“Yeah. She’s pretty great. You’ll have to meet her soon.”
“What’s her name?”
“Piper,” he said with a gorgeous, loving smile.
“Piper and Preston,” I said, testing the name duo out. “Who’s older?”
“I am, by three minutes. She’s the baby of the family and she’s got three older brothers. We made her teenage years miserable,” he said, laughing.
“Does she live nearby?”
“She lives in New York City, actually. We moved there together after college, but when I wanted to leave the city to come back to Portland, she wanted to stay.” He started to push his food around his plate with his fork.
“You miss her.”
He shrugged this time. “I do, but I know she’s happy there.”
“Are your brothers local?”
“Yeah. They both work for my dad at his law firm in town.”
“Names?”
“Parker and Patton.”
I laughed. “So your parents liked the names with Ps?”
“Who? Pamela and Paul? Yes. They liked the P names.”
I laughed louder this time. “Are you serious?”
“Perfectly,” he said with a face made of stone, which only made me laugh louder.
“Well,” I said through chuckles, “you’ll have a big decision to make when you get married about whether to hold out for a woman whose name starts with a P.”
“Oh, no,” he said loudly. “I’m not putting my wife and kids through that. There will be no name alliteration happening.” His gaze lingered on me for a moment and then he asked, “Do you have any siblings?”
“Nope. I was an only child. Well, sort of. I had a sister, but she died when I was very young. I don’t even remember her.”
“Oh. I’m so sorry,” he said, sitting up a little straighter with my news.
“No, really, it’s okay. I’m mean, it’s not okay, but it was a long time ago. Like I said, I don’t even really remember her. I just remember the idea of her, kind of.”
“Do you mind if I ask what happened?”
“No, not at all. It was the Fourth of July and we were at a party a friend of my parents was throwing. Their house was near a lake and somehow Nadia wandered away and drowned.” I sighed, remembering that day through the lens of my three-year-old eyes. “It was really tragic and, naturally, my parents took her death very hard. As I grew up, I dealt with the fact that my parents were really protective of me and terrified something would happen to me.” I looked back down at my plate. “I’m sorry. This conversation got really depressing all of a sudden. I didn’t mean to bring you down.”
“Hey, it’s fine. I’m really sorry your family went through that. I can’t imagine…”
“I know. It’s not something anyone should have to go through. We did, though, but I’m okay.”
“So your parents kept you on a tight leash then?”
“Extremely tight. I couldn’t even talk to boys on the phone until I was sixteen, let alone get in a car and go on a date with one. I was never allowed to sleep over at friends’ houses and it took every trick in the book to finally convince my parents to let me get my driver’s license.” I stood up and took my plate to the sink and Preston followed me. He took my hand, led me into the living room and pulled me down onto the couch, setting me right between his thighs so my back rested against his front. I let myself relax into him, enjoying the warmth his chest was giving me, smiling as his arms wrapped around my shoulders, holding me to him.
“I’m sorry you lost your sister,” he whispered into my shoulder, gently kissing me there. “But it sounds like you lost a lot more than just a sibling.”
I nodded. “Perhaps.” My mind was racing, not accustomed to thinking about Nadia and how her death affected me or my life. My little ploy to learn more about Preston had backfired and now I was lost in my head, connecting dots I’d never really seen on the same page before. “My parents, protective as they were, had a very specific plan for my life. They had a very clear and safe path laid out for me, and I never questioned them. I never once thought for myself or thought about whether or not what they wanted for me was what I wanted for myself.”
“Do you think that’s why you ended up with someone like Derrek?”
“Oh, I ended up with Derrek because it was exactly what my father wanted. There’s no doubt about that. But it wasn’t only his fault. I loved Derrek. The guy I met my sophomore year of college is not the same man I’m married to today. But my whole life, my father tried to manipulate me to do what he wanted. It all came from a place of love, but it was suffocating. I was sent to an all-girls school so I wouldn’t get caught up with boys. I was forced to volunteer after school, which made it impossible to have a social life. My parents needed to know where I was and what I was doing all the time, and even though they were only scared of losing me, they ended up pushing me away.”
I snuggled closer to Preston, letting my mind run away with me and allowing my mouth to speak the words I’d only ever thought before, never said aloud.
“When I met him and my parents found out who he was and who his father was, they made it easy for me to be with him. They gave me some slack, but they didn’t really give it to me; they gave it to him. I was allowed to move out of the dorms my junior year, but only if I moved in with him. They allowed me to choose my major, but only because I could use it to work for either my parents, or his, one day. When I graduated, they gave me enough money for a down payment on a house, but only if I bought the house with Derrek. They made me save the money until I was married and then gave it to him when we were ready to buy our first home.”
I stiffened as I thought about the deaths of my parents and how every single part of my father’s business had been left to Derrek. I had been a pawn in my father’s game, only used to acquire the son he’d been longing for his entire life. A son capable and qualified to run his business. I’d been something he could bargain with, something he was willing to give up if it meant he’d gain a son.
My eyes closed as I felt Preston’s lips gently move from my shoulder up my neck. He wasn’t trying to seduce me; he was trying to comfort me. He was listening, so I kept talking.
“Throughout my marriage, I constantly asked for things from Derrek, but it was never a decision just made by him and me, it always involved our parents. Like having a baby. I wanted a baby so badly. I wanted to have children young. I wanted to be that young, beautiful pregnant woman who still had enough energy to run around with a five-year-old. I wanted to be a grandparent young enough to have sleepovers and take my grandkids to the park.” I felt that familiar prickling in the back of my throat and knew I was close to tears.
“Now, I’ll be lucky to have kids at all.” I paused and took a deep breath, still trying to fight off crying. “Every time we spoke about children, he kept talking about ‘The Plan’. He and my father had a plan, a big plan apparently, and kids didn’t fit into ‘The Plan’ right away. He always told me ‘later,’ but I’m pretty sure he wasn’t ever going to give me children.”
That thought was sobering. If I hadn’t found out about his secret life, if I hadn’t decided to move on, he might have denied me children forever. At least now I had a chance.
“You never just went off the pill?” Preston murmured the words against my cheek, his hand brushing over my bare arm.
I laughed. “It wouldn’t have worked. He never trusted me and always used a condom.” I turned so my cheek was resting against his chest. “It’s okay. I’m better off this way. I’m glad I never made a child with him, then I’d be tied to him for the rest of my life.”
“You’ve got time,” he whispered in my ear.
“I know,” I replied, just as quietly. My heart rate spiked as I formulated my next question. I thought about not asking it at all, but wanted desperately to know the answer. With my fingers trailing faint circles along his forearm, wrapped tightly around me, I asked quietly, “Do you think you ever want to ha
ve children?”
He didn’t answer right away and I couldn’t feel any change in his body to my question, but I held my breath waiting for his answer.
“Someday,” he breathed against me, and my whole body felt lighter, as if he’d thrown me a life jacket in the middle of a raging river. I knew if he’d said no, I would have made myself leave eventually. There was no point in being with a man who didn’t want children – it was a deal breaker for me and it would have killed me to walk away from him.
“Someday,” I whispered back. It wasn’t any kind of promise from him, or even a suggestion, but it made my heart soar knowing I could spend time with him without worrying about that. I decided to change the subject and move on to something else. “Have you ever been married?”
I felt his head shake against me. “No. Never met the right person.”
“Never even came close?” I pried.
“I had a few long-term relationships, and one really serious girlfriend, but none of them ever made me feel like I needed to cement our relationship, you know? I never felt like I couldn’t live without them.” I felt his tongue dart out and flip against my earlobe; my body shuddered in response.
“Oh,” I managed. “That’s too bad,” I said, only because I was looking for words to fill the silence.
“Actually,” he said as he brought his lips to the skin just below my ear. “It’s fucking fantastic. If I’d married any of them, I wouldn’t be here with a sexy-as-sin woman between my legs.”
And just like that my breath was gone from my body. My veins zipped with electricity, and I was wet. His hands slowly slid across my chest and grazed over my nipples, which were taut points, stretching to meet his touch, aching to feel his hands on them. As he palmed my breasts, my hands fell to his thighs and I gripped him tightly, arching my back and pressing further into his hands.
I moaned and my eyes closed as his fingers teased me through my nightgown and bra.
“This might end up being my favorite piece of clothing you own,” he said softly.
“Preston,” I begged, writhing against him. He’d ignited something hot and electric in me and it was burning me from the inside out. “Please…”
Without warning, his ankles hooked around each of my legs, splaying them open, spreading me wide on his couch. Then his hands grabbed my wrists and pulled them up to wrap around the back of his neck.
“Lace your fingers together behind my neck, Lena.”
I did as he asked me to, my chest moving up and down with my labored breaths.
“Now, don’t move your hands from my neck. If you do, I’ll find a way to bind you, baby, and I’d rather spend my time pleasing you than punishing you.” His ankles moved even farther apart, spreading me even wider. His hands brushed down my body, starting at my wrists, smoothing down my arms and grazing over my breasts. Then he pressed the palms of his hands on my sides and spread them over my hips, squeezing me gently, his fingers digging into my skin.
He gripped my nightgown and pulled it up, urging me to lift my hips so he could get it all the way up and over my breasts. He didn’t try to pull it over my head, but he did use it to cover my eyes, shrouding me in darkness. I shivered when I pictured what I must have looked like: splayed out on his couch, head covered, legs spread, breaths coming quickly.
I couldn’t see anything, so my eyes closed and I tried to listen for cues as to what he would do next.
I felt his touch start right between my breasts. One hand slid down the center of my body, in the valley between my breasts and continued down to my bellybutton. My breath hitched as he played with the hem of my panties, his finger just ducking under the elastic and tickling the skin there.
“Do you want me to touch you, sweetheart?”
“Yes,” I panted immediately, wanting his hands on me, in me, desperately.
His hand moved lower into my panties, just over the neat patch of hair on my mound. “Here?” he asked, and I could hear the smile in his voice. I shook my head back and forth quickly. He moved his hand down just a little more, still not close enough and I groaned in frustration. “Here?”
“No.”
“Where, love?”
My heart stopped at his words. Stopped, then soared, and then thundered again. “Lower,” I moaned.
“Show me,” he whispered against my neck.
I bent at the waist, raising my hips up to meet his hand, guiding his finger to the right place – the place that ached for him. My hands behind his neck gave me the leverage I needed to move in just the right way, so that his finger slid right over my cleft and I sighed in relief. “There,” I said, sounding terribly turned on and needy.
“Ah, I see,” he said as he sunk his finger into me. I cried out, the invasion so beautiful and intense. His one finger came out of me and slid up to circle my clit and I came off the couch, back arching, fingers digging into the back of his neck. “Fuck, Lena. You’re on fire.”
“Help me,” I cried, needing more from him.
“Always.”
With that, he pressed two fingers back into me, pumping in and out, aggressively finding a rhythm that had me panting, squirming, and moaning, all while silently begging him to both make me come and never stop touching me all at the same time.
While his one hand plunged fingers in and out of me, his other hand freed a breast from my bra and began pulling and tugging on my nipple. The two sensations combined sent me into a dizzying tailspin, and I was lost in it all.
His thumb found my clit and he made slow, lazy circles around it, never touching it, just teasing it. My hips, again, searched for the friction my body so fiercely desired, grinding up against his hand, hoping to catch the right angle to send me over the edge. I felt him chuckle, which only made me more determined, throwing more vigor into my efforts.
Without any warning, he pulled out of me and took his hand from my breast, leaving me cold and frustrated. I groaned my displeasure, but still couldn’t see anything to determine what was going on.
His hands came to mine and pull them over his head. My nightgown came up over my head and he pulled it up my arms and off my body. I left my eyes closed, not wanting to break the spell between us. I wanted him to be in control, wanted him to take charge. I wanted to trust him and give him everything. His ankles released my legs and he scooted away from me, leaving me for just a moment sitting on his couch with my hands in the air, feeling a little like an idiot.
When he came back to me, he pressed his hand against the skin between my shoulder blades and gently pushed me forward.
“On your knees, Lena,” he rasped at me. My heart thundered in my chest as I maneuvered myself to my knees. My legs trembled with anticipation and apprehension, and before I knew what was happening his hands were on my hips, pulling me backward. Then his other hand was on my shoulder, pushing me down until my hands found the couch on either side of his thighs. I felt his fingers pull my panties to the side and then I felt his warm tongue glide over my opening.
I gasped, unable to keep my surprise quiet, but soon started mewling as his tongue found every spot inside me that begged for his attention. He kissed my pussy as if he’d waited to do it his whole life, ate me as if he’d been starved, and I cried out every time his tongue flicked my clit. I moaned and mewled as I rocked up against his mouth, wanting nothing more than to find that high he’d brought me to before. I felt precariously close to the edge and silently begged him to push me over, to find that spot that I knew would send me flying.
On one particularly sensitive pass of his tongue, I cried out and opened my eyes, unable to keep them closed through the jolt of pleasure, and I found myself looking directly at his erection tenting his jeans. Without thinking, I pulled open the button and undid the zipper, reaching into his briefs and pulling out his hot and hard cock.
Even though I still found myself on the edge of what would surely be a glorious orgasm, I couldn’t resist the urge to put him in my mouth. I leaned down and slowly licked the head of his cock,
relishing in the purely masculine smell of him and the salty taste of the pre-cum that waited for me. I placed the tip in my mouth and then took him all in, sucking him back as far as I could. I felt his leg tense underneath my hand and I felt him groan against my clit, the vibration of his voice adding another sexy dimension to our tryst.
I slid my mouth up and down, trying as much as I could to take him deeply and then swirl my tongue around his head, listening to him moan and using that to gauge what he liked most.
We devoured each other, neither one of us stopping for anything except staggered breaths and guttural moans. He found one particular rhythm, fingers crooked against the front wall of my sex, tongue flicking quickly over my clit, and the combination sent me rocketing into an intense and shattering orgasm. I came hard and fast, still recovering from the electric waves coursing through my body when I felt him slide out from under me, kneel behind me, and thrust inside.
I gasped, still sensitive from the orgasm I hadn’t fully recovered from, and he cursed, all manner of four-letter words falling from his mouth.
“Fuck me, Lena. Shit. I love your pussy. Damn.” Each word toppled from his mouth, was grunted out with gasping breaths.
I couldn’t respond with more than a groan, still reeling from my climax, but I reached back to squeeze his thigh, hoping that relayed my mirrored appreciation. This wasn’t flowery. It wasn’t the sweet lovemaking we’d already had; this was rough, primal, and entirely base. It was dirty. It was hot.
Even though he caught me off guard, I still felt myself falling into the role, needing to participate. I started by gently moving my hips back to meet his thrusts, trying to match his rhythm. When my ass connected with his hips, we both cried out. My fingers dug into the arm of the couch, both from the bliss spiraling through me and trying to find purchase on something to keep me upright while I used my body to help Preston find his climax. I used the couch to push myself back onto him again, this time crying out from the new depths he reached inside of me.
“Christ, Lena,” he growled.
We kept pace, each of us working to find that cliff we could both dive off together. His hands moved around my body, holding on to different parts, trying to get even deeper still. He gripped my hips, pulling me backward. One hand moved to my shoulder, gripping me, forcing me on to him. He even wound his hand through my hair, holding it firmly at its roots. That single act, feeling his hand woven through the length, using it to bring himself gratification, it was possibly the most erotic moment of my life – the most sexually fulfilling experience. It wasn’t intimate – I couldn’t even see his face – but it was. Weirdly so, in fact. His hands on me, my need to feel him in the deepest part of me possible; it screamed intimacy. I couldn’t see his eyes, but I didn’t need to in order to know what they looked like in that moment. They’d be dark and glassy, and they’d be focused on me.
The Private Serials Box Set Page 14
