The Private Serials Box Set(20)

"Maybe you should take me home."

"Fuck that, Lena. I'm taking you to my place. You can't spend the night  alone in your house and I haven't slept well in nearly a week. I'm not  sleeping in my car again." He put the car in gear and we jerked back  onto the road. Soft Preston was gone again and I was in the car with  pushy Preston.

"Okay," I sighed. The rest of the ride was quiet. Neither he nor I  spoke. When the car slowed again it was to stop at a gated community. He  stopped at a keypad, rolled his window down, and entered four digits.

"Fourteen, ninety-two," he said softly. "The year Columbus sailed the  ocean blue." He turned toward me slightly, a boyish grin on his face.  "It was the only four-digit combination I knew I'd never forget."

"Makes sense," I replied.

"Remember that, you'll need it."

He made his way to a building that had garages all along the first floor  and I realized we were at his condo. It hadn't occurred to me that  there were anything but giant mansions in the West Hills.

As we neared one of the garages, it began to open, timed perfectly so we  didn't even have to stop or slow down-he just pulled right in,  effortlessly. Once the car was in, the garage door closed behind us and  Preston folded himself out of the car. I followed, grabbing my duffle,  trying not to let my nerves get the best of me. More excitement had  occurred in the last three hours than I could remember in my whole life,  and I was still trying to keep my wits about me. I had to remind myself  why, in all reality, I'd come here. To be with him. To let the  all-encompassing attraction I'd had to him since that first day take me  wherever it led.

Without words, he led me into his house and I took the quiet opportunity  to admire his home. It was definitely a man's place. Everything was  either black, white, or gray. He led me past the living room and I took a  second to look inside. The furniture was black leather, reminding me of  the jacket he'd worn every time I'd seen him, apart from that night.  There was a glass coffee table in the middle of the room and an enormous  flat screen TV hanging on the wall.

I continued to follow him down the hall, which I noticed had no pictures  hanging on the walls. Everything was stark and empty. I tried not to  think about how his house could be spruced up or what I could add to  make it more homey and warm. When I followed him into the next room, I  gasped at the most beautiful kitchen I'd ever seen. I had a nice kitchen  at my home. It was functional and I used it often, but Preston's was a  work of art.

Black granite countertops, a huge island with a six-burner stove built  in, stainless steel appliances, and gorgeous dark cabinets. There were  twin ovens built into the wall, stacked on top of one another, and a  door slightly ajar that looked like a walk-in pantry.

"You like to cook?"

"Not really. I don't have a lot of time to cook."

"Oh." That surprised me. Why would he have such a state-of-the-art kitchen if he didn't cook?

"I bought the condo new, and it was already built this way," he said,  reading my mind. "Don't get me wrong, I can cook. I just don't find  myself home a lot." He walked to the far side of the island and then his  eyes looked to me. "Can I make you a drink? Vodka martini?"

I blushed at his remembrance of my drink of choice, my heart speeding up  just a little at the thought of him paying attention to such details.

"Can I just have straight vodka? On the rocks?" I needed something to  take down quick, not something to savor. He didn't answer me but I  watched as he pulled out a tumbler and made my drink, also pouring  himself a scotch.

With both tumblers in hand, he walked around the island, heading  straight for me. His eyes never left mine as he approached and when he  made it near me he came to stand directly behind me, forcing me to turn  to him. He placed both tumblers on the granite behind me, one on either  side, leaning into me. I could feel the cool, hard edge of the granite  biting into my back, coupled with the warm hardness of his chest  pressing into my front.

He reached down and took the duffle from my hands.

"Anything breakable in here?"

"No." I quirked a smile at his strange question and then yelped as he  tossed it over the island and into the sitting room beyond. Then his  hand was in front of me again, holding my drink out for me. "Thank you,"  I said as I took the tumbler from him. I pressed the glass to my lips,  still looking him in the eyes, then tipped the glass back, taking the  cold liquid down in one swallow. I winced just a little as it burned,  but recovered quickly, enjoying the warmth it spread through my belly.

He smiled down at me, but this was a new and different smile. This smile  was nearly predatory, dangerous. My smile disappeared quickly, replaced  by my heartbeat thrumming through my veins, both my hands gripping the  glass in my hands as if it were the only thing keeping me upright.  Leaning back just far enough to bring his glass to his lips, he took a  small sip of his scotch, eyes glued to mine.

"Can I try it?" I asked, before I knew the words were coming out of my  mouth. I blushed a little, realizing it was a strange request. "I've  never had scotch before." His eyes were lidded and dark as they came  closer to me, his face tilting slightly as he gently pressed his lips  against mine. The kiss wasn't insistent, wasn't pushy; it was soft and  cautious. His tongue teased the seam of my lips and when I opened to  him, I tasted the scotch. Our tongues melded to one another and the kiss  was nutty and peppery. I released a small moan and he pressed into me  further.         

     



 

In the back of my mind, I registered my glass being taken from my hands,  the sound of both our glasses being set on the counter, but I was too  involved in our kiss to care. When his hands were free, they found my  hair, pulling me into him, placing my head just exactly where he wanted  it, angling me so he could get everything from the kiss he was searching  for. His tongue danced with mine, flicked at the roof of my mouth, slid  around the rim of my lips; it was the slowest and sexiest kiss I'd ever  participated in.

His face pulled back from mine, both of us breathing hard and fast.

"Lena," he whispered, before his mouth moved down my jaw and lapped at  my neck. "Soon, I'm not going to be able to stop myself," he said  between nips at the sensitive skin behind my ear. My fingers moved to  the soft part of his hair, where it was shaved close, urging him on,  praying he never stopped making me feel as if I were about to combust.

"I don't want you to stop, Preston. Please … "

His face pulled away from my neck, but we never lost contact as his forehead moved to press against mine.

"Please, what? Lena, you have to tell me what you want. This has to be  on your terms." His voice was choppy and sounded a little frantic.

I pulled back and held his face between my hands. "Hey, what's going on?"

"I want you so badly, Lena," he whispered, his eyes darting back and  forth between mine. "But I also know what's at stake for you. I won't  take anything from you, sweetheart."

My mouth gaped a little at his admission. He wanted me. I'd already  known that, to some degree. But he wanted to protect me, too. That was  something new to think about. Derrek had never really been protective of  me and I didn't realize I would appreciate it if he had. But watching  Preston physically hold himself back, hearing the concern in his voice,  it was moving. I wanted Derrek to pay for holding me hostage in a  marriage for so long, a marriage he never intended to work on or make  better. I wanted the money I thought I was entitled to, the money I'd  helped him make. But being here with Preston felt more important than  the money, more important than any other moment I'd spent with Derrek in  the last five years. It felt right.

"I want you, too, Preston," I managed, even if it was just a whisper. It  felt like the most important whisper to ever move over my lips. He  swallowed hard, taking in my words, but still made no move for me. I  could almost see his brain working, the thoughts evident across his  face.

"That's not good enough." He sighed, sounding sad. "I need to know exactly what you want."

My hands fell from his face, confused, but willing to give him whatever  he needed in that moment. "I want you, Preston. I want you to take me  into your bedroom." I leaned closer to him, placing a small kiss on his  chin. "Take my clothes off." My mouth moved softly up his jawbone. "And I  want to feel you inside of me," I whispered in his ear.

"You know what that would mean, right?" he asked against the skin of my  neck, his stubble rubbing on me, causing me to shiver. My hands traveled  to the back of his neck, pressing the front of my body against his,  feeling his hardness pressed against my belly.

"I know what it means to me, for me. I understand what I'm doing."