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

by S. E. Hall

  Together now, she lets go of her legs and props herself up on her elbows, worming backward to demand I take my hands off, and out of, her. Eyes thinned to violet darts of suspicious worry, she cocks her head, gun — her mouth — already locked and loaded. “What exactly are you proposing?”

  Holy shit, she’s shooting blanks. I can hardly form a coherent thought past my shock, and I definitely didn’t have an answer ready for that response.

  To stall, and get close to her, desperate to soak up the semi-sweet morsel she’s giving me, I climb on the bed and wrap my arms around her. “The unthinkable, drastic and first of its kind.” My twitching lips brush her forehead. “I’m daring to suggest… we date. Not a date, here and there, that you force yourself through just to get to our normal finish line. I’m saying we try being a real couple. And before you ask, yes, I’ll explain what that means.” She swats my arm, rolling her eyes, but rolls ‘em right back to lock with mine… because she really does need a definition. Which, in the most pathetic of ways, fills me with a primal pride; damn happy to take the win — I’ll be her first, and last, actual boyfriend.

  “Sutton, can’t we just, be… whatever it is that we are? I’m not, and promise I won’t, see anyone else. You do the same. Lest I murder your Jizzabel, and we just let shit ride? Why must you outline everything, especially when we’re naked?” She pauses on a heavy exhale, trying to wriggle some space between us. Denied. “You…” she squeezes her eyes shut, shaking her head, “you are the most frustrating man alive! I, we, aren’t a spreadsheet, Sutton! Some things won’t fall under a certain column, category, or bullet-point, no matter how hard you try!”

  My smirk only aggravates her further, but that’s just too damn bad. “You done?”

  “You know what?” Her laugh’s facetiously brittle. “I am. I’ve run out of ideas on what to say to make you understand.”

  “Oh, I understand, Hot Shot. I understand exactly how it is you want things to go, and now, after reading…” my voice starts to fade, but I recoup, “I even understand why. I don’t agree and think you’ve been ‘letting shit ride’ for way too long, but I do, finally, have all the blanks filled in. And, if you recall, before your lil’ tantrum, I already agreed — if you really want us to stay fuck buddies only, fine. That’s what we’ll be. That’s all we’ll be. I won’t even bother you with the niceties, gifts, little gestures, big gestures, again. But I thought you were gonna hear out my idea before makin’ your call?”

  What. The. Entire. Fuck?

  He’s waiting for me to respond, but I’m not sure I should, can, until I take a minute, or several, and determine whether or not I am in fact, in the midst of a full-blown psychotic break.

  See, I think what’s happening right now is, there’s a naked heterosexual male, my saliva still drying on his dick, lying in my bed, where, I just so happen to be also lying, right beside him, also naked, the essence of my orgasm still on his fingers — and we’re talking. At length. On Quantum-fucking-Physics levels. So yeah, I’m a tad worried about my current relationship, or lack thereof, with reality, ‘cause I’m gonna go out on a limb and say — this is not a scene that plays out every day.

  “Presley?” he urges… maybe. I mean, I heard it, but can’t be sure it happened. “Where’d ya go? Look at me, Sugar. Stop freaking out and look at me.”

  My eyes collide with the rich, green pair that always guide me back to center; the only eyes in the whole world that have ever been able to see into me, through me… all of me. “I’m back,” I whisper.

  “I see that.” He laughs, blinding me with those dimples of his, and confirming the thought not yet left my mind — Sutton sees everything. “You good now? If I talk, you gonna hear me?” I nod, earning myself a kiss on the forehead, before he spouts more profound. “If memory serves, it wasn’t too long ago that you wanted to try dating, even asked your family for help finding candidates. So, that tells me, it’s not the idea of dating in general that scares ya… it’s the thought of dating me.”

  Though he’s quick to stow them away, he’s not quick enough, and the shards of pain that flashed in his eyes slice me wide open. I lift a trembling hand, my intention to caress his cheek, but he shifts… as does everything else. Gone is any trace of the dimples I adore, the solace he normally exudes, a single sprinkle of joviality in his voice, or breathing room — the aim too thick to inhale.

  “Why is that, Presley?” It’s my turn to hedge away, strangers with the undercurrent of anger in his drawl. “Why is it that I’m good enough for you some of the time, more than good enough for some things, but I just can’t seem to make the cut for anything more? You’d rather let your family hunt up random victims than give me a shot, and I want. To. Know. Why. If there’s something so fucking wrong with me, some fundamental flaw I’m unaware of, the very least you can do is point it the fuck out to me!”

  “This is exactly why-”

  He doesn’t simply interrupt me; he crashes, not even a tap on the brakes, through my attempt at a reply. “Well guess fucking what. You’re too late! Yep, foiled your own goddamn plan, Hot Shot,” he sneers, launching himself off the bed to tug, yank, may have heard a rip, on his clothes. “While you were busy spoutin’ all your ‘oh, we can’t get attached,’ bullshit, yet, somehow, continuing to attach yourself into my life, repeatedly…” boots on, he grabs his stuff off the nightstand and stomps toward the door, “I. Got. Attached. And no matter how hard you try, my feelings aren’t yours to control. Which, by the fucking way,” he glares at me over his shoulder, “is pretty comical, seeing as how you don’t even have control over your own feelings.”

  “I can’t believe you just said that.” I gasp out the unimaginable hurt inflicted before I have a chance to disguise it in snark.

  “Yeah, well, I’m sick of playing patty-cake. You can’t take what you dish out, need shit rolled in sugar for ya, call your mama, Princess.”

  I hear him say bye to Castello before slamming the front door, at the exact same moment my first tear falls, and I realize… I’ve never been more ashamed of anyone else’s nickname for me in my life… proven unworthy of the title by the one who never calls me by it.

  Shit… I really do love him. I’m out of my mind, my control, and my right, in love with Sutton Patrick Ellis.

  I haven’t met his parents; don’t even know their names. I’ve never seen the house he grew up in, or heard the stories behind the small scars on his left knee and elbow. And I have no idea where he stands on pertinent issues such as mayonnaise or Miracle Whip, toilet paper rolling over or under, and the clincher; thermostat — sixty-eight or seventy-two? Yet here I am, paying credence to fairytale type musings I swore I’d never believe in… almost sure I’ve been a believer since the first night I met him.

  A wise woman would stay put, ask Castello for help licking my wounds, and pray for time to speed past me… time to forget, time to pretend I forgot. I’m fresh out of wisdom though, the last scrap I had left lost in the battle and the kicker to realization is… once the ball of recognition gets rolling, it’s hard to stop, another new epiphany striking hot on the heels of the last.

  And I’m up just as fast, pin-balling my way down, or off each side of, as is the case, the hallway while pulling on a longish t-shirt.

  “Sutton,” I scream the second I’ve cleared my front door, considering the time, and my neighbors, too late… but mentally, and very politely, apologizing before I do it again.. “Sutton, wait! Please, don’t leave!” I curl around the corner and skid to a stop — fuck, ouch, forgot shoes — there he stands… I’m not too late.

  His broad back’s to me, but I’ve got his full attention; the anxious tension coursing through him as he waits for my next words, next move, unmistakable. This is it, my last chance, so whatever I say to him right here, right now, needs not only be as significant as the moment… I have to mean it.

  You can do this, Presley. Not everything’s a battle, and not every battle must you win. Turn off your brain, close your eyes
, open your mouth… and freestyle.

  “Sutton Ellis, you drive me insane. But, you also drive me wild. Smiling. Laughing. Curious. Anticipating. On fire. No one else has ever driven a damn place. Never.” The words are flowing now, so I open my eyes and take a few steps closer to him. “I’m gonna slide right past your asinine comment about me having to force myself to spend time with you because you know better. Just talking out your mad ass on that one.” Moving even closer, I lay a hand on his back, absorbing the rigidity in the flex of his muscles. “Pretty sure your anger got the better of you on the ‘good enough’ part too. Like I’ve been saying, over and over, you are too good for me. That’s why I’ve been fighting this. I’m trying to spare you, from… from me.” My voice sags with the weight of acknowledgement, yet I push past it. “But that’s not my job, is it? You’re a big ol’ boy, a grown ass man, smarted and more insightful than anyone I’ve ever known. You don’t need me to protect you from anything, you can protect yourself just fine. So I’m done. You want me, you got me. And don’t ever say you weren’t warned.”

  His growl’s low and sinister, the volume hidden in its intensity. “You better fucking mean it this time, Presley. Swear to God,” he turns slowly, his narrowed gaze lashing me harder than any whip could, “you backpedal on me one more motherfuckin’ time and I’m gonna shove a Prozac square up your ass, right after I spank the shit out of it.”

  My body betrays me with its shiver, but my brain and mouth stay on board. “I wasn’t finished, growly.”

  “Presley?” Correction, that he growled, plenty of volume, taking a single, predatory stomp to, and flush against me, his hands clenching onto my hips. “What the fuck are you wearing?”

  Already off-kilter from his sudden advance, I glance down at myself, then back up at him in confusion. “A t-shirt?”

  “And nothing else. No shoes. No shorts. Damn sure no bra or panties.” His clamp on me tightens, my speedy breath of arousal paced with his of testosterone and territorialism. “You just gotta test me at every turn, dontcha? Try to keep it in check, figure you see enough Alpha male shit from the men in your family, but this…” he moves impossibly closer, “this isn’t gonna work for me. What if someone’s at their window right now, looking at this barely-covered ass?” He covers it with his huge hands, groaning as he squeezes it. “What if another man’s eyes saw these,” one hand slides up and around, thumb rolling over my nipple, “all hard and pretty, about to poke through your shirt? I’d have to rip ‘em out his head, Presley. You don’t want that, do ya?”

  “No,” I pant, the pheromones gushing off him so potent they make me dizzy, no more able to control my voice than the wet throbbing between my legs.

  Hand rising to find my cheek, he trails a fingertip along my jaw, resting his forehead against mine. “We turned a corner tonight, babe. Things are gonna be a lil’ different now. You can still be a boss. I love Bossy Presley too, but you’ll no longer be the only boss. Not holding back anymore, babe. Gonna show you all the sides of me too.”

  “I’m not ‘Princess’ with you either.” Why this is what I breathe out, I’d say I have no clue… except I know full well. “I don’t want to be. With you, I’m Boss, Babe, Baby, Hot Shot, or Sugar. Never Princess. As proven by me running after you, which by the way, should be way more important to you than the fact that I didn’t have time to coordinate a fitting ensemble.” I glare, a lil’, at his laughter. “I’m serious. I can’t think of a single princess who did the chasin’. They’re always being held hostage be sea witches, their stepmother… or asleep. I came after you, and don’t you forget it.”

  “That why you came after me? To prove the point you came after me?”

  “That’s one of the reasons. To make sure we cleared the princess thing up, yes. And…” my voice drops, eyes veer, but I rein them both back in, staring right at him when I clearly say, “to tell you I’m sorry. I am. I’m sorry I’ve wasted so much time assuming I knew what you could or couldn’t handle, Sutton. I’m sorry I made you feel anything less than amazing. And most of all, I’m sorry I’m not better at faking things with you, because you’re right, I’m full of shit… and very much attached. I’m in love with you, Sutton.”

  “Come ‘ere,” he grunts, half-lifting, half-catching, me up in his arms, my legs easily finding their own way around his waist. “I love you too, so damn much,” he groans as he walks us back to the apartment, and I feast on his neck, jaw, ear, some more neck, wiggling all my tingly spots against him.

  I wake on a startle, my eyes popping open in amused shock. It’s official, Hell hath finally frozen over. I caught hints of a possible cold front moving in last night — Presley completely unguarded, baring her soul, after those few bouts, back and forth, between surrender and dictatorship — but the fact she’s awake and out of bed before me? Yep, Hell has to be more than unusually nippy; now just one big glacier. And the playful lilt to her voice, meant to be a whisper, but sneaking away from her to find me… maybe this time will be different, maybe, if God loves me even a little, I’ve finally dented her armor beyond repair.

  And I’m not a bit ashamed of the tactics I used to do so. My fingers to thank for her promise to spend today with me. My mouth the proud recipient of tomorrow’s lockdown. And my cock… that handy fucker got us a spare spot right beside her in bed every night next week. And I plan to use the borrowed time for a lot more than sex. I’m gonna burrow my way into other places than her pussy, and plant a fucking flag, claiming my territory… forever.

  But for now, I’m content with our progress, happy to just sit up and tilt my head, ear pricked to catch more of the “conversation” that woke me up in the first place.

  “You’re a beautiful boy, Castello, and I love you very much, but this type of behavior will not be tolerated.”

  I hold in my laugh, only to snort instead, her “stern scolding” adorably amusing. When Presley Beckett wants to chew some ass, get a point across, Lord help whoever’s on the receiving end of her razor-sharp mind, and even deadlier tongue. Seems though, Castello’s immune to such wrath. The little furball has managed to wiggle his way into the corner of her heart that issues warnings in a cooed, baby voice, softened with introductory compliments. Lucky lil’ shit.

  “No, no sweet little whines, and knock it off with the sad eyes; I’m serious, mister. Now, let’s go over it again, and this time, pay attention. There’ll be a test after; one treat for anything passing, lots of treats for an A. Bare minimum or buffet, it’s up to you, sir.”

  This, I gotta see, so I creep down the hallway with the lightest, close-to-silent steps my frame allows, and peek around the corner. Oh shit. I almost don’t get my mouth covered before laughing aloud, the scene I find both hilarious and endearing; one I know will stay with me forever. Presley’s standing at the kitchen counter, deliciously frumpy in my shirt, her brown hair piled in a cute mess atop her head, a chewed sandal dangling in her left hand, an actual dog toy in her right. “Castello, look at me, listen to your mother. This? This is a no-no, bad, bad, bad, bad.” She shakes the sandal in the air. “This?” her voice shifts to sweet and doughy as she lifts the toy, “this is a good boy. Good boys play with squeaky orange bones. Yes they do.”

  Little man must love seeing her worked up as much as I do, because I’ll be damned if he doesn’t turn, run into the living room and start wrestling with the other fucking sandal. Good stuff.

  “Presley, no!” I intercept her mid-stomp, wrapping my arms around her rigid, pissed-off body… and saving the dog. “He just gets bored, babe. He needs activity, room to roam. Probably not the best breed to have gotten ya, living in an apartment.”

  “What breed is that, wild banshee? Insubordinate, half-wolf sandal sniffer?”

  “Close,” I laugh. “Lab. As in Labrador Retriever. I’ll take him outside to do his business while you go get ready.” I set her down and swat her ass. “We’re gonna take him to the dog park, where he can run around and retrieve things.”

  “That’s fi
ne, Officer Mall Cop Wannabe, you can take your plastic badge and shove it up your ass! You too, Margaret, with your bad Botox prune face! Me and my badass Wonderdog don’t wanna hang in your skanky excuse for a dog park anyway. We’re taking our act uptown, bitches!” Presley screams for all of Georgia to hear, her flailing arms and legs making it difficult to carry her over my shoulder and also corral our dog away from the scene of the crime and to the truck. “You’re lucky Barney there saved ya, Margaret. Lemme catch ya outside and we’ll see what happens!”

  “We are outside,” I grunt, hurrying my chain gang away faster.

  “Catch me inside then, Granny! I’ll show you misbehaved!”

  “Presley, enough,” I growl. “Not trying to go to jail, or bail you out, today. Shut the hell up and get your ass in the truck.” I put her down on her feet and open the driver’s door. “Now.”

  “Whose side are you on, Judas?” She huffs, but thankfully, climbs up and into the truck, sliding over to the passenger seat.

  “I’m on the side of sane.” I lift Castello in, take off his leash and nudge him toward Presley, then climb behind the wheel and slam the door. “I cannot believe you got us banned from the first damn park we went to, on our first damn visit. What the hell is wrong with you?” I somehow maintain a stoic expression, concentrating on starting the engine and backing out, rather than giving in to the laughter dying to bust out of me. My Hot Shot, so damn feisty, so fucking fascinating. I’d almost rather watch her get all riled up, go to bat for those she loves, than watch her get naked. Almost.

  “What’s wrong with me?” she shrieks, madder than a wet hen. Adorable. “What’s wrong with you? Someone attacks our sweet angel dog and you just stand there and do nothing? Thank God I have balls enough for both of us!” My chest rumbles with a low growl, and I’m not sure whether it’s because she’s challenging my manhood… or the fact she referred to Castello as our dog.