Chapter Five
Presley
Iwoke Monday morning wrapped in Rhodes's arms, warm and safe.
For a moment I just lay there, feeling his chest rise and fall against my back. Sunlight filtered through the curtains. The solid weight of his arm across my waist anchored me.
Last night had been intense. Overwhelming. Perfect.
"Morning," he murmured against my neck.
I turned in his arms to face him. Those blue-gray eyes were already watching me.
"How are you feeling?" His voice was gentle. "After last night?"
"Good." The word came easily. "Really good."
His hand came up to cup my face, thumb stroking across my cheekbone. "No regrets? Nothing that felt wrong?"
"Nothing." I leaned into his touch. "It was perfect."
Relief flickered across his expression. "Good."
We lay there a moment longer, neither wanting to move.
"What time is it?" I finally asked.
He glanced at the clock on my nightstand. "Seven-thirty."
"Addison's lesson is at noon."
"Then we have time." He pulled me closer.
I laughed and pushed at his chest. "No, we don't. I need to open the studio by nine. And I need to shower, get dressed, do my hair and makeup—"
"All right, all right." He released me with obvious reluctance. "Go. I'll make breakfast while you get ready."
"You don't have to—"
"I want to." He kissed my forehead. "Take your time."
TWENTY MINUTES LATER, I emerged from the bathroom showered and wrapped in a towel to find my bedroom empty and the smell of eggs cooking drifting down the hall.
I dressed quickly—fitted jeans, soft blouse, low heels. Applied makeup, styled my hair. By the time I made it to the kitchen, Rhodes had plated scrambled eggs and buttered toast.
"Sit," he said, pouring me coffee.
I obeyed, too charmed to argue. He'd pulled on jeans and a t-shirt, hair still damp from his own shower in the guest bathroom.
We ate quickly, neither of us big on breakfast conversation apparently. But it was comfortable. Easy. Like we'd been doing this for years instead of days.
"Thank you," I said when I carried my plate to the sink. "For breakfast. For checking in on me. For everything."
He caught my hand, pulled me close. "Anytime."
One kiss turned into three. We finally broke apart breathless, and I glanced at the clock.
"We need to go."
"I know."
But neither of us moved for another moment.
THE DAY FOLLOWED THE same easy pattern.
Addison's roping lesson at Rhodes's ranch went perfectly. The kid was ready—confident, smooth, at ease with the rope. Just needed polish before Saturday's competition, now five days away.
The rope whistled through the air as she built her loop. Dust kicked up around her boots when she planted her stance. The leather and hay smell of the barn surrounded us in the afternoon heat.
"That's it exactly," Rhodes told her after she nailed the thirty-foot target three times in a row. "You're going to blow them away."
Her face lit up. "You really think so?"
"I know so."
After we dropped Addison home, I spent the afternoon at Crown & Grace with my remaining students.
Mary-Kate Morrison worked on her dance routine, her laughter filling the studio when she finally nailed the tricky turn sequence.
Gabriela Torres practiced her vocal piece, her sweet voice hitting the high note with newfound confidence.
Rhodes stayed close, watching from his usual position near the windows. But the tension between us had shifted. Every time our eyes met across the studio, my pulse jumped. Every time he handed me something, our fingers lingered just a beat too long.
Tonight, I kept thinking. Tonight we'd have time alone again.
By five o'clock, I was closing up the studio. Straightening throw pillows, turning off lights, running through tomorrow's schedule in my head.
I pulled out my phone to check Crown & Grace's social media accounts—something I did daily to engage with parents and share student updates.
I opened Facebook first. An unfamiliar post sat at the top of my feed.
"Presley Danforth coaches cheaters. Your kids aren't safe here. Ask yourself why she needs a bodyguard."
Confusion hit first. Then recognition. Then ice flooded my veins.
I switched to Instagram. Same post. Same malicious message. I checked the website contact form—compromised too.
All three accounts had been hacked. The posts had been up for over two hours based on the timestamps. Two hours while I'd been coaching students, oblivious.
The comments section was worse. Parents asking questions, expressing concern, some defending me but others clearly worried. Doubt spreading like poison through my carefully built community.
My hands went numb as I scrolled.
Rhodes appeared in my office doorway. "What's wrong?"
I couldn't speak. Just held out my phone.
He crossed the room, took it, scanned the screen. His jaw tightened.
"Sit," he said, already pulling out his own phone. "I'm documenting this, then calling Mae."
I sank into my desk chair while he worked. Screenshots of every post, every comment, every timestamp. His movements were efficient, methodical. Within minutes, he had Mae on the line explaining what happened.
"Platforms are slow to respond," he said after ending the call. "But I've filed reports with all of them. Mae's tracing the IP address. Posts will come down eventually."
"Eventually isn't good enough." I pressed my hands to my face. "Parents are reading this right now. Making decisions about their daughters' safety."
"Then we call them." He set down his phone. "Every family. You explain what happened, reassure them, remind them why they trust you."
"What if they don't believe me?"
"They will." His voice was certain. "Because you're going to tell them the truth."
THE NEXT THREE HOURS were exhausting.
I called every parent personally. Explained that my accounts had been compromised by the same person who'd been stalking me.
That Rhodes was former Marine turned professional bodyguard.
That Valor Springs PD and Austin PD were both involved.
That security at Saturday's competition would be extensive.
Most were supportive. Lisa Lindsey said Harper wouldn't miss this competition for anything. Dawn Sutherland asked if there was anything she could do to help. Maria Torres thanked me for being honest.
But Christine Chambers hesitated. "I just need to think about it," she said quietly. "Crystal's safety has to come first."
"I understand." And I did. "Whatever you decide, I respect it."
By eight-thirty, I'd made it through the entire list. Exhausted. Emotionally wrung out. But done.
Rhodes drove us home in silence. I stared out the window, watching Valor Springs pass by—the town square with its string lights, Sweet Sage Bakery closing for the night, familiar streets I'd walked a thousand times.
This was my home. These families were my community. And someone was trying to destroy it all.
BACK AT THE HOUSE, I collapsed onto the couch.
"I can't protect them." The words came out flat. "My students, their parents—I can't stop whoever's doing this."
Rhodes sat beside me. "You're doing everything possible."
"It's not enough." I pressed my hands to my face. "What if something happens? What if they target one of the girls? What if—"
"Presley." His hand on my shoulder stopped the spiral. "Listen to me. You've reported everything. Security's in place for Saturday. Police are involved. Mae's tracking the hacker. You've done your part."
"But I should be able to—"
"What? Catch them yourself?" His voice was gentle but firm. "That's my job. Your job is running your business and coaching those girls. Let me handle the threat."
I wanted to argue. Wanted to insist there had to be something more I could do.
But he was right. I'd taken every reasonable precaution. The rest was beyond my reach.
"I hate this," I said quietly. "Feeling helpless."
"You're not helpless. You're trusting me to do what I'm trained for." He pulled me against his side. "There's a difference."
I leaned into him. My heartbeat gradually slowed. The panic from earlier finally loosened its grip.
"This is what you meant last night," I said after a moment. "About letting go."
"Partly."
"Not just in the bedroom."
"Everywhere it matters." His arm tightened around me. "Knowing when to hold on and when to let someone else carry the weight."
I processed that. Letting go didn't mean giving up. It meant knowing my limits and trusting the right people when I reached them.
"Your turn," I said, pulling back to look at him.
He raised an eyebrow. "My turn for what?"
"When's the last time you let someone else carry the weight?"
Silence. Resistance flickered across his face, then fear, then raw grief.
"Never," he said finally. "Not like that."
"Why not?"
His jaw tightened. "Because control means safety. Because letting go means risk. Because the last time I trusted someone with my life, he died anyway."
Jake. The friend he'd lost in combat. The guilt he carried.
"Maybe you need that freedom too," I said softly. "Maybe you need to learn to let go."
More silence. His jaw worked like he was wrestling with old fears.
But then his expression shifted. Softened. The guardedness in his eyes gave way to vulnerability.
"All right." His voice was rough. "With you."
IN THE BEDROOM, I RETRIEVED the soft cotton rope Rhodes had brought from his truck.
"Teach me," I said.
He showed me the knots. His voice stayed steady, but his hands trembled slightly when I took the rope from him. His pulse raced at his throat.
"Figure eight," he explained. "Not too tight. Test it before you finish."
I followed his instructions. Wrapped the rope around his wrists in front of him, creating the pattern he'd shown me. His skin was warm under my fingers. When I tested the tension, his whole body went rigid.
"Breathe," I told him.
He did. One long exhale.
"Safe word?" I asked.
"Red stops everything. Yellow pauses. Green continues."
"Which one now?"
"Green."
I finished the knot, then stepped back. Rhodes Foster—former Marine, trained bodyguard, rough and rugged cowboy—bound and needing me.
"Stay still," I said.
His eyes darkened. "Yes ma'am."
I ran my fingers down his arms, across his shoulders. His breathing quickened when I traced his collarbone, down his chest. When I circled one nipple with my thumb, he sucked in a breath.
"Watch me."
He did. His gaze tracked my hands as I unbuttoned my blouse. Let it fall. Unhooked my bra and dropped it.
"Christ," he breathed.
"No touching." I stepped closer. "Not yet."
A rough sound escaped him.
I cupped myself, thumbs circling. He stared, jaw clenched with the effort of staying motionless.
"Want to?" I asked.
"God, yes."
"Tell me."
"I want my hands on you. Everywhere. I want my mouth on you. I want to make you scream for me.”
Heat pooled low in my belly. But I kept my voice level.
"Maybe. If you're good."
I moved closer, breasts almost brushing his chest. His bound wrists jerked, wanting to reach. But he held still.
"Torture," he ground out.
"Is it?" I let my hand drift down my stomach, to my jeans. Slipped my fingers beneath the waistband. "Should I stop?"
"Don't. Green."
I unbuttoned slowly. Pushed the denim down over my hips. Stepped out, leaving just my panties.
His eyes tracked every movement. When I slid my hand inside my panties, touched where I was already wet, his hips jerked forward before he caught himself.
"Presley." My name came out strained.
"Let go," I told him. "Stop fighting. Give me this."
I watched him wrestle with it. Saw his shoulders drop slightly. His breathing even out. When he opened his eyes again, the guardedness had cracked.
"Better," I murmured.
I hooked my fingers in my panties and pulled them down. Stood bare while he watched.
Then I knelt.
I undid his jeans. Freed him. He was already hard.
I wrapped my hand around him, stroked from base to tip. His hips thrust forward before he caught himself.
"Stay still," I reminded him.
"Trying."
I took him in my mouth. Used my tongue along the underside, swirled the head, then deeper. His thighs jumped under my hands.
I worked him with my mouth and hands—pressure beneath the head that made him groan, hollowing my cheeks when I took him deep, pulling back to circle the tip with my tongue until his breathing went ragged.
"Presley." My name broke. "I need—"
"I know."
I took him deeper, used my hand on what I couldn't take, built the tension until his body went taut. Then I pulled back. Started slower.
His thighs shook. Sweat beaded his temple.
"Please," he finally said. Rough. Desperate.
I looked up. Saw surrender in his eyes. Saw him open to me like he'd probably never been with anyone.
I stood. "Come here."
I guided him to the bed. He sat on the edge, then lay back, wrists still bound. I climbed over him, straddled his thighs.
"I trust you," I whispered, leaning down to kiss him. "Completely."
Then I reached for the knots. His hands were free in seconds. They went immediately to my hips—his fingers squeezing and kneading my soft flesh.
I positioned myself over him, held his gaze as I sank down slowly. We both groaned—the stretch, the heat, the fit.
"Watch me," I commanded.
He did. And what I saw in his expression made my heart pound.
Something that terrified and thrilled me at once.
I set the pace—slow, deliberate. His hands tightened on my hips. When I leaned down to kiss him, the angle shifted and we both gasped.
"Rhodes," I breathed.
He bent his knees, planting his feet flat on the mattress for leverage. Lifted his hips to meet mine. His grip tightened, pulling me down harder as he thrust up.
When I shattered around him, he followed seconds later. We held each other, hearts racing, breathing harsh.
After, we lay in the darkness.
"I never thought I could," he said. "Let go like that."
"You don't have to carry everything alone." I pressed my hand over his heart, felt it beating. "Whatever you're holding—you can share it with me."
He was quiet. Then his arms tightened. The tension in his body melted away.
My chest ached—the good kind, from feeling too much at once.
His hand stroked down my spine. I burrowed closer, breathing in the scent of his warm skin as I drifted off to sleep.