Chapter 28 Presley
Chapter Twenty-Eight
PRESLEY
It’s dark in my room when I wake, but I can tell from the bright beams of light peeking through the curtains that it’s well past morning.
My eyes linger. I used to love those curtains.
They were a total splurge and one of the first things I bought that made my bedroom feel grown-up. Now they just remind me of the grainy porno I unwillingly starred in.
The one that’s going to go viral if I don’t somehow come up with a huge amount of cash in the next day and a half.
My pulse quickens, and my stomach clenches with memories of those moments with Jace. I’ve never felt so scared. So angry. So violated.
God, I don’t want to think about that right now.
I shift in bed and turn to face a sleeping Hollis.
The last time we were in a bed together, it was our wedding night. I woke up disoriented, confused, and okay, yes, maybe a little turned on.
This time, there is no confusion when I look at him.
No indecision. No regret.
He is exactly where he’s supposed to be.
This man was an absolute saint last night. While others might have tried to take advantage of my vulnerability, he never did. He stripped my bed, washed my hair, and held me until I fell asleep.
When I needed it, he put me first.
I reach out and brush one of those auburn curls back. A scattering of freckles dusts his tanned cheeks. There’s a faint scar on his chin that he got in a fight long before I met him.
He’s lying on his stomach with his arms tucked under the pillow. The white T-shirt he changed into after we got out of the shower is a sharp contrast to the dark green sheets he put on my bed.
A few minutes pass, and eventually his eyes flutter open. This time, there’s no awkwardness when he sees me. This time, he just smiles. It’s a little sleepy and kinda boyish, but it’s all for me.
“Hi,” he says.
“Hi.”
He props his head on his hand. “Do you know that you snore?”
My mouth drops open. “I do not!”
He chuckles. “No, you don’t. But you do steal the covers.” He glances down, and sure enough, the extra blankets he added last night have all shifted to my side, leaving him with a single sheet.
“Sorry?”
“It’s fine.” He flashes a grin. “I’m a hot sleeper.”
I try not to giggle at that remark, because yeah, you are.
“How are you?” he asks, his voice turning serious.
I blow out a breath. “I’m better, I think. Not one hundred percent, but getting there. I think I’m mostly just pissed now.” Last night, all I felt was despair. Complete and utter despair, and Hollis had kept me from drowning in it. “Thank you for everything.”
He shakes his head. “You don’t have to thank me, Pres.”
“I do. You protected me. Stood up for me. You took care of me.”
His throat works, indecision warring in his gaze. “You’re my…best friend.”
I inch closer to him. He tracks me, barely breathing. “I’m also your wife.” Our bodies are so close I can feel the heat radiating from his skin.
“Pres.” He says my name like a prayer. Or maybe a plea.
“I don’t want to pretend anymore, Hollis,” I say, the words rushing out of me. “I don’t want a husband who sleeps on the couch. I don’t want rules or exit strategies. I just want something real—with you.”
He reaches out, cupping the back of my head. His green eyes blaze as he pulls me closer. “It was never pretend for me, Pres.”
When his mouth covers mine, I feel it all the way down to my toes. His lips are soft yet commanding. My fingers dig into his hair as his tongue slides into my mouth.
His hand brushes the hem of my shirt, and my breath hitches in anticipation. But then, he hesitates and pulls back. He presses his forehead to mine and slowly exhales, as if he’s trying to calm a raging storm. “That should have been our first kiss. Not some sloppy bar kiss we barely remember.”
“It doesn’t matter how we started, Hollis. Only where we go from here.”
“And where do you see us going?” His eyes turn heated.
“Well, for the next couple of hours, I was kind of hoping we’d stay right here in this bed?”
His brow furrows slightly. “Are you sure? Last night was a lot and—”
I meet his gaze. “I’m sure.”
His lip twitches as he tries to fight a smile. “And are you okay with—” He motions with his finger, pointing to the room. “’Cause if not, we can move to the couch or kitchen counter. I can be really creative when the situation calls for it.”
I playfully slap him on the arm. “I’ll be happy to explore this creativity of yours later on, but no. I think I’m actually okay. I want to make good memories in this room.”
“I can definitely help with that.” He slowly lifts the hem of my T-shirt.
It creeps up to reveal just the undersides of my breasts.
He leans down and kisses my belly, then my rib cage.
I exhale sharply. “I’ve thought about having you like this for so long, Pres.
” He pushes my shirt a little higher. His hand grazes the side of my tit, and I nearly fly off the bed.
“How long?” I run my fingers under his shirt along his stomach. His breath hitches. I love knowing I have that effect on him.
“Too long.”
“How long?” I press.
“Since the moment I saw you in that hallway—and nearly every moment since,” he confesses. “I’ve always tried to do the right thing. You were Hendrix’s sister, and your family gave me a home. But you were never just a friend, Pres. Not then. Definitely not now.”
His eyes are blazing, and he looks like he’s ready to devour me. Still, I ask, “What am I now, Hollis?”
“You are my wife.”
“Prove it.”
It’s like those two words are the permission he needs to unleash the firestorm he’s been holding back. His mouth slams down on mine, and there is nothing slow or languid about this kiss.
It’s frantic. Needy.
With my shirt still askew, he runs a hand up my torso until he’s cupping my bare breast. His thumb rubs my pebbled nipple, and I swear, I feel it between my thighs.
I lift up, ready to rip this shirt off my body, Hulk-style, if he doesn’t do it for me. But he’s already one step ahead of me, and within seconds, it’s on the floor, along with his.
I take a second to admire him.
He does the same.
“You are so damn beautiful, Pres.”
My cheeks heat at his words. Jace used a lot of words to describe me—hot, sexy—which are all fine, but when he said them, they always just felt like empty words.
When Hollis calls me beautiful, I know he genuinely means it. There’s honesty in his words, and because of that, I truly feel beautiful.
He kisses me again, and we tumble back to the bed. The feeling of my nipples rubbing against his naked chest is like another level of foreplay I didn’t know existed, and I find myself wrapping my legs around him in desperate need of friction.
“Fuck,” Hollis groans when his very obvious erection presses against my core. “I’m gonna come in my fucking pants if you keep grinding your hips against me like that, Pres.”
Still squirming, I practically whimper.
He definitely notices. “Does it ache?” I nod. “Does my wife need to be taken care of?”
Hell yeah, I do.
I should have known Hollis would be like this in the bedroom. The caretaker. A giver through and through.
“Yes.”
He hooks his fingers into the waistband of my shorts. “Tell me what you like, Pres. Tell me what you need.”
“You,” I say automatically. “I just need your hands on me.”
He grins. “I’m gonna put more than my hands on you. By the time we’re through, you’re going to be well acquainted with my hands, my fingers…my tongue.”
Kind, compassionate, and a dirty talker in bed? Did I hit the holy trifecta of husbands?
I lift my hips, and he slides my shorts down, taking my panties along with them. He drops them on the floor, and then his eyes sweep over my naked body with heated intensity.
He leans down and plants a kiss just below my ear, working his way down. He makes a path to my collarbone and then the valley between my breasts. His thumb rubs slow circles over my rosy nipple. My back bows.
I’ve never been much into nipple play, but this man makes me a believer.
He kisses my stomach, then my hip bone, inching closer to my center. My body is practically vibrating in anticipation.
He thought I was aching before. My pussy is fucking throbbing now.
He slides down so he’s in line with my lower body. He places his hands on both sides of my hips. “Spread those legs for me, Pres. Show me what’s mine.”
Dirty talker and possessive?
I have a feeling I’m really going to enjoy this new side of my husband.
My legs fall to his sides, and he wraps a hand around each, holding me in place. “You’re dripping for me, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” I moan.
“Have you ever made yourself come thinking of me?” He kisses my inner thigh and drags the tip of his nose along my feverish skin. It’s close to where I want him.
“Yes.”
He likes this admission. I mean, what guy wouldn’t? Especially your husband. “How many times?”
“Too many to count.”
“In high school?”
“How do you think I taught myself to get off, Hollis? I had a picture of you hidden under my mattress that I’d stare at while I dry humped my pillow.”
“Jesus, that’s hot. I’m gonna have to have you reenact that.” He pauses. “Later.”
Then his mouth is on my pussy and—
“Oh, holy fucking shit balls!” I cry out. My back arches, but the way his arms are wrapped around my thighs, I’m basically pinned to the mattress.
All I can do is lie there and take everything he’s giving me.
It’s a hardship, honestly, especially when I lift up on my elbows and get to not only feel what he’s doing but see it.
His muscled frame is bent over, arms flexed, face buried. His freckled shoulders move as he licks and sucks with enthusiasm. The sight of him ratchets my pleasure up to an insane level because he’s not just pleasuring me for my enjoyment. He’s getting off on it.
His tongue flicks my clit in just the right spot, and my hand shoots out, grabbing his head and holding him there.
“Right there. Don’t stop,” I beg.