horny spider monkey, jacked way up on hormones too long contained. He easily catches me with deft hands and effortless strength; his faint laugh tickling my ear, his clutch on my ass firm and instinctual as I twine my arms and legs as far around him as they’ll reach.
“One more time,” I pant my terms while covering his taut pecs and corded neck with open-mouthed kisses. “Just. One. More. Time. Then we’re done. For good. I mean it.”
I probably don’t mean it.
“Presley. God, Presley,” he groans, tortured but stern, detangling my limbs and setting me on my feet; even gently pushing me away. “As tempting as it sounds to be used, very well, I admit, and thrown aside, again, I’m… uh… not alone.”
“Wh… what?” I stammer idiotically, aware, more so now than ever, what “not alone” means, suddenly feeling like the intruder I apparently am… an unfamiliar pill that lodges in my throat, not ready to be swallowed.
“Sutton? Who’s here?” A teeny blonde, naked underneath Sutton’s oversized shirt I’m assuming, slowly walks toward us. “Sutton?” she repeats in a soft, shaky whisper.
He le
ts out a heavy exhale, which I understand, then makes sure to catch my eyes… and gives me a certain look, that I don’t, before glancing over his shoulder. “Hailey, sorry, but could you maybe hang out in my room, please? I’ll be there in a minute, I swear. I’m just, saying bye to an old friend.”
Now would be the ideal time for me to, oh, I don’t know… splutter some bullshit line and leave, but I don’t. Can’t. Literally frozen in place and staring as the tiny waif of a girl smiles, vindicated, chosen, and all but dances back to his room.
And I’m still standing here, statue of self-doubt. I… I don’t know what to do, say... I’ve never been the one not chosen. It fucking sucks — I do know that much.
I can’t formulate a plan, excuse for escape, anything, my thoughts consumed elsewhere. All I can think is, Hailey, while beautiful, looks nothing like me. She’s petite, far too thin to have “a rack,” and her blonde hair’s short. I’m a long-haired brunette, tall and packing enough tittage for three women.
Which does he really prefer? Does he even have “a type,” or do the specifics outside of “has vagina” not matter?
Oh, my God, no! I do not second-guess myself. Ever. And I’ll be damned if I’m gonna start now, over a guy I fucked once and haven’t seen since! I’ve got to get the hell outta here before I become someone I loathe.
“Oops, my bad,” I bite, tacking on a stiff laugh. “Guess I should’ve called first. Anyway, have fun.” I try to play it cool, hide the hurt that wants to sound. Trumpet. Blare. “I’ll see ya around.”
He pulls the door closed and stops me with a strong, authoritative hand on my shoulder. “Presley, don’t leave like this. I’m sorry you had to see that, but… can you turn around and look at me? Please?”
I affix what I pray resembles casual nonchalance on my face and turn. “Sutton, it’s no big deal, I never thought I was the only one. You weren’t,” I lie, my insides cringing with guilt. Lying’s very unfamiliar to me — let alone when specifically manufactured to inflict pain. Regret and shame set in too, heavy… and deserved. “We certainly made no promises to each other, and seriously,” I scoff, “it was one time, how long ago? I was horny is all.” I shrug. “Thought I’d see if you’d be down to help me scratch my itch real quick. You’re not, and it’s not the end of the world. I’ll just go find someone else.”
He slowly shakes his head back and forth, running an even slower hand along his jaw. “You’re lying. There hasn’t been anyone since me, and you won’t go find anyone else. That’s why you came back to me, even after months of ignoring my calls and texts. Despite what you, for some insane reason, want people to believe, you’re a good girl, Presley. I wish like hell you’d have given me the time of day sooner. I’d have dropped everything for you. But you didn’t, so… I moved on. Hailey’s a nice girl. I’m not gonna treat her like shit or kick her out, just so “Princess Presley” can ‘scratch an itch’ then go back to pretending I don’t exist. Sorry, Hot Shot, doesn’t work like that.”
“Jesus, you quoting your diary or philosophizing off the cuff?” I jeer, pushing back my inner shame from seconds ago.
“Neither, and you’re deflecting, as always. You know, Presley, I don’t get you. Why are you so hell-bent on your transparent fucking act thing? You remind me of the old JT, before he found Bellamy. Scorned without being scorned, hardened with no reason to be hard. You come from a solid, two-parent home with a father who adores you and values women. Not to mention the rest of your huge, healthy, loving family. What gives?”
“Sutton,” I coo, sauntering forward with a flirtatious grin in place, just to abruptly shift gears and condescendingly pat his chest. “Don’t analyze me, or speak of things you know nothing about, which even if you did, would be none of your business. I wanted to fuck you, because you’re good at it. Plain and simple. No underlying, deeper meaning. And as we’ve established, you’re busy. My loss. End. Of. Story. Get back to your girlfriend. See ya.” I pivot on my heel and hustle to my car as fast as possible without sacrificing any more of my dignity with the speed at which I retreat.
“Not my girlfriend,” his voice trails behind me.
“Tell that to the picture on your entertainment center,” I yell, moving faster — a dull ache of confusion in my chest and his summation of me ringing in my ears… too much of which I suspect might be accurate.
I want to sit here, alone in my car, and dissect, then dismiss, every part of what just happened that’s gnawing at me. But should he happen to come around the corner and catch me, my humiliation would skyrocket to proportions from which I’d never recover. So, I pull my head out of my ass, and my car out of the parking lot, no idea where I’m headed.
* * *
*** Intrigued? You can read the full story, Elusive, by New York Times & USA Today Bestselling Author S.E. Hall, available for purchase at Amazon.
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