by Ashley Jade
“Fucking perfect.” He keeps his gaze on me as he plumps my tit in his hand and draws my nipple into his mouth, taking greedy pulls; this time with no barrier. It’s just his tongue, and my skin, and a million nerve endings firing off by the nanosecond.
The air between us crackles and I cry out, needing more. More of whatever this is. More of us. More of him.
As if reading my mind, he shifts, lining himself up with the achy spot between my thighs. Pressed against me, his cock is heavy and thick. Not something I can ignore. Heat sparks and my eyes flutter closed when he starts grinding, my body waging war with itself.
Ripples of pleasure slash through me when he grips the headboard and thrusts. “You’re soaking my boxers, angry girl.” A deep groan rips from his throat and he repeats the movement, the friction sending me into a tailspin.
His hips meet mine with a hard slap and he runs the tip of his nose along my neck, inhaling me. “I need to be inside you.” His voice is so rough it scrapes across my skin.
The organ currently tethered to him stops cold, but I give him a nod.
I can do this for him. I can close my eyes and push through it.
Pretend I’m your puppet. Use me and pull my strings.
Take whatever you need from me to make it better.
I try to keep my shaking in check as I raise my hips and he slides my shorts off.
His breathing turns staticky when he zeros in on the damp spot on my panties. “Fuck.” His eyes are molten, and his voice is laced with so much want my insides coil.
Which makes what he does next downright bewildering. “I can’t do this.”
For a moment, I think he’s joking, but he gets up from the bed. “I can’t fuck you.”
I should be relieved…but I’m not. My lungs feel like he wrung them out. I’m short of breath, struggling for air.
My throat jams up when he goes to the closet and throws on a pair of jeans and a hoodie. The same clothes he bought just hours ago.
I sit up, covering myself. “Did I do something wrong?”
I don’t know what guys like. Or what they don’t like. Maybe I did or said something that was a turn-off.
He shoves his wallet in his pocket and looks at me. “No. I did.” For a moment, I see a flicker of something cross his expression…but then he’s gone.
Leaving me to drown.
Because he’s the one who made me fall.
But he didn’t catch me this time.
Chapter 24
The sun is rising by the time I manage to pack a bag and get ready for work. I’m already running behind schedule since I was supposed to catch the ferry that left ten minutes ago and have no choice but to wait for the next one.
I’m sure Jess will be thrilled with my lateness considering she gave me three days off last week.
Then again, Jess is a shady bitch. So fuck her. The mood I’m in this morning has me tempted to quit, but according to Reggie’s text twenty minutes ago, my nanna still has a pulse.
Which is odd if you ask me, because I’m certain the woman doesn’t have a heart.
Reaching for the tube of concealer, I dab some under my eyes. This way, it won’t look like I’ve spent the last six hours crying over a husband who is God only knows where for the second time in seven days.
Although if I had to take a gander, I’d say there are slot machines and poker tables nearby.
I pick up the mascara next and my mind floats back to all the times I watched my mom put on her makeup in this mirror. It never hit me just how much I favor her until now.
The thought causes a bubble of anguish to rise to the surface. Not because my mother was unattractive, she was beautiful. Her features were delicate and proportionate, and she had a smile that could light up an entire room.
But that smile was a distraction from her most prominent feature.
Despite her sunny personality, her hazel orbs held a sadness in them that couldn’t be masked.
Like mine do this morning.
Funny how we only remember the positive things about our loved ones when they’re gone.
After I apply a coat of Chapstick and give myself a once-over, I find my black blazer and slip it on. I’m not sure what one wears for their first day of work at a porn company. Well, when they’re not the talent that is. However, I’m a professional and I’m there to do a job, so I might as well keep it classy.
After I grab my suitcase and car keys, I head for the front door.
Then I pause. What if he doesn’t come back?
A lump fills my throat. I’m this close to calling Jess and asking for another few days off, but I remind myself that Preston is a grown-up. And like a lost dog, he’ll come back eventually.
Or he won’t. And yeah, that will sting, and it very well might break me again…but I’ve built up scar tissue. It’s not as dense as I’d like it to be, but it’s there. Somehow, I’ll find a way to deal.
Hopefully without mind-numbing substances, Brazilian models, or arrests this time around.
Either way, keeping my mind off Preston’s whereabouts and focusing on something I enjoy, like social media management seems better than wilting away in my parents’ house waiting for him to return.
I stick my sunglasses on my face, shielding my sad eyes. I’ve got this.
Straightening my spine, I march forward.
Until I hear the faint click of the front door.
A second later, six feet and three inches of pure asshole comes barging in. Or rather, stumbling.
My heart wants nothing more than to throw my arms around him, but the scar tissue surrounding the organ tells me to sit this one out a little while longer.
Preston’s eyes are bloodshot, and I can smell the potent stench of alcohol coming off him from where I’m standing.
I can’t decide if I find it more humiliating or heartbreaking that the thought of fucking me drove him to drink.
He’s the first to speak. “Hi.”
All I can do is stare at him. Six, make that seven, hours ago I was sprawled out on a bed, ready to do the unthinkable with him before he walked away.
But the only thing he has to say to me when he comes back is a single word containing two letters.
It makes me feel about as insignificant as I did last night.
I clutch the suitcase handle so hard when I walk past him, I’m surprised it doesn’t break.
On second thought, I have two letters for him, too. “F.” I square my shoulders. “U.”
Breslin once told me that bruising a woman’s ego during sex was like ramming your fist right through her chest and bruising her heart.
I never really got that until now. Sure, I’ve been turned down my fair share of times. But never while I was naked and vulnerable. Ignorance really is bliss.
But even that I can get over. What I can’t get over? Is the impassive expression on his face.
It’s tragic how someone who once looked at you like you were everything…can turn right around and look at you like you’re nothing.
“Listen, if you don’t want me to stay here I won’t.”
My nose crinkles. “That’s really the best you can do?”
Silence.
I push past him, but he grabs my elbow. “What do you want from me, Kit?”
The list of things I want from Preston Holden is about a mile long.
But right now? I want him to leave me alone, so I can forget everything that happened between us last night.
“You want me to tell you that I fucked up?” His large hands cup my face and my pulse skitters. “That I’m sorry?” A muscle in his jaw flexes and he lets go of me so abruptly I sway back. “Or that I warned you not to marry me?”
I stand there, chest heaving, the hold I had on my emotions cracking. “I want you to grow a goddamn heart.”
With that, I snatch my suitcase and throw open the front door.
Chapter 25
Preston: You got me a phone.
I watch dots appear at the bot
tom of my phone screen and then disappear before they appear again. Kit’s been in New York for two days, and this is the first time we’ve spoken.
To say I was surprised to receive a delivery this morning would be an understatement.
Kit: It wasn’t supposed to arrive until tomorrow.
Preston: Why?
Kit: I don’t know. That’s what the guy told me when I ordered it.
I pinch the bridge of my nose.
Preston: I meant why did you get me a phone?
I grit my teeth. Kit shouldn’t be buying me phones. She should be refusing to talk to me. She should hate me.
Things would be a hell of a lot easier if she did.
Kit: Because I didn’t have your number. Now I do.
Before I can respond, another text comes through.
Kit: Most people would say thank you.
And another.
Kit: If you don’t like it I can get you a different one.
Preston: FFS. You even babble when you text.
She sends me the middle finger emoji and I can’t help but laugh.
And then that hollow feeling is back with a vengeance. Reminding me of what I can never have.
The dots disappear, then start up again.
Kit: I miss you.
The organ that belongs to her strains. It takes way more willpower than I thought it would not to reply to that text.
But I can’t. No matter how much I want to.
I can’t let her fall for me.
Stepping out of the cab, I slide my new phone in my pocket.
Because I’m a liar.
I take out my old phone and make my way over to the parked car.
A thief.
The car door opens, and I sink down to my haunches. The muscles in my chest pull tight when tiny arms wrap around me, and for a moment, nothing else matters. “Hey, bud—”
“You’re late,” Becca snaps, cutting me off. “We’ve been waiting for over ten minutes.”
And I’ve destroyed everything that’s ever been mine.
* * *
To be continued…Fall 2018.
Want to be notified about upcoming releases?
https://goo.gl/n5Azwv
Afterword
If you liked the book, it would mean the absolute world to me if you left a review. It’s so hard for indie authors to receive acknowledgment and reviews really make a difference for us.
Want to be notified about my upcoming releases?
https://goo.gl/n5Azwv
Or join my exclusive reader’s group and become a Little Survivor:
https://www.facebook.com/groups/685774991573128/
For more news about what I’m working on next: Follow me on my Facebook page: https://www.facebook.com/pages/Ashley-Jade/788137781302982
Acknowledgments
I wish I could tell you something poetic about writing this book. Instead, I’m going to let you into my private life for a moment. This book and the book after this one (the one that will conclude Preston and Kit’s story) will always be incredibly important to me, for very personal reasons.
You, see my father has dementia. Unfortunately, he’s losing his battle (he also has some other health issues.) However, the very last conversation I had with him in which he was coherent was about the things he remembered about his life. He told me all sorts of things and we laughed, held hands, and reminisced.
We also talked about Kit and Preston that day. My dad ended up helping me tremendously with their story (for this book and the second book.) He did that by sharing his personal memories with me.
For instance. The Drive-thru wedding? The seedy motel Preston stayed at? Let’s just say those were based off very REAL places that held significance for my dad. (He and my biological mother were married the same place Kit and Preston were.) And well, if that motel wasn’t nearby offering substantial discounts to couples recently married a little over thirty years ago…there’s a very distinct possibility that I wouldn’t be here bringing you Kit and Preston’s story. (I know, TMI.)
Anyway, as you might have guessed, I was born in Vegas. (However, I don’t remember much because I only lived there for a little over a year.) I plan to go back one day soon.
There’s also even more of a personal element to this, but I would rather disclose that during the final book. Trust me, it will mean even more then.
And yes, I know, this is the most personal I’ve ever been in a book. I just wanted my readers to understand why this couple is so personal to me and why this book and the next will be dedicated to him.
Don’t worry. I’ll get down to business now.
There's no way I can possibly thank each and every one of you, but I'm going to try. You’re all so important to me and there will never be a good enough way to thank you for all the support you've shown me. A simple acknowledgment in a book will do it justice, but I hope it matters all the same.
I hope I'm not leaving anyone out. And if by some horrible chance I did...I'm truly sorry.
Avery and Kristy: “Fuck all the ducks”
Avery: I don’t know what else I can say to you that hasn’t already been said. You carried me through this process in every way and I’m so thankful for you. Whether it was awaiting my message at two in the morning telling you I finished another chapter and needed you to tell me what you thought. Or pointing out a typo from my too tired eyes. There was also the much-needed character venting sessions when a certain character (ahem, Preston) wasn’t doing what he was supposed to. Or when the Breslin haters would come out and I needed to yell and scream. Thank you for holding my hand. Being objective when I couldn’t. And for being kinder than most when I needed that, too. I couldn’t do this without you.
Kristy: How do you tell a person that you love them, but they drive you crazy? I’m not sure, but I’m going to try. I grumble when you make notes I don’t agree with. But I also love it because those notes force me to think. They force me to either defend the action or think of a way to improve it. They get my creative energies flowing and help me keep my eye on the prize. They make me a better writer. Sometimes a better person too if I’m being honest. And I know you only do it because you give a shit. So, thank you for giving a shit. Thank you for being you. Thank you for driving me crazy, but also for being someone I know I can trust and depend on.
Brandi, Vickie, Jackie, Crystal, Rebecca, Shonda, Mary, Beth, Dee, and Jodi. I always swore I would never have more than two betas. I thought the idea of having more was insanity. Well, like they say—don’t knock it until you try it. Funny thing is, it started out as something simple. I just needed a small group of ladies to read my MS and find a few teasers. It ended up becoming so much more. A tribe of sorts. And I’m so incredibly thankful.
You ladies are amazing. Thank you for all that you do. Thank you for your continued support and for being my cheerleaders. Thank you for being drama free and keeping it real. I hope you know you’re stuck with me now…so strap in and hold on tight. <3
Ellie: Dude. I love your face. You make my words pretty. You adjust your schedule. You make me shine. And you do it all without complaining. I count my lucky stars I found you and I’m keeping you.
Preston’s Harem: You babes are my backbone. The wind beneath my wings. I can’t thank you enough for your unconditional support. But, I’ll try and thank you with some pretties instead. Or you know…by sending you inappropriate half-naked postmarks of Preston. :P You babes are the real fucking deal. Preston told me so himself. Thank you so much.
Street team: Sometimes it feels more like my therapy group than a street team, but that’s what I love. We’re weirdos and we sit together on the grass and eat our lunch instead of mingling with the cool kids.
But you babes ARE the cool kids. You’re the coolest kids and I’m so lucky to have you.
Little Survivors: I know I’m not one of those authors who have their shit together. And I’m sorry for that. Thank you for accepting all my flaws and for accepting my human side. Thank you al
l for not being assholes. Thank you for being the best readers an author could ever ask for.
Thank you for being excited, laughing, telling jokes, being my cheerleaders, sharing your stories, supporting me, and being the salt of the earth people you are.
Thank you for giving me my safe bubble.
What I lack…you babes make up for in spades. You all are perfect. I’m so incredibly lucky.
Cassie: You were my very first 'fan'. Starting all the way back from the days of the 'Twisted Fate' series. I will never, ever forget that. Thank you so very much. You're my 'MVP' for life!!!
And last but not least…my favorite asshole. The person who makes my world go round’. My ‘Hammie’—My heart and soul. I couldn’t do this without you, baby. My love for you knows no bounds…because we’d find a way to demolish anything standing in our way. You’re my ‘alpha’, my strength, my weakness, but most importantly…my everything.
Gamblers Anonymous
Help is only a phone call or an e-mail away.
Gamblers Anonymous
International Service Office
P.O. Box 17173
Los Angeles, CA 90017
T (626) 960-3500
F (626) 960-3501
[email protected]
Website: http://www.gamblersanonymous.org/ga/
If you or anyone you know is a victim of sexual assault, again; I urge and I beg you to reach out.
National Sexual Assault Hotline 800-656-HOPE (4673)
National Child Sexual Abuse Helpline (Darkness to Light)