Page 27 of Take 2

Chapter Twenty-Four

S tars explode behind my eyelids. The universe either came to a hard stop or jolted into double-time.

My feet push against Preston’s shoulders, but his face remains firmly against me.

His tongue and lips work me into a frenzy.

Perfect pressure, suction, heat. I want it to last forever, but I also know I’ll cease to exist if I don’t come soon.

Not that it’s a struggle.

Everything contracts and tightens until I’m sure my heart and lungs will give out.

This would be a great way to die. But just when the pressure reaches the point of potentially killing me, it all erupts.

Maybe I do die for a second because the connection to my body is only a pulsing in my subconscious.

Then there’s also Preston—licking and sucking, easing me back into my body after launching me over the cliff of pleasure. He kneads my hips, and gradually, my brain unscrambles.

His touch vanishes just long enough for his shirt to come off, and then his hand spreads over my inner thigh.

Words come back to me, though I’m pretty sure I was muttering curses the whole time. “Do you”—I swallow to moisten my tight throat—“have a condom?”

He presses his teeth into my hip and nods. The absence of his body is as shocking as the chilly water in the bay.

It’s short-lived, though. His fingers graze my legs, sending lightning up my spine. “You’re gorgeous.”

I’d blush if my face wasn’t already home to half my blood supply. The other half is pooled, where Preston presses his body against mine. I curse, and he sucks in a breath as he pushes into me.

In addition to the million physical reactions bombarding me, I make myself really look at him and realize this is actually happening.

I had come to accept this in the last few days—hell, probably when I was packing for the trip—but for years, I was certain we’d never find ourselves in this situation.

For a self-proclaimed smart-ass, I’ve never been happier to be wrong.

Inch by inch, he fills me up, and despite my recent release, I am wound up so tight I can’t believe he fits. When he’s buried to the hilt, he whispers, “ Oh shit, ” and squeezes my thigh.

I roll my hips, fucking him slowly. “Do you want me on top?”

He shakes his head; whether to collect himself or say no, I’m not quite sure. “I want you just like this.” Then he pulls my leg up to hook it over his shoulder, sinking deeper into me.

A gasp tears through me as his thrusts beat a rhythm that might be my new favorite song. I writhe as another orgasm balls up my muscles. He rubs my clit with his thumb, his palm like a heating pad on my skin, but there’s nothing relaxing about this warmth. “Come again for me.”

It would have happened anyway, but his words nudge me over the edge. I squeeze him between my legs as pleasure ripples through me. The sound that comes out of me is some mix of a scream, a moan, and crying.

“Oh my god.” Preston slows to long, deep movements.

I … don’t exist anymore.

And I prefer it that way. I don’t need to exist anymore. What can the world possibly have left for me?

The world may not care, but there’s a man here who has possibly ruined me for life, and I will be damned if he doesn’t get off.

I lace my fingers through his and struggle to find my voice. “Don’t hold back.”

His eyes meet mine for confirmation before he unleashes on me. I have to fuse with the mattress for how hard I’m pressed into it. My muscles shouldn’t work anymore, but they tighten around him again as he shudders, groans, and slumps forward, panting.

Despite being jelly, my leg manages to drop from his shoulder, and Preston collapses onto me. He buries his face in my neck, and I scratch his back in slow strokes.

His shoulder is salty and slick when I kiss it. “See? How stupid were we to avoid sex?”

A laugh rumbles through his chest and into mine.

He rolls over, pulling me on top of him and making it considerably easier for me to breathe.

“You were right. What made it perfect was you.” The words are delivered like a reluctant surrender but threaten to shift our dynamic anyway.

I don’t want to be put on a pedestal. Not when the teasing and play fighting give me life.

The energy to argue doesn’t exist in me. An eyeroll will suffice for now. I give him one slow, deep kiss, then slide down to lie next to him. “What would be perfect right now is a nap.”

Salt, sweat, and sex perfume us. I’d buy this fragrance as a candle. But that’s the pleasure fog clouding my brain. In my defense, that wasn’t just sex. That was the best sex I’ve had in … years? It seems sad, but the mental instant replay confirms it. Like, several years.

My dress is crumpled around my waist, and my bikini top hangs around my ribs.

Preston’s thigh is pressed firmly between my legs, and the urge to squirm against him grips me.

He wasn’t wrong about needing showers, but it’s more necessary now.

So, I slink away from his sleeping form and go into the bathroom.

Sometimes, post-sex showers are like a reset button.

Remove the evidence and pretend it never happened.

Today, no amount of soap and hot water could wash away the feel of Preston’s skin on mine.

Not that I’m complaining. When I close my eyes and tilt my head back to rinse out my hair, a laugh bubbles out of me.

The feeling is something like waking up after getting way too drunk the night before and having memories pop back into my head.

Except there’s no regret or embarrassment, just a giddy sense of wow that happened.

“Care to share what’s so funny?”

Somehow, Preston’s voice doesn’t startle me. My eyes remain closed, and my smile widens. “Just that I had sex with my arch-nemesis.”

“Your insistence that we’re enemies with nothing to support it—”

“There are some things to support it.”

“… is really a testament to your stubbornness.”

I meet his eyes through the steamy glass shower door.

A remark about how stubborn he is dies on my tongue.

Holding eye contact while we’re both standing naked stirs me in all the right and wrong ways.

I should invite him to join me—I think. Maybe not?

Anyway, my throat has constricted, so I’m not sure I can.

“Can I join you?”

Oh, crap. Now. I’m the one overthinking. I nod and back up toward the wall of the shower. He steps in, and I’m instantly jealous of the water running down his body. His gaze flickers to my chest and back to my eyes. “Are you cold?”

I bite back a laugh. “That’s not why my nipples are perky.”

“But probably still true.” He grasps my hand and pulls me close. The rain showerhead is big, but for both of us to be under it, we have to press together. His arms wrap around me, and my heart takes off as I look up at him.

“Happy with your demand that I act instead of trying to script everything?” he asks.

“Mhmm.”

He bends down to kiss me, and if I thought my body was already in overdrive reacting to him, I underestimated the effect he could have.

Blood rushes to all the places I yearn for him to touch, my heart’s pounding borders on painful, and butterflies seem to think my stomach is a club.

I reach up to weave my fingers into his wet hair.

The heat of him and the water overwhelm me. The butterflies migrate to my head, and I pull back. My knees wobble. Stars won’t blink away, and Preston’s hold on me loosens, but his hands are still on my hips.

He says something, but it’s white noise.

I need to lie down. I reach around the shower door for a towel, but it blurs. “I—”

Preston lays a towel over me and runs his hands over it to dry me off. I’m on the bed.

But I was just in the— ugh. I drag my hand onto my face.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

“No. I fucking swooned.”

The towel disappears, and the blankets settle onto me in its place. “I’m not considering this to be a testament to my sexual prowess.”

“Good. Because it was only more physical activity and heat than my calorie and sugar intake could handle.” My embarrassment keeps my eyes closed.

“So when I say we need to eat, it’s not just concocting delays?”

I groan. “This isn’t the time for I told you so’s.”

The sound of footsteps draws my eyes open. Preston returns to the bed with a towel wrapped around his hips, and a bottle of water in hand. He sits next to me and helps me sit up a little. A sip of water soothes away some of the tingly-numb feeling that’s crept over me.

“Well, I guess I’m officially old. My body rejected the idea of me being sexy and shut off . ”

He presses his lips together, but the laughter is visible in his eyes. “You’re sexy one hundred percent of the time. That has to be exhausting. Give your body a break.”

I sigh and fall back into the pillow again. It’s wet and cold, as is my hair, and I couldn’t be more annoyed with myself if I tried.

“Hey,” he says, “at least we’ve flipped the caretaking trope back to the correct direction.”

“I’m not sick!”

“I know.” He pushes some wet strands of hair off my face. “But do you want to eat dinner in bed?”

I pout. “No.”

“Think we should, though?”

“Yes.”

His smile makes it hard to hold onto my frustration.

He puts on shorts and a T-shirt and goes off to seek out food.

My legs are sturdy enough to get me to the bathroom, where I shake my head at the reflection of the idiot who fainted.

I put a shirt and underwear on and look at the bed.

There is little about it that’s still usable.

Hopefully, it takes Preston some time, because this isn’t going to work out for tonight.

I call housekeeping and strip the bed myself to speed up the process.

I throw on some shorts before the housekeeper arrives. I think she scolds me for helping, but it’s in French. She leaves just as Preston returns. He smirks as he puts the large paper bag on the desk. “We’re the kind of people who need the sheets changed before even spending a night in them.”

“It would be far more badass of us if the biggest issue wasn’t that I had to be put on the bed unconscious and dripping from the shower.”

“I’m going to conveniently forget that part when I tell the story,” he says as he takes out the food.

“Who are you telling this story to?”

He drops his chin when he looks at me over his shoulder. “You tell James everything. Why can’t I tell people things?”

“You can, I’m just curious as to who. Especially since you’re apparently going to fabricate details.”

“Not fabricating. Omitting some.”

I roll my eyes and open a container of bruschetta spread.

Preston hands me a small bag with sliced bread in it. “Sit so you don’t fall when you faint again.”

“I hate you.” But I do sit and grab a spoon to top a slice of bread with the tomato mixture. “Maybe that was on purpose. I was training you to provide me with food every couple of hours.” I take a bite, and the garlicky, fresh deliciousness pulls a moan out of me.

“Well, as long as feeding you and fucking you result in the same sound effects, I guess I can put up with your maintenance schedule.”

“In the French Riviera you might struggle to be as satisfying as the food.”

He takes a bite of a prawn, and his eyes glimmer with the promise of accepting the challenge. After dinner, and several mocking checks that I’m not going to blackout again, he proves to be a connoisseur of my pleasure.