18. Preston #3
My head whips to the side, my vision blurry as harsh lights blind me.
A hand shoots toward me and opens the door, then I’m yanked out so powerfully and harshly, I don’t understand what’s going on.
I’m lying on top of a muscular chest, strong arms wrapped around my back as a loud bang echoes in the air.
My fuzzy eyes look back as the car explodes.
My car.
The one I was in seconds ago.
Oh. Was I going to die?
“Are you okay?” A gloved hand grabs my cheek, pulling my attention to the man who dragged me out.
Marcus.
We’re half sitting on the dirt with me practically crushing him as the embers surround us like stars.
His eyes shine with a rare darkness beneath the helmet.
He came.
And…he’s not gone.
I sluggishly push at his helmet, and he removes it, tossing it on the ground.
“Preston, can you hear me?” One of his hands is all over my face, and the other is shaking me slightly, the smell of leather jerking me back to the present.
He’s really here?
It takes effort to lift my trembling hand, then I run my fingers through his damp, dark strands and inhale him. Leather and fucked-up intoxication.
Oh.
I can breathe.
The water has disappeared, the static has dulled, and I’m just…not floating anymore.
Is it possible not to float?
“Preston?” he asks, studying me closely, and I’m watching his glistening lips as they move.
He needs to speak some more. But he doesn’t. He just sits on the dirt, his chest rising and falling heavily, his eyes locked on mine.
“You’re here…” I slur, and it’s barely audible.
“I’m here.”
It’s real. I can touch him. He’s not part of the noise or the static or the fucked-up corners of my head.
“I’m here, too,” I whisper.
“You are.”
“Right?” My pulse trips over itself, my mouth dry, my ribs aching as pressure builds in that useless organ that’s pumping blood into my veins.
He moves closer, and the space between us folds, just sort of vanishing into thin air. Why the fuck was I okay with him disappearing on me for weeks?
“You’re drunk, Preston.”
“And high on pills, so this means nothing.”
Then I claim his lips.
It’s not fire or fireworks. It’s pressure, like gravity, like someone cracked open my chest and forcibly let the light in.
He tastes like temptation and actual air. Like bad decisions wrapped in smoke. Like sin coated in blood.
And I’m ravenous.
I fist his hair as I deepen the kiss, claiming his tongue, moaning into his mouth. Marcus grunts deep in his throat, grabbing my nape, dragging me closer to kiss me harsher, like he can’t get enough.
As if, like me, he can finally breathe.
For one impossible second, I stop hearing the static.
Just his breath. Just mine.
Just this.
“Fuck.” He drags his lips from mine, and that’s when I realize there’s the sound of an engine approaching.
Marcus helps me up, and I sway, my eyes still on his lips. I…need more.
Just a tiny bit.
“I sent Kane a text when I was talking to you. So that’s probably him or Jude.” He’s speaking, but I’m not hearing him, my head kind of gravitating toward him.
He brushes his lips against mine briefly, then pulls away before I can kiss him properly, and a sort of ache blossoms between my ribs.
“I don’t think we need the complication of them seeing this.” He steadies me, his fingers lingering on my arm for a bit. “I’ll text you.”
“Mmm.”
“Baby?”
“Yeah?” I finally meet his eyes. He’s smiling now, and I think I like that smile.
“Will you be okay?”
“Don’t treat me like I’m a fucking princess.”
“There you are.” He strokes my cheek. “Good to have you back.”
And then his hand drops from my face, and he’s gone too soon.
I stand there, no longer floating—crashing down to earth as he slides on his helmet and hops on his bike.
The one I got him—after I burned his actual bike, but details.
As his engine revs, he glances back at me, but I don’t see him. He’s all bathed in black, his helmet hiding him from me, but he sees me.
All of me.
I probably look like a deranged lunatic, all smudged with dirt and smelling of alcohol and smoke. But he doesn’t look away.
For several breaths, he remains still and just…stares.
And I’m breathing harshly because, what the fuck? Why am I feeling…strange?
Another rev of an engine gets close, and Marcus drives away like a bullet in the night just as Jude speeds in my direction.
He stops beside me, throwing down his bike, then grabs a hold of me.
I’m about to kill Jude for coming here and interrupting what was probably the most surreal experience of my life.
One second, I was so dead inside that I nearly killed myself, and the next, a rush of life burst through me like an explosion.
Jude shakes me and checks me left and right, asking me questions I barely hear.
“Was that your car that blew up?”
“Did I imagine it, or was that Marcus?”
“This is because you were being reckless by burning his bike, wasn’t it?”
“Why are your eyes blown up like that—Preston Aaron Armstrong! Did you take those drugs without telling me?”
Blah, blah, blah.
All I keep thinking about is that moment of peace when my lips met Marcus’s.
And how much I need that again.
Even if it hurts.