Elusive: Princess Presley Duet Book 1 (Full Circle Series)

  Elusive

  Princess Presley Duet Book One

  Full Circle Series

  By S.E. Hall

  ©2018, S.E. Hall

  ©2018 S.E. Hall

  Editing – Emma Mack, Ultra Editing and Kellie Montgomery

  Formatting – Brenda Wright, Formatting Done Wright

  Cover Design – Dana Leah, Designs by Dana

  Cover Photography – Gigi Hoggard

  Cover Models – Gina Sevani and Blake Sevani

  Thank you all!

  All rights reserved.

  This book may not be reproduced in any form, in whole or in part, without written permission from the author.

  This book is intended for mature audiences only.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  She was looking for a boy,

  who would one day be king.

  Who could slay the dragons,

  that guarded her cave.

  And make her remember,

  that she was a queen.

  Atticus

  Prologue

  A while back — I pretend not to remember the exact date, time, and day of the week it was — I went to a Sam Hunt concert with my cousins JT and Brynn… and there he was.

  Sutton Ellis.

  In all his big badassery. Well over six-feet of solid muscle, green eyes, shaved head and a cocky smirk to make hearts skip a beat.

  He’d traded his ticket, unbeknownst to the “other guy,” so he could sit with us. Or more specifically, sit by me. And when “other guy” came looking for his seat, Sutton sent him running scared.

  It was hot.

  Very hot.

  And, a bit like a match made in Heaven, I may have done some scaring of my own that night. Might’ve called the bitch sitting behind us a twat, called out her lawsuit worthy nose job, and perhaps threatened to “vag drag” her outside to set her on fire.

  In my defense, she insulted Bellamy, JT’s girlfriend, repeatedly, so she had it coming.

  But, I digress; not pertinent to my story.

  What is? Sutton called me “Sugar,” and “the Boss.”

  The Boss!

  He just… got me; spoke my language, right from the start. And to further prove it, he pulled out the big guns — told me he drove a Harley.

  He was the first man in… ever, to truly intrigue me.

  After the concert, we all went to IHOP. I ate half his pancakes, he ate all of everyone’s hash browns, and then I took him home with me.

  And fell asleep.

  Untouched.

  Which only made me crazy with wonder how it’d feel to be touched by him.

  Fast forward through a couple more serendipitous meetings, where, again, I didn’t get laid, and we’re to the part when I did.

  Knowing what I’d never admit, good ol’ JT invited Sutton to a family cookout. And, one thing led to… us screwing like animals.

  In my aunt and uncle’s house.

  Yep, after I’d worked so damn hard to ignore all his attempts at contact, I hammered home my “unattainability” by fucking him.

  Couldn’t be helped, I had to have him. And dizzy from all the wondering, avoidance, I got a little tripped up… and fell on his dick.

  And now, after suffering through another long drought of feigning disinterest, I want to fall on it again.

  Which is why I’m standing at his front door.

  Chapter 1

  Presley

  “Hmm… hey?” his mumble lands somewhere between caught-off-guard politeness and inquiry as he rubs the back of his neck. “What… uh… what’re you doing here?”

  Okay… not quite the knowing, and eagerly receptive, welcome I was half expecting, wholly hoping for... but it has been a while, so I let it slide. Besides, I’m guilty of faux ignorance too. I actually tried kidding myself on the drive over here that I was merely “out for a drive” and accidentally took a wrong turn at “just wanted to see how you were.”

  But with all six-plus, glorious feet of him now standing in front of me, wearing only a pair of gym shorts that rest deliciously low on his hips, my charade may be in danger of discovery. The mesh material — as though manufactured with my neglected libido in mind — clings to outline his dick superbly, leaving nothing to wonder. He’s hanging to the left this evening, every bit as long and thick as I fondly remember.

  Yep… pointless game of denial over… I’m ready to admit with actions that will scream far louder than any words precisely why I’m here.

  Sutton remains silent, still, allowing my prolonged lack of reply to his questions, so I use the borrowed time to let my hungry eyes wander unchecked. That broad, sculpted chest, and the mesmerizing ‘V’ etched into his lower abs, begging to be traced by the tip of my tongue, even sexier than I recall. After this — my very thorough, shameless perusal — there’s not a shred of hope left that he’s still wondering as to the motives behind my surprise visit.

  Bottom fucking line — Sutton Ellis is a huge, tatted, masterpiece of flesh, and I can’t control my physical attraction, reaction to him any better than I can the vividly torturous dreams I have of him almost every night.

  Nor could I hold out any longer. Pride be damned… I had to see him.

  Further thought or inhibition a waste of time, (the latter never having been my strong suit anyway), I launch myself at him like a horny spider monkey, jacked way up on hormones too long contained. He easily catches me with deft hands and effortless strength; his faint laugh tickling my ear, his clutch on my ass firm and instinctual as I twine my arms and legs as far around him as they’ll reach.

  “One more time,” I pant my terms while covering his taut pecs and corded neck with open-mouthed kisses. “Just. One. More. Time. Then we’re done. For good. I mean it.”

  I probably don’t mean it.

  “Presley. God, Presley,” he groans, tortured but stern, detangling my limbs and setting me on my feet; even gently pushing me away. “As tempting as it sounds to be used, very well, I admit, and thrown aside, again, I’m… uh… not alone.”

  “Wh… what?” I stammer idiotically, aware, more so than ever, what “not alone” means, suddenly feeling like the intruder I apparently am… an unfamiliar pill that lodges in my throat, not ready to be swallowed.

  “Sutton? Who’s here?” A teeny blonde, naked underneath Sutton’s oversized shirt I’m assuming, slowly walks toward us. “Sutton?” She repeats in a soft, shaky whisper.

  He lets out a heavy exhale, which I understand, then makes sure to catch my eyes… and gives me a certain look, that I don’t, before glancing over his shoulder. “Hailey, sorry, but could you maybe hang out in my room, please? I’ll be there in a minute, I swear. I’m just, saying bye to an old friend.”

  Now would be the ideal time for me to, oh, I don’t know… splutter some bullshit line and leave, but I don’t. Can’t. Literally frozen in place and staring as the tiny waif of a girl smiles, vindicated, chosen, and all but dances back to his room.

  And I’m still standing here, statue of self-doubt. I… I don’t know what to do, say...
I’ve never been the one not chosen. It fucking sucks — I do know that much.

  I can’t formulate a plan, excuse for escape, anything, my thoughts consumed elsewhere. All I can think is, Hailey, while beautiful, looks nothing like me. She’s petite, far too thin to have “a rack,” and her blonde hair’s short. I’m a long-haired brunette, tall and packing enough tittage for three women.

  Which does he really prefer? Does he even have “a type,” or do the specifics outside of “has vagina” not matter?

  Oh, my God, no! I do not second-guess myself. Ever. And I’ll be damned if I’m gonna start now, over a guy I fucked once and haven’t seen since! I’ve got to get the hell outta here before I become someone I loathe.

  “Oops, my bad,” I bite, tacking on a stiff laugh. “Guess I should’ve called first. Anyway, have fun,” I try to play it cool, hide the hurt that wants to sound. Trumpet. Blare. “I’ll see ya around.”

  He pulls the door closed and stops me with a strong, authoritative hand on my shoulder. “Presley, don’t leave like this. I’m sorry you had to see that, but… can you turn around and look at me? Please?”

  I affix what I pray resembles casual nonchalance on my face and turn. “Sutton, it’s no big deal, I never thought I was the only one. You weren’t,” I lie, my insides cringing with guilt — lying… very unfamiliar to me — let alone when specifically conjured to inflict pain. Regret and shame are already setting in, heavy… and deserved. “We certainly made no promises to each other, and seriously,” I scoff, “it was one time, how long ago? I was horny is all.” I shrug. “Thought I’d see if you’d be down to help me scratch my itch real quick. You’re not, and it’s not the end of the world. I’ll just go find someone else.”

  He slowly shakes his head back and forth, running an even slower hand along his jaw. “You’re lying. There hasn’t been anyone since me, and you won’t go find anyone else. That’s why you came back to me, even after months of ignoring my calls and texts. Despite what you, for some insane reason, want people to believe, you’re a good girl, Presley. I wish like hell you’d have given me the time of day sooner. I’d have dropped everything for you. But you didn’t, so… I moved on. Hailey’s a nice girl. I’m not gonna treat her like shit or kick her out, just so “Princess Presley” can ‘scratch an itch’ then go back to pretending I don’t exist. Sorry, Hot Shot, doesn’t work like that.”

  “Jesus, you quoting your diary or philosophizing off the cuff?” I jeer, pushing back my inner shame from seconds ago.

  “Neither, and you’re deflecting, as always. You know, Presley, I don’t get you. Why are you so hell-bent on your transparent fucking act thing? You remind me of the old JT, before he found Bellamy. Scorned without being scorned, hardened with no reason to be hard. You come from a solid, two-parent home with a father who adores you and values women. Not to mention the rest of your huge, healthy, loving family. What gives?”

  “Sutton,” I coo, sauntering forward with a flirtatious grin in place, just to abruptly shift gears and condescendingly pat his chest. “Don’t analyze me, or speak of things you know nothing about, which even if you did, would be none of your business. I wanted to fuck you, because you’re good at it. Plain and simple. No underlying, deeper meaning. And as we’ve established, you’re busy. My loss. End. Of. Story. Get back to your girlfriend. See ya.” I pivot on my heel and hustle to my car as fast as possible without sacrificing any more of my dignity with the speed at which I retreat.

  “Not my girlfriend,” his voice trails behind me.

  “Tell that to the picture on your entertainment center,” I yell, moving faster — a dull ache of confusion in my chest and his summation of me ringing in my ears… too much of which I suspect might be accurate.

  I want to sit here, alone in my car, and dissect, then dismiss, every part of what just happened that’s gnawing at me. But should he happen to come around the corner and catch me, my humiliation would skyrocket to proportions from which I’d never recover. So, I pull my head out of my ass, and my car out of the parking lot, no idea where I’m headed.

  ****

  “Hey, you busy?” I ask my cousin JT when he answers his phone, now pitifully camped out in a different parking lot. His girlfriend’s. I’m a traveling shit-show tonight.

  “Not too, what’s up?”

  “Bellamy home?”

  “Of course she’s home, or I wouldn’t be. I’d-”

  “Be where she is, I know.” I roll my eyes as I finish his sentence for him. So his father’s son. “Let me ask you, is Bellamy good at listening to people vent without passing judgement, which would piss me off?”

  “Oh, this sounds fun,” he drones. “Hold on. Baby,” he speaks away from the phone. “Think you’d be able to listen to Presley scream, cuss, and whine ‘without passing judgement’ or telling her what she needs to hear, which, of course, would only cause her to scream louder, and cuss more?”

  Well isn’t he a funny fucker? Why’d I call him again?

  “Um… I think so?” Bellamy answers with a question.

  “Close enough. I’ll take it. I’m coming up, put some clothes on.” I end the call and dash from my car to her apartment in double-time, desperate to dump the weird wildness in my head onto someone else. And perhaps listen to their input.

  JT’s waiting for me with the door open, leaning against the jamb with his arms and ankles crossed, classic smirk in place. “Why, hello there, P. Real quick, before you enter, let me make one thing crystal clear. You’re not the princess here. Bellamy is. Do not even think about screaming or cussing at my woman, understood?”

  “Eat a scabby, diseased dick, pretty boy. I love Bellamy and would never do either. Now move your punk ass outta my way.” I shove past him. “And you better have booze.”

  “Hey, Presley, you okay?” Bellamy greets me with a sympathetic smile... and an ice-cold already opened beer. Yep, definitely love her.

  “I don’t know what I am,” I sigh, collapsing onto the couch in a boneless heap, without spilling a drop of my beer, suddenly finding the energy to jerk my head toward her. “Do I come off as scorned? Hardened? Do I deflect?” I ask.

  “Don’t answer that, it’s a trap,” JT advises, rushing to sit at Bellamy’s side and throw a protective arm around her shoulders. “Let me take this one.” He offers, then looks at me, an epic battle of worried sarcasm in his eyes. “Yes. To all of the above. Why?”

  “Don’t be a smartass, J. I’m serious. Do I really?” I down my beer, and before I’ve got it all swallowed, Bellamy’s up and headed to the fridge.

  Keeping her. Hope it works out between them… family might fight me on dumping JT.

  “Yes, you really do. I’m not saying it’s a bad thing, it’s just who you are… and I like who you are. But you asked, and we don’t bullshit each other. Precisely the reason you’re here, for the truth. So, I’m giving it to you. The answer is yes.”

  “Reminds me of someone else I know,” Bellamy adds, handing J and me both a fresh, frosty bottle before retaking her seat.

  “Baby, if you keep giving the stray cat food and drink, it won’t ever go home.”

  “Which one of you is the stray cat?” She quips, with a loving smile attached.

  “Funny,” he grumps. “And just who does it remind you of?”

  “You,” she snickers. “As if you didn’t know who I meant.”

  “Well, fuck. Su… uh… somebody else said the same thing to me tonight! JT and I are nothing alike,” I set the record straight.

  “First of all,” Bellamy’s voice steels as she scoots to the edge of the couch, sitting up pin-straight. “Yes, you are. And secondly, resembling Jefferson is not a bad thing.”

  “I love you too, woman.” He buries his face in her neck, only to be immediately rebuffed.

  “Love you, but don’t interrupt me.” She nudges him away. “I wasn’t finished. As I was saying, there are a lot worse things you could be than like my Jefferson. So, when I say you remind me of him, it’s far
from an insult. And as for your original question, I probably wouldn’t choose the words ‘scorned’ or ‘hardened.’ I’d call it… selective, or picky. Which,” she raises a finger in the air, “is a wonderful compliment to whomever you do finally fall for. Again, just like Jefferson. I know I felt pretty darn special that the picky playboy saw something game-changing in me.”

  “Thanks, Bellamy.” I offer her a weak smile. “I like your take on it a lot better.”

  “Better than what?” She’s lightning fast to ask.

  “Oh, I know, I know, pick me.” JT chimes in animatedly. “Babe, did you miss her lil’ slip-up earlier? She almost said ‘Sutton.’”

  “No.” Bellamy cuts him a tender glower, elbow-check included. “I caught it. I’m not deaf, babe. But I just thought maybe we’d let Presley mention it again, if she wanted to.”

  “Okay, catch me up. Why the hell are we coddling her?” He laughs. “Presley’s never held back punches for anyone, ever! She loves calling people out, the bigger the audience, the better. She grilled me, flipped me over, and charred the other fucking side to a crisp when I first started seeing you. Didn’t give me an inch of slack, or the benefit of the doubt. She’s damn lucky I’m not videoing this shit to play at the next family function.”

  “Jefferson, I too have been on the receiving end of Presley’s candid ‘tough love,’ but that’s not how I operate, nor is it how you will operate while in my home.”

  “Whcha,” my whipping noise is actually pretty damn good, motion even better, and the sneer I give my jackass cousin on-point. “She told you.”

  “Says the girl currently suffering an identity crisis on my couch, while he sits next to the “whipping pussy” that he’ll be in bed with tonight.”

  One would think Bellamy’s snippy comeback would piss me off — quite the contrary — she’s awesome, and an ideal addition to our family. JT’s got a valid point too. I did give him shit about Bellamy and his intentions in the beginning… and I’m not, nor am I going to become, a ‘can dish it out but can’t take it’ hypocrite.