A Thin Line-

by DL White

  "Have a good day?" He asks. I nod, running my fingers through his hair and smiling up at him. He grabs a hand and examines it. "What all did you girls have done? Massages and— hey! They waxed the hair off of your fingers!"

  "Shut the fuck up, Preston."

  He laughs. "You haven't said that to me in weeks.”

  I giggle. "We had massages and salt scrub and a paraffin dip and manicures and pedicures."

  His top lip curls in mock disgust. "Did you have to stay awake for all that?"

  "It's fun if you're a girl. Guys are cavemen. They don't have to do anything."

  "Bullshit. Check out my skin." He leans down, so his forehead is in my face. "Smooth. Tight. Blemish free. Perfection, one might say. Look at my hair. My shit is moisturized and texturized. It took me an hour to get these twists to pop like this.”

  He tips his head up and shoves a finger into my eye line. "These nails? Clean, trimmed, buffed.”

  I'm laughing through tears, so hard I can't breathe.

  "A modern man takes care of his situation. And don't you forget it," he quips. "Caveman. Shut your mouth."

  "Shut my mouth? You don’t want that."

  An eyebrow rises. "You know what? You're right about that."

  He leans over to kiss me again. I tighten my arms around his neck and gently pull so that he rolls toward me and settles his body onto mine. My legs wrap around him, our chests pressed together, our lips and tongues are performing the same dance they've been performing since we were fifteen.

  He grows longer and harder between us. My hips and back arch, pressing my core into him. God, he feels good.

  Preston tears his mouth from mine, ostensibly to catch his breath, as he pants into my skin. "So... are you going to this rehearsal dinner?"

  "As much as I want to lay here with the patio door open and let the entire island hear you fuck me… I think we have to."

  "Why?" He whines.

  "Because we are the Best Man and the Maid of Honor. We're required to be there."

  "Says who?" He asks, his lips burning a hot, wet trail down my neck and across my shoulder, then across my chest. He plays with the cups of my swimsuit, revealing a nipple and closing his mouth over it.

  "Says..." I gasp and writhe at the sensation of his tongue rasping across sensitive buds. “Etiquette. Besides, if we don't show up, what will everyone think?”

  "That we're in your room, letting the entire island hear me fuck you, I hope." He moves to the other cup, pulls down the thin fabric, and gives attention to the other nipple.

  "Pretty sure they are already hoping for that."

  "Dreams come true," he says, sitting up. "Here, take this off."

  I unsnap the top to my swimsuit and pull it off, then shimmy out of the bottom and toss them both away. Preston follows suit and pulls off his shorts and shirt.

  I've seen Preston nude every day, but I still can't get used to it. The difference in his body is night and day. He's not thin with young, wiry hair sprouting everywhere. He's mature and manly, muscular with thick patches of hair leading to that delicious V. Sculpted. Manscaped. I would laugh, but I find him so goddamn sexy right now.

  I pat the bed, encouraging him to lay down close to me. As he does, I reach out for him, and do my favorite thing, run my fingers through the hair on his chest. He seems to enjoy it, as he lets me do it for a few minutes before his hands start to explore my version of sculpting.

  "Do you have any idea how much I love to touch you?"

  I smile and let my fingers crawl south and grip him. I admire the strength I hold in the palm of my hand. Slowly, stroke him from base to tip and back down, squeezing and pulling and slightly twisting. His eyes flutter closed, his hips pulse in rhythm.

  "I have some idea. Yeah."

  "You know what you can do with that, right?"

  "Again, I have some ideas."

  He chuckles, then sits up a little, swatting my hand away. "Get away from there. You're just teasing. This is what I want."

  An entire day of anticipating this moment, coupled with the past few minutes of teasing and foreplay, has left me slick and warm. If his deep exhale is any indication, he's had the same day I've had.

  His body is a well-oiled machine; thrusting and pushing, giving and receiving. This is all I've wanted all day, and I’m relieved to have it finally.

  What I'd thought was going to be a hard, loud pounding turned slow and sensual—gentle lovemaking, not raucous, crazy fucking. I can handle the former. The latter, while it's so amazing to be close to Preston, scares me.

  These are the moments when he gets emotional and personal and talks about his feelings, when he’s vulnerable and shows me the real Preston Scott Reid, not the confident, arrogant facade that he shows the world.

  These are the moments that will make me fall in love with him again.

  Hours later, we head to the elevator for the Rehearsal Dinner. I'm wearing a strapless, deep pink sundress and sandals. Preston is wearing khaki shorts and a short-sleeved shirt, no socks and slip-on shoes. He’s casual, seems relaxed when I glance over at him.

  "I have something on my face?"

  "Yep. A smile."

  "Your fault." He gestures to me to step into the elevator after the doors open. "I need you to know something, Angie."

  “Hmm?”

  He presses the stop button on the elevator and waits until it grinds to a halt. A low beep sounds from the instrument panel.

  Preston turns to me, grips my waist in his hands, and walks us backward toward the wall, then pushes up against me. We press together, not a speck of daylight between us. His mouth drops to mine, and he devours my lips, my mouth, my tongue, groaning and grunting and squeezing me in his hands.

  I'm a pool, melted emotions and wants. I do not want to go to this dinner. I want to go back upstairs and do more of what we’re doing right now.

  "I love you," he says, his eyes holding me hostage. I can barely hear him over the steadily rising volume of the beeps coming from the elevator. “I know you’re not ready, but I will hear you say you love me back. Understood?"

  I have no words. No breath. No thoughts. Preston has gone from deeply sensual to passionate and loving to brusque and commanding. My mind is a blur and all I can do is nod and respond, “Unh huh."

  He steps back and pushes the button on the elevator. The beeping stops. The cube shudders to life and begins its descent again. I wipe the mess of lip gloss from my face.

  Preston turns, his face a mask over any emotion he might have displayed mere seconds before. "Let's not stay long at this thing, okay? Dinner, a toast. You leave first; I'll follow. We have unfinished business."

  27

  "You! Are unbelievable. Just unbelievable! Just...ugh!"

  "Unbelievable?"

  “Shut the fuck up, Preston!”

  “Haven’t heard that in a minute…”

  The door to my hotel room slams open and bounces against the doorstop before it swings toward the doorjamb. I stomp through the room and toss a beaded, plum dyed clutch onto the couch. Preston catches the door before it closes and steps inside, letting it slip closed soundlessly behind him.

  I can't sit. I can't even stand still. I'm so furious I'm shaking; it's a wonder I have a voice since I've been screaming at Preston for the better part of an hour.

  He has trailed behind me, hands in his pockets, tie undone, shirt unbuttoned at the neck. If I weren't so pissed off at him, I'd jump him.

  But I am pissed off at him, so much that I feel the steam shooting out of my ears.

  "I don't even understand why you would do such a thing. I told you how important it was to me and you said you got that. Did you not understand me? Was I not clear?"

  Preston has taken a seat on the couch. He's picked up my clutch and is picking at the tiny beads sewn into the fabric. At my litany of questions, he looks up and calmly answers, “I understood you perfectly."

  "So..." I huff, hands on my hips. How is he so calm and serene? "What the
fuck, Preston?"

  Preston tosses the purse onto the glass top table in front of the couch. He pushes himself up to a standing position and slowly makes his way across the room to stand in front of me.

  "The fuck, as you put it, is that I got tired of pretending. I’m the only guy here without someone special."

  "So, you’d rather risk that someone special than pretend for a few more days? We had three days, Preston. After today we don't even have to hang out with anyone anymore. We were home free!"

  "Well, now we can do whatever we want, whenever we want, and we don't have to hide us anymore. I don't get how you don't see this as a good thing."

  I turn to face the gorgeous view of the afternoon sun burning on the horizon, the indigo blue water, the blinding white sands, the festive umbrellas dotting the beach. I can't even look at him. If you've ever wondered how things can go wrong in a few hours, take a situation and add Preston.

  This morning, everything was perfect.

  Twenty four hours earlier…

  On the heels of a joyous drunk fest of a rehearsal dinner, Preston and I separately escaped The Cliff Restaurant and Bar and met up at my room. Mid-thrust, Preston mumbled into my ear, “We need to tell them."

  As I was on the verge of orgasm, I laughed and bucked my hips up at him. "Don't you dare. I'm having too much fun having you all to myself."

  Preston stopped moving momentarily and caught my eye. "That's what it's about, for you? Having me to yourself?"

  "Preston! Right now, when I'm about to come?"

  He began to move again, his hips thrusting and pulling back. But his heart wasn't in it. And that meant my heart wasn't in it. I didn't want that, not with Preston.

  "What? What now?"

  "Nothing," he said, mechanically thrusting. "You want to come, don't you?"

  "I want you to be into it."

  He pulled out and flopped next to me, bunching a pillow up behind his head.

  "Talk to me."

  Preston sighed, then ran a hand down his face, wiping away a light sheen of sweat. “I know you don't agree, but I think our friends should know about us. We're lying to them."

  "We're not lying to them; we haven’t told them. And they will know. When we're good and ready to tell them."

  "I'm good and ready to tell them."

  "Well, I'm not! We have a wedding and a reception to get through. Jade told me today that we're all anyone is talking about. The whole wedding party is on pins and needles about whether we're getting along over here. I don't want that."

  "I don't either. But eventually..."

  I grabbed his face and tipped his head toward me so I could look him in the eye. "I promise that we won’t hide our relationship from our friends for the rest of our lives. Can we get through the wedding? Can we give Nate and Morgan that much?"

  Reluctantly, Preston nodded. Then a sly grin crossed his face.

  He rolled over, grabbing my legs, holding them open, and entering me again, picking up where we'd left off minutes ago, except the break in the action had done us both good. We both came in a sweaty, breathy mess.

  I thought things had been settled, especially when he woke me up the next morning with a poke from behind.

  We moved around each other easily. We shared a shower and started getting ready for the afternoon wedding. Preston zipped my dress, an elegant strapless gown in a deep, custom dyed plum, and fastened the tennis bracelet Morgan had gifted her bridesmaids the day before. I dabbed a little Baccarat Rouge at my pulse points. I helped him with his tie and fastened his cufflinks.

  When we left the suite, everything was right in my world.

  It was a surreal moment, navigating the walkways of the resort in my matching strappy heels, the tail of my dress clutched in my fingers so that it didn't drag, my other hand tucked into Preston's elbow for support. His tux, black Armani, and signature scent made him look and smell good enough to eat.

  We arrived at the site of the wedding and lined up according to our rehearsal the previous day. The bridesmaids wore the same color but different styles of dress. All of the men wore black tuxes, surreptitiously swiping beads of sweat from hairlines and upper lips. The temperature on the beach was in the high 80's-great for us girls in flowing skirts and strapless dresses. Terrible for men in full tuxedos.

  "Let's get this show on the road," Keith mumbled, fiddling with his tie and shirt collar.

  "Stop messing with it,” Brandess fussed, smacking his hands away and fixing his collar. She glanced at me and smiled, saying, "Why can't you channel Preston? Angie has him all squared away, and he isn't unbuttoning anything."

  "Preston's not shoving a ten-inch neck into a nine-inch hole. I think the tux shop gave me the wrong shirt. I'm choking here!"

  My eyes slid over to Preston, patiently waiting for the cue to walk, listening to the longest married couple in our group bicker.

  "Could be us. Give it a couple of years."

  I began to protest, but the wedding march began, so I tucked my arm into his and stepped in time to the sound of the music on steel drums.

  The ceremony was blessedly short but very sweet. Morgan radiantly beamed as if she’d stepped out of Bride Magazine in a Sareh Nouri couture gown at the perfect length to show off the red soles of her Louboutin pumps. Nate was handsome and stoic in white Armani. Pinned to the satin lapel was a rose dyed the color of the lilies in Morgan's bouquet, and the shade of our dresses. Every detail was perfect, not a stitch out of place.

  As my two best friends on the planet faced each other and recited vows that they probably wrote together— because they do everything together—my gaze shifted past them to Preston standing on the other side.

  His eyes weren't on Nate and Morgan either. They were on me.

  With the rings exchanged and the vows recited, it was all over but the kiss, which was met with a loud, rousing chorus. The moment they were declared Dr. & Mrs. Nathan and Morgan McCord and joyously danced down the center aisle, I watched Keith roll his eyes in relief and unbutton the collar of his shirt.

  Right on cue, Brandess showed up to fuss. "We have pictures in a few minutes!"

  "Do you care that I can't breathe?"

  "Of course, babe. But you can't take wedding party photos with your collar unbuttoned."

  "When it's time for the pictures, I'll button it again. I need air." Brandess clicked her tongue and reached for his collar. He gently grabbed her wrist and glared. "Bran, I love you, but I will toss you into the ocean right fucking now if you touch my collar."

  The entire wedding party and half the guests, all privy to this light argument, laughed. Brandess anchored a fist on each hip. “You’re gonna raise those bighead kids alone, then?"

  Keith groaned, rolled his eyes, and bent down toward her so she could button the collar. I stifled a laugh and walked past them, down the center aisle through a gaggle of people lingering to chat. I said hello to Nate's parents, then Morgan's, on my way to the reception hall, a few steps away from the beach.

  Inside the room illuminated by candles and low hanging strings of pearl lights, several tables were spread about. A buffet table lined one wall, a full bar and bartender lined another. At the head of the room was a large square of wood paneling to serve as a dance floor, since a disco ball hung dead center. On a makeshift stage, a steel drum band pounded out contemporary hits.

  "I've never heard My Prerogative this way before." Preston sidled up next to me, a drink already in hand.

  "Yeah, it's different. But not bad once you get used to it."

  Preston's job was planning the festivities-–the parties, the reception, everything from food to music. While we collaborated on a few tasks, I let Preston do what he does best: plan a party, while I did what I do best: coordinate the hell out of everything else.

  "We did a great job, partner," said Preston, dropping an arm over my shoulder. "It's been a good trip so far. Very good." He nuzzled my neck as he spoke. His lips, wet from his drink, brushed against my skin and sent a sh
ock of pleasure through me.

  "Knock it off," I mumbled, stepping away from him.

  "That's right, Evangeline,” he whispered, leaning in close. “Play the part. Put on an Oscar-winning performance for all of our friends here. I'm sure they appreciate the effort."

  I glared at Preston, who knocked back the rest of his drink and headed back over to the bar. I rushed to get between him and the bar, a move that must have surprised him. "You cannot be drunk. We have pictures in ten minutes."

  "I'm not drunk, Angie. I got a little something to cool me down, and I'm taking the cup back to the bar." He dropped the cup on to the faux wood counter of the makeshift bar and turned to me as if to say see? "Have a little faith. We've still got a show to put on, right?"

  I grabbed him by the arm and dragged him back outside.

  With the wedding preserved for posterity, the wedding party was immensely more relaxed. Even Morgan, who was giddy and giggling away earlier, seemed more mellow, quietly chatting with Nate at a table. They were holding hands, admiring their wedding bands, smiling at each other, and as usual, acting as if they were the only two people in the room.

  We ate, we drank, we partied. We danced until our shoes came off and then danced some more. After a few hours, Preston grabbed a flute, climbed up on stage, and pulled the microphone from its stand, motioning for the music to subside.

  "Y'all know what time it is, right?"

  Preston's question was met with a round of applause and the ting ting ting of silverware banging against glassware. "Yep, it's time for me to wax nostalgic about my buddy Nate and how much he means to me. You guys all know us, have known us for a long time. Four of us have known each other nearly our whole lives."

  I felt not only Preston's gaze but the entire room's eyes on me. I smiled and waved and waited for him to continue.

  "Back when we were kids, I never saw Nate without Morgan. They were the same person. One unit. NateandMorgan."