Exclusive: Princess Presley Duet Book Two (Full Circle Series 3) Read online

  “Presley?” I yell, approaching the bathroom door, banging far too hard to call it a knock, when I reach it. “Presley, answer me. Not playin’ around. And not leaving.”

  Under normal circumstances, I might’ve missed it, but given that my concern, empathy, desperation, and love, are all hyper-extended… I hear it as though thunder.

  A sob.

  I pound on the door this time, jiggle the knob, then pound again. “Presley, baby, answer me, dammit!” She may not think she replies, but her tiny whimper speaks volumes… and I raise mine. “Brace yourself for a boom, babe. I’m coming in!” I warn, grab both sides of the jamb, and move the door out of my way with a single kick.

  No jolt, squeal; I don’t think she even notices that I just plowed my way through her door to join her… because she’s too far gone. Deep within, lost in some terrible place that has her rocking back and forth, arms wrapped around her knees, head down, whole body trembling.

  Usually, my stance on living in Never Never Land would be — to each their own, just don’t try to take others with you, because that’s kidnapping — but I’ve got a whole different view on it when it comes to Presley. I live where she lives; no matter where that may be. I’d just as soon bring her back here, with me, though.

  “Presley, Sugar,” I rush over, scooping her out of the water with one arm across her back, the other under her quivering knees, “Baby, oh my God, you’re like ice, and your sweet lil’ lips are blue. What were you doing, just sitting in freezing cold water? Why are you crying? Talk to me!” I should talk soothingly, obviously what she needs right now, but my mixed fear and anger have me loudly interrogating her instead. Not that it matters, I might as well be barking at the moon; she didn’t hear a word I said.

  I hurry to lay her down gently in her bed, pulling the cover up and tucking it in tight around her, then run to the hall closet, searching up another one to add a second layer. I’ve got to get her body temperature up; quickly. When I return and see that she’s already shaking less, lips returning to a faint pink hue, and her eyes, up and on me, aren’t quite as vacantly glazed over, a tiny, yet reassuring wrinkle of relief eases through my tensed muscles. “D, did you read it all?” she asks in a hushed chatter.

  I nod, spreading the second blanket over, and under her snugly. “I thought that’s what you wanted? Is that why you were crying, trying to give yourself hypothermia? If you didn’t really, I missed the bluff,” I sigh, shaking my head. “I’m sorry, I thought you were serious. Forget I read it, we’ll act like it never happened. You just relax, and warm up; I’m gonna grab a towel to dry off your hair.”

  Before I can budge, she reaches out and snags my forearm. I look down where she’s desperately grasping me, then slowly, up and into her eyes. And the fright, pure vulnerability, and countless silent pleas I see therein steal a huge chunk of my soul I know I won’t ever get back. Don’t want it back. It’s hers.

  “Sutton,” she whispers in a voice that’s not her own, fussing with her bottom lip as she scoots over. “Please, make it stop hurting. I need you to look at me the way you always have, the way you did before. Before you found out who I really am, what I am. I don’t want you to forget forever. I’m glad someone else finally knows. But can we pretend you don’t just for a little while? Just for tonight? For me. So I can pretend too?”

  Damn. What wouldn’t I give to hear her ask for me in any other tone, for any other reason, with any other look in her eyes? But now, like this? It doesn’t feel right. It feels like… like I’d be taking advantage, and giving her yet another excuse to avoid things she needs to face head-on. “Presley, I-”

  “Pity me? Worry about me? Well don’t, please. I’m begging you, Sutton, look at me the way only you do and hold me. Call me ‘Hot Shot,’ or ‘Sugar,’ and… give me a happy ending to fall asleep to, just for tonight.” She pulls back the covers I so carefully placed, her flawless form on bare display, and pats the open spot, my spot, beside her. “Please?”

  If I had any suspicions whatsoever that this was a ploy, a diversion tactic, for her to dodge the bigger issues, I’d refuse. Okay, no, I probably wouldn’t, but I’d spend a good five seconds trying. But it’s not; the lonely agony she simply cannot mask in her voice is unmistakable, a real need and… I can’t not meet it for her. Never, never, will I deny my Presley anything she truly needs. So, I kick off my shoes, empty my pockets, and climb in bed beside her.

  “Aren’t you glad you cleaned it off now?” She tries to tease, the shallow murmur falling short. “Thank you, by the way.”

  I do laugh, more than glad that I did, serendipitously, de-funk the bed, since I’m now in it. “You’re welcome, Sugar. Come ‘ere.” I lay out my arm for her pillow. “Let me hold you.” She indulges me without pause, burrowing herself into the lil’ nook I made for her, only for her… but not close enough for my likin’, so I haul her in more so, anchoring her sweet curves against me.

  There’s so much I want to say, ask, reassure her on, but I refrain; she’s relaxed, her breathing slow and even as she traces a fingertip along my neck in random patterns — I’d sooner cut out my tongue with a dull butter knife than disturb her rare moment of contentment. When you finally get ahold of your single most treasure, keep your hands, and mouth, closed. Tight.

  And it was sound theory, despite being short-lived.

  As if able to hear my thoughts, and set on disparaging them, she starts squirming around, dramatizing her little huffs and puffs of frustration. “Sutton…” It’s frumpy, yet too adorable to be considered a whine. “You’re not near as comfy as usual. Your jeans are scratchy. They’re chafing me. Take ‘em off. And your shirt. Please. Who sleeps fully clothed?”

  A man who’s strong enough to admit his weakness… that’s who.

  Realization is a bitch.

  A heartless, callous, smug bitch, laughing in my fucking face. Because she knows that I now know…

  You’re always right… right up until someone proves you wrong.

  I had it all figured out, down to a science, more than confident in my well-practiced routine and philosophy… until Sutton snuck under my skin. I knew exactly how to kiss, touch, and swap, give and take physical pleasure without ever wanting or expecting more… until Sutton kissed me. Touched me. And gave more than I ever could’ve expected.

  I had no doubts or questions as to my future, the path to travel in order to get there, and the precise spot that trail was always meant to end, until Sutton stepped in my way.

  And I was absolutely positive of my choices, and that true gratitude is absent of sacrifice… until again Sutton entered the picture.

  Sacrifice. Now, only now, do I truly know what that word, concept, means, because giving him up will leave a gaping, hollow void inside me that no one, or nothing else, will ever come close to refilling. Just thinking about it causes my heart to hiccup, my blood slowing to a frigid trickle with the lost heat.

  He’s it, the one — Sutton Patrick Ellis — my ultimate sacrifice. Undoing. Crux… that I was certain my destiny wouldn’t allow to exist.

  Jesus, he’s even infected my thought process, dragging me into “the deep” with him.

  Gotta say, way back when, and the times JT would mention his ‘pizza delivering manwhore roommate,’ yeah… I was duped with some major false fucking advertising. I’d jumped unafraid and misinformed into lust with who I thought was a harmless, huge, hot “good time” … and ended up in love with a lethal, intoxicating, brilliant and caring good man.

  Goddamn you, JT.

  “Awful big sigh, Sugar,” Sutton murmurs, pulling me closer… and in deeper. “What’s going on in that pretty head of yours? And before you say nothing, hear me, for once, please. It’s just you and me here, in the dark, hidden from everyone and everything else. Both of us aching inside, needing something from the other, something only we can give each other, waiting to see who’ll be brave enough to ask for it first.” He presses a firmly gentle kiss on my temple, leaving his lips to rest there
. “You’re the bravest person I know, but, let me have this one. I’m asking, begging really. Tell me what you need Presley. Right now, in this exact moment, what do you need the most from me?”

  “You already know the answer, and… it’s scary,” I confess with a whisper that catches in my throat, finishing itself as a shallow breath. “I broke, no, I let you break the golden rule, the secret to life. Know yourself best.”

  “Pr-”

  “It’s true, Sutton.” I stop him from trying to correct me on the one thing of which I’m still sure. I don’t know myself best. You do.” A tear sneaks up on me and slithers down my cheek. “You know me better than I do, and that, that scares the hell outta me. It gives you a power I can’t… I can’t let you have. Well, can’t continue to let you have.”

  And yet again, I’m proven so very wrong, slammed with the knowledge of just how little knowledge I have… his growl, deep and depraved as he crashes his mouth over mine. The kiss is one-sided, his reckless taking, much like his hands, that lift and settle me astride him with no effort or permission.

  Goddamn him, Goddamn his clever, beautiful, irresistible wisdom. Rather than trying to convince me with his usual pouring of fancy, philosophical words, he just showed me… I, too, hold power over him. The power to make him lose his grip on any and all self-control, manners, or good intentions. He would rather us be talking right now, working through my “problems,” but the savagery in his kiss, the tremor of barely-leashed restraint in his hold on my hips, and the huge, hard erection under my ass all show me that my needs — anything but words — prevail over his own, and that… that is power. On which, I will capitalize; him wordlessly inviting, encouraging, me to. Yes, I’m going to indulge, my own worst, greedy, enemy, literally basking in the very problem itself… what I needed most was assurance that there was a balance of power between us. And without a single word, he gave me that.

  I pull back, lips throbbing from the brutally delicious passion in his kiss, and stare down at him. With the room dark, only a few slices of what must be a half-moon of tonight’s light slipping through the curtains, I rely on my other senses, unable to depend solely on what his shadowed eyes and expression are, or aren’t, saying. My body rises and falls with his every deep, labored breath, the desire he’s caging moving us as one.

  Slowly, I hedge his shirt up, my fingertips worshipping the hard lines of his abs and chest. “Sutton…” My breathing, like his, is staggered, my voice a husky plea.

  “Yeah, Sugar, I know.” He sits up, tugging his shirt over his head and tossing it aside. “I know.”

  Of course he does. We’ve established that — so I doubt he’s at all surprised when I push on his chest, following him down as his back meets the mattress, my mouth replacing my hands.

  A tiny whimper, the sound of my acknowledgement, that I’ll never find this again, blends with his hefty groan. Kissing and sucking along the eight hard ridges of his abdomen, thrilling as the flesh ripples beneath my lips, I caress my way up, circling each nipple with the tip of my tongue. The scent of Sutton is potent, dizzying… and only his — no other man smells of sex, sin, and sweetness like Sutton Ellis — red-blooded, clean, aroused man, and I’m light-headed from the aroma. He tastes of salt, sweat, soap, and scandal; a luscious mix for which I hunger. His neck, muscles bulging with tension, jawline, slight stubble abrading my tongue, hands, those big, capable hands, flexing in and out on my hips… he’s perfection.

  My slow seduction, exploration, appreciation, is torturing him, stretching his will beyond its limits, and again, showing me just how very evenly our power over one another, is distributed. My man, who I can’t claim, keep, is denying himself… for me sacrificing. The irony stings.

  “I need this.” It escapes me in drunken bluntness. “You. I need you, Sutton.”

  He lifts a hand to my cheek, his fingertips rough, but touch smooth. “You have me, Sugar. Goddamn, do you have me. Always will. Always, Presley.”

  The whoosh of my sad, selfish relief echoes off the walls — he’s not going to fight me on this — and he’s telling the truth. There’s no talk of what comes next, no speech on how I’m dodging emotional with physical. Not tonight. Tonight… he’s giving me full control.

  And I’m fucking taking it.

  I’ll beat myself up tomorrow.

  “Stand up,” she bosses, her voice shaking with authority, as she climbs off me.

  I manage to hold in the growl burning up my chest and do as she says, needs, but snatch back an ounce of supremacy, a damn important one, by turning on the bedside lamp. If she’s gonna boss me in the bedroom, I’m damn sure gonna watch her do it.

  “Take your jeans off.” This demand’s more stable, the rein she’s been given settling in on her. “Underwear too. All of it. Off.”

  I duck my head and bite on my grin, not about to ruin this for her by letting in on the fact I find it fucking adorable, sexy in the cutest of ways, and make a slow show of stripping.

  “Now, come closer,” she purrs, crawling to the edge of the bed on all fours. Scratch the cute… that ain’t nothing but sexy as hell. “I want you in my mouth. Put it there.”

  Another groan stifled, and ‘adorable’ gone up in a cloud of fuck me, I take my hard, hungry cock in hand, keeping my strokes slow and grip loose as I study her. Is she conceding, silently asking me to take charge, or is this another act of power, directing me off the script she most desires; her deepest secret being the want to surrender? I can’t be sure, hooded, glazed eyes contradicting her words, but I go with it… watching for any “tells” as I guide the tip of my dick to her waiting, open lips.

  She answers me; Lord, does she ever… her kittenish mewl, edged with delirium, and the shudder that wracks her body rocking me to my fucking core with certainty. She’s indeed the boss, and loving every second of it.

  Her tongue snakes out, stealing the pre-cum, and my sanity, with a deft flick, then curving to cradle the underside in a mind-blowing lick from balls to crown. My head lolls back, a gnarly groan rattling my chest as I shove my fingers in her hair. “Goddamn, I love that sassy-ass mouth of yours. Give me the whole fucking thing. Take all of me, baby. Swallow every fucking inch of my cock and suck the shit out of it.”

  She hums around the head, the vibrations shooting down my shaft to settle as a hot tingle in my balls. Fingers instinctively digging into her scalp, I have to force myself to ease up, stopping the punch of my hips mid-thrust. Her show, Sutton. Her lead. So slow your fucking roll, literally.

  “Change of plans, Hot Shot.” My voice’s huskier than intended, stripping me of some authority. “I’m about to tell ya how it’s gonna be, and this time, you’re gonna fuckin’ listen.” Her eyes dart up to mine, widened with shock, but still hazed with lust. “Yeah, you heard me right.” I wink, breaching her asshole with the tip of my forefinger, and pulling out of her mouth, denying her my dick.

  The deeper I push my finger, the quicker her moans come, so her sass-back is broken and breathless. “Seriously? Not now, Not tonight. You promised.”

  “Did I?” My grin’s coy, arched brow questioning, and next move flawlessly executed… ‘cause she’s on her back, pulled to the very edge of the bed, and glaring up at me before she knows what happened. “To give you what you need? Yeah, that promise I made.” I grab both of her calves, pushing them up and out, splaying her wide open. “Hold them there. Right there.” Her eyes are thin with defiance, as her body obeys.

  “Sutton, please,” she heaves, both a plea and argument, “can’t we just-”

  “Do things your way?” I skim a hand, and every single fingertip, down each of her thighs, coming to rest on either side of her piqued pussy. “Stick to your script, like always? You know the one, where you say exactly what I need to hear, I fall for it, and we fix your problem of the moment by fucking it out?” Next, I really turn the tables on her — ironically, the strongest weapon in my arsenal is the same one in hers — my fingers holding the hot, wet lips of her pussy open while one
thumb teases her core, the other tapping out a sensuous rhythm on her clit.

  Two can play this game, Hot Shot.

  “Sutton,” she begs in a frenzied moan, neck and back bowing her into a beautiful arch, “you’re, you’re not playing fair.”

  “Well, nice to meet you, Pot. You can call me Kettle.” My chuckle’s as calculated as my intentions. “Time to decide, Presley…” I press harder and faster on her hot button, my thumb now buried in her. “Fair, unfair, meaningless, or meaningful… we’re both playing by the same rules from now on. So, what’s it gonna be?”

  “Wh, what do you mean?” She trips over her words, about to fall over the edge, muscles contracting around my thumb.

  I don’t let up on my care of her body, nor my insistence. “I love you, Presley, even more than I hate your demons. When you hurt, I hurt. But I can’t help, really help, if you won’t let me. If all you’re ever gonna let me be is your quick fix, distraction, favorite Band-Aid, then so be it. That’s the mindset I’ll be switching to, right now. No more puppies, flowers, songs… I’ll make you come a few times, get my nut, and leave. Or…”

  “Sutton!” My name tears past her lips, a tortured wail, as she loses the battle to her orgasm. “Damn you!”

  “Used to that,” I sound a twisted laugh. “Been damned, caught between Heaven and Hell since I met you, Hot Shot. Same place you’re stuck right now. Sucks, doesn’t it?” I slow my pace, lighten my touch, caressing her down from euphoria. “See, if I had to guess, I’d say there’s one helluva debate whirling around your head; ‘do I take this win and, on wobbly legs, thighs drenched, show him to the door, or, do I meet him halfway?’ Then again, knowing you, you’re probably weighing option three, ‘Can I pretend, fake him out, long enough to get a good ride, then change my tune tomorrow?’ How’d I do?”