by Imani King
He’s ready. He’s more than ready. The head is even a bit more swollen than the base, which only happens when a guy is really turned on. No wonder I felt that under his pants! I’m surprised I didn’t feel it when I entered the room!
“Seriously? You’d just pack up and leave?” I ask.
He winces. “It wouldn’t be…ideal.”
“Ideal? Hell, I’m worried about the logistics of it. Seriously, how do you keep that in your pants?”
The massive cock twitches, as if answering for itself. Yes, his cock is so freaking huge it can answer things for itself! I’m suddenly wondering if that possessive growl I heard earlier when I asked Preston if his dick could speak was actually from his cock.
“It only gets this hard when it thinks of you,” Preston says.
I’m pretty sure that’s a line. And in the world of pick-up-lines, it’s kind of the best one ever and the worst one ever at the same time. I mean, it is a huge ego boost to think that I can illicit that kind of…gigantic response…in someone. On the other time, it’s scary. I mean, did I mention I’m a little afraid?
“You can take it,” he whispers. “You’re a big girl, and you’re strong.”
“I can? I am?”
“Yeah. You ride this thing like it’s what you were born to do.”
I swat his chest. “I think I was born to do more than please your dick.”
“Oh, you most certainly were. But luckily, you’re a woman of many talents.”
“I’m gonna get you ready first,” he whispers, pushing me down. His hand moves over my stomach, in between my breasts, pushing me onto my back. He picks me up and starts moving further up the gigantic bed. I wrap my legs around him, his cock literally hard and long enough that it’s above to hold up my ass. It’s like a freakin’ shelf!
Oh my god. I’m about to fuck a shelf.
I shouldn’t be this turned on, like every cell in my body has been shocked into life. I can feel my fingertips buzzing. My goes tingling.
Suddenly, he places me down at the top of the bed amongst the softest pillows that have ever touched my skin. He looks down at me, eyes deep and blue and dark, like that part of the horizon just above the ocean that is untouched by stars.
His hands move up my thighs, gathering me, pushing my legs back. It’s my turn to rip off his shirt, buttons spilling around us. His muscles angle into a perfect V on his hips. God, I know he said I was a work of art, but he’s fashioned by the gods. I’ve never seen anything so perfect in my life. I bring my hands up his chest, and his muscles tense beneath my touch.
His hands twist in my hair. For a second my heart aches for all the time I spent in the salon getting ready, but then again, this was the result I wanted.
“Tachell?” he asks.
Even now, when I’m literally aching and wiggling and moaning beneath him, he’s waiting for my permission.
“Yes,” I tell him. “Now.”
He takes hold of my hips and pushes into me, slowly. I’m ready and wet, but he’s so big and I’m not used to it. I don’t think I’ll ever be fully used to his length. It’s big enough to always keep me on edge—to always bring back those butterflies from the first time. He moves forward, his face pensive, full of lust and something softer, something that makes my stomach tighten and my heartbeat flutter.
This is beyond desire. It’s something else. But I don’t yet know what it means. And then, I start feeling so much that I can’t even worry about it any longer. You can’t fake it. You can’t tame it. You can’t find it anywhere but in his arms and he can’t find it anywhere but in mine.
His cock hits me in all the right places. I loop my ankles around his back and he holds me close as he pushes deeper into me.
“Yes,” I cry out.
Encouraged, he thrusts harder. Deeper. I’m amazed I can take this—amazed it feels so good. I look up at the ceiling. Mirrors above showcase his glorious backside. His tight ass pistoning as he thrusts powerfully into me. I dig my fingernails into his back, admiring the contrast of his white skin beneath my own. I pull my legs back together and he moves, harder, faster, his grip on me tightening, his neck straining.
His thumb pushes into my parted lips and I suck on it, bite it softly, as he pushes me to the edge of pleasure. “Cum for me, Tachell,” he whispers.
And I do.
I can’t deny this man anything.
He cums, too. His cock hitting the back of me, shooting his seed into me with such might that it prolongs my orgasm. deep inside me. His seed spilling into me. His hard, long cock touching the back of me.
Slowly, he slides off of me, but he doesn’t let me go. Instead, he brings me to his chest. I rest the side of my cheek on his pounding heart as we both catch our breath.
I pull back so I can look at him once again. He brings his hand to my poor, destroyed hair, gently cradling my head.
I can’t speak. What I see in his eyes reflects the new, inexplicable feelings growing in my heart. We’re both falling deeper and deeper, and there is no turning back. I don’t think we’d turn back even if we wanted to, even if it meant our destruction. Because once you’ve found something like this you don’t let go to of it.
No matter what.
Chapter 15
I wake up in that huge bed to the smell of breakfast pancakes. I groan softly, wiping my eyes as I slide out of the impossibly soft white sheets.
Did last night really happen?
I moan a bit as I stand, delightfully sore in all the right places.
I think it did.
My heart skips a beat. So it wasn’t just a perfect dream.
I open my eyes.
Oh my God.
I hadn’t really taken in my surroundings last night. I’d been too horny, and then I’d been too…I don’t even know. Preston and I had silently cherished each other with more kisses and deep, dark looks before he’d gotten hard again and coaxed me into another round.
That might have happened more than once.
In fact, it might have happened more than a few times.
I don’t know how to feel about this. There was nothing as good as great sex. There was nothing better than great sex all night long. But, if we got married, could I survive a life together with him if it meant hot marathon sex every night? Hell, could I even survive the engagement? And just how many children were we gonna have!?!?
I bite my lower lip. I’m getting ahead of myself again. Preston hasn’t said anything about marriage in a while. Maybe he just wants to screw.
But then, I remember the way he held me in between each “session.” And I remember him kissing my forehead as I fell asleep. And I think, just before I drifted into sweet, sweet dreams, he whispered I love you.
He might have just been talking about the sex. He dated a lot of models, right? I’m pretty sure they didn’t have the energy or strength to go at it like we did.
Or maybe I’d just imagined it. I might have already been sleeping. I was going to have to watch myself, because I was starting to fall for this guy.
Starting? My subconscious mocks me. You were ready to let him take you to heaven the second you saw him after waking up!
I glance around for my clothes. It looks like my dress had been mauled by a bear. Yeah, not wearing that again. I go to Preston’s ornate wardrobe and pick out one of his cotton undershirts. Is it a little presumptuous to take a shirt of his? Maybe, but he owes me!
As I’m over there, I notice a large painting on the wall. It’s of a little girl on a swing, surrounded by lavender. The swing is old and attached to a knotted, aged tree. The rope looks hard, and the seat of the is a slab of weathered. Her hair is going every which way all crazy, but the little girl is too happy to notice. She looks over her shoulder, smiling, beckoning the viewer to push her…or to join her.
I remember something Preston told me the other day while we were out to lunch. I’d been so worried about being a mother, and he’d noticed.
I can’t imagine a more perfect mother,
Tachell.
What the hell? How do you know?
Because you’re strong, and you are fiercely protective of those you love.
I don’t know why I’m remembering this now while looking at the painting. Preston had mentioned that he had one of my paintings in his bedroom. Was this the painting he was talking about? Was that smiling little girl me?
“Tachell?” I hear. “Are you up yet?”
“Yeah,” I yell, yanking his shirt over my head and head down the hallway. The plush red carpet feels wonderful beneath my bare feet, like I’m literally walking on cloud 9. When I reach the kitchen—which is as big as the apartment I’m currently sharing with my mother and Sondra, by the way—he looks up with a smile.
I sit down at the marble counter. “Damn that smells good.”
“I hope you’re hungry. After last night, I sure am.”
I feel my cheeks grow hot as a delightfully sweet sensation as sugary as maple syrup grows in my stomach. “Stop teasing.”
“I’m not teasing. If I start teasing you, I’m going to be late for work.”
A wildfire spreads across my cheeks and rages down my neck. Those little things he says to me mean so much more know what I know. With a tight laugh, I accept a plate of pancakes.
It’s cute he cooked for me. I decide I will eat them all, no matter how bad they are. I steel my reserve as I pick up a fork.
“You’re gonna like these,” he tells me.
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah. In fact, after one bite, you’re going to beg me to marry you.”
I set down my fork. “That’s a pretty big claim.”
He nods at the plate in front of me. “Those are pretty damn good pancakes. One taste, and you’re gonna want them every morning for the rest of your life.”
“Is that so?”
“It is.” He looks down. “So if you don’t think that sounds like a good deal, maybe you shouldn’t eat them.”
My heart starts pounding so hard my entire body shakes. “Preston, are you proposing to me?”
He glances up at me, a wicked light in his eyes. “Maybe. Take a bite and see.”
I gulp. “You know, if these pancakes are really bad, you’re going to put me in an awkward position because I’m totally not going to want to eat them every morning, but in order to accept your proposal—if, in fact, this is one—I’ll have to tell you straight up.”
Preston gives me an arrogant smile. “These will be the most amazing pancakes you’ve ever tasted.”
I raise my brow. He’s a billionaire. I’m pretty sure billionaires aren’t known for their fine cuisine—they’re known for hiring other people to make fine cuisine for them.
The perfect muscles in his arms flex as he crosses his arms over his chest. “Have faith in me.”
“Fine,” I whisper, taking up the fork like a sword. I cut into the side of the pancake. Great, fluffy texture. They certainly look good. But that meant nothing if it didn’t taste good, too.
Shutting my eyes, I bring the pancake to my mouth.
Oh.
My.
God.
Mouth orgasm. And not just any mouth orgasm, but one with 4 opera singers wailing and 3 symphonies blasting and 2 contortionists contorting and a partridge in a pear tree…
My eyes fly open. “I just remembered something!”
Preston’s eyes darken. “Was is it?”
“It’s a Christmas carol. And…we used to sing it in school. Before Christmas break, we’d gather in the assembly room, and each grade would sing their part of the song. So the fifth graders would be five golden rings, and the first graders—”
“The partridge,” Preston finishes for me, smiling.
“Yeah. And the first graders would always sing the song all proper, because they didn’t know that it was actually a shouting contest. I think once it got to the fourth graders, though, it became pretty clear. By the end, everyone would be hoarse except the high schoolers, because they only had to shout out their part one to four times.”
“I remember that too,” Preston says. “Those were happy times.”
“They were,” I whisper, remembering the girl on the swing. “That picture of me in your bedroom—that’s me, isn’t it?”
“It is. You put it in the show, but you refused to sell it because you felt it was too personal. Many of your paintings are angry, and many are sad, but there are others that are like windows into your soul. You can be very vulnerable when you paint. You don’t allow yourself to limit where you can go, even if it is a place you maybe shouldn’t be sharing.”
I gulp.
“I had to talk to the gallery owner and negotiate a separate price for it. You eventually let it go because you felt that if the buyer wanted it that much, it must really mean something to him. But you wouldn’t have let it go if you knew the buyer was me.”
Too many emotions are running through me at once. I take another bite of pancake to settle my thoughts. “How long have you had it?” I asked.
“Six months.”
“So for the past six months that poor little girl on the swing has been watching you do to a slew of other women what you did to me last night?”
Preston’s face goes white. “Um…”
“You need to move it out of there. Like, today. Stick it in your office or something.”
“Tachell, it really wasn’t like that! I am just filled with hope every time I see it. It makes me happy, it reminds me of all the beautiful things in my life that I cherish. It’s why I want it to be the first thing I see every morning, and the last thing I see when I go to bed. I promise, I never meant to disrespect you—”
“I know,” I tell him. “Was it the first thing you looked at it this morning, or last night?”
He thinks a moment. “No.”
“Well, what did you look at?”
“You.”
“See, you don’t need it anymore.” I grin, taking another bite of pancake. “I think that little girl will be far happier in your office.”
Preston’s Adam’s apple bobs. “Tachell, what exactly are you saying?”
“Well, weren’t these pancake sort of a proposal of marriage? I’m still eating them. In fact, I can’t stop eating them. So I guess I’m sort of saying yes.”
“Tachell,” he whispers again, moving from the kitchen to my side of the marble counter. His shirt, jeans and arms are covered in flour. He might make good pancakes, but he sure was a messy cook.
I wipe away a smudge of flour from his chiseled cheek with my thumb. “You don’t have to do this right now.”
He shakes his head, bringing his hand to his pocket. “I want to.”
“Don’t you want to wait until I remember everything?”
“No, I just wanted to wait until we had sex, because if you woke up you might feel like I’d fucked you. However, with marriage, if you wake up after we’re married, then you’ll get to fuck me.”
“Wow,” I whisper. “That’s a really cynical view of marriage.”
He shrugs. “Most of the marriages between people of my class are symbolic. Families arrange marriages to consolidate wealth and form business partnerships. The men have their mistresses, the women their pool boys or starving artists. My father was like that.”
My mouth goes dry. Oh my god. “You don’t need to talk about this—”
“No. I do. I know that you met with my mother. She can be difficult. There’s a reason for that. It’s not a secret, but something that you used to know and now can’t remember.”
“Okay.”
“My father didn’t love my mother, but he married her anyway. It was a marriage that would be advantageous to both of their families, especially those who held shares in the steel companies that would merge with the union. However, my mother truly cared for him.”
I feel my heart cracking. “I’m so sorry, Preston.” And so sorry for Priscilla.
“Well, I don’t think she cared at first about his indiscretions. She knew about them
before, and knew that she’d have to tolerate them for the sake of her marriage and her family’s portfolio. But then, he met a beautiful Russian artist. She did these weird drip paintings—”
Ohhhhh. “It’s alright. I think…I know what kind of art she did.”
“She was pregnant with me when he left her,” Preston continues. “The Russian artist was pregnant with her own child. We were born around the same time when the divorce papers were finalized. Kate and I took my mother’s name. My father, apparently, wasn’t happy about it. He wanted us in his life. Unfortunately, it was an issue that was resolved in the most devastating way possible. His private plane crashed while flying up the San Juan Islands with his new bride.”
My free hand flies to my mouth. “Oh Preston.”
“I never met my father,” Preston says. “I’ve only met my half brother a few times during the family reunions and holidays I spent with my paternal grandmother. I know it sounds strange but, I wish I had a better relationship with him. But there is so much pain there from the lies and the betrayals that I don’t think I ever will. Anyways…I don’t want that. I want to spend the rest of my life with someone I love and respect.”
He takes my hand. “I haven’t done much in my life to earn your love and respect, Tachell. I am trying to earn both now. I promise I will support you and provide for our child, whether you decide to spend your life with me or not, whether I die tomorrow or eighty years from now. This marriage between us will legally ensure that.”
My heart breaks. “Stop,” I whisper.
He shuts his eyes. “Tachell, I’m sorry if this seems sudden—”
“No. Stop talking about me leaving you before we’ve even started our life together.” I place my hand over his. “You asked me to have faith in you. Please, have faith in us.”
He opens his deep blue eyes, and the raw emotion in I see there consumes me. “A marriage isn’t just one person sacrificing themselves for another,” I explain. “It is two people working together to do what’s best for their family. I will be here for you too.”
“I don’t want you to make that kind of promise yet.”
“And I don’t want you to make your promise without getting one from me.” He can say whatever he wants, but I’m not backing down.