Page 5 of Picture Perfect

"What the hell is he thinking inviting those heathens here?" he rants, gesturing towards William and his companions.

Preston raises an eyebrow at Wesley's outburst before shrugging indifferently. "Probably trying to gain some influence or profit from their connections. We all endure less than desirable company on occasion to further our agendas."

I nearly roll my eyes. Preston speaks as if he has any idea how business deals work. Daddy Montgomery's money is the only reason the sniveling snot can even manage to pass his classes. His people skills are lacking even more than his intelligence. I’d find more stimulating conversation with a rock.

Wesley shakes his head in disgust before turning to me, his eyes hardening as they meet mine. With a lecherous perusal of my body from head to toe that sends a shiver down my spine, he sneers.

"Well, if you'll excuse me," he says curtly before walking away towards his own group of friends.

Preston scowls after him before turning back to me with a smug grin. "Let's find somewhere quiet to...talk."

I can't help but feel a surge of anger at Preston's audacity. "Talk?" I scoff, my voice laced with sarcasm. "Is that what you call it?"

The prospect of escaping the suffocating atmosphere of this pretentious gathering holds undeniable appeal. The company, though, makes me more likely to dive into a pool of gathering sharks.

Bloodied.

Preston's grin falters for a moment, his eyes narrowing. He leans closer, the sour stench of his breath making me gag. "Well, darling, talking can be quite...stimulating."

I plaster a fake smile on my face, playing along with Preston's charade. "Of course," I reply, my voice dripping with saccharine sweetness.

"I thought so."

As we navigate our way past clusters of cream puffs engaged in their own self-absorption, Preston's hand lingers on the small of my back, exerting a possessive touch that has my stomach churning.

The clamor of the ballroom muffles into nothingness as Preston's grip tightens on my hip, an unmistakable indication that he wants to talk—or rather consume me whole—away from prying eyes. I feel the cold seep through the threads of my dress as he pulls me into a shadowed alcove where moonbeams dare not reach.

"Addy," his voice slurs with an arrogance that makes my skin crawl.

Preston's clammy lips trail a wet path down my neck, his hands roving with an entitlement that churns my stomach. I can taste the bile rising in my throat as he paws at me, each touch feeling like it leaves a lingering smear on my skin.

The musky scent of sweat mixes with the sharp tang of alcohol on Preston's breath as I fight for composure, my back pressing against the cold wall. The darkness of the corner is a shroud, but not nearly enough to hide me from the predatory gleam in his eyes.

"Is something wrong?" I manage, weaving indifference into my tone.

"Nothing's wrong, babe." He leans closer, and I tilt my head away, but not fast enough. His wet lips smear against mine, a kiss more akin to being marked than cherished. The smell of his cologne, strong and cloying, envelopes me, and I have to fight the urge to gag.

"Please, Preston," I whisper, summoning the will to push back against him without seeming too repulsed. "Not here. If my parents see us..."

He chuckles, a low, ominous sound that resonates in the tight space between us. "You're cute when you play hard to get."

I force a laugh, hollow and brittle. "I'm not playing," I say, hoping he'll mistake the tremor in my voice for coquetry.

I try to steady my breathing, focusing on the rough texture of his tuxedo jacket beneath my hands. His breath is hot on my neck as he shifts his attention from my lips, leaving a trail of unwanted kisses that feel like bruises blooming on my skin. I clench my jaw, the champagne I indulged in threatening to come back up.

"Relax," he murmurs, his hands wandering with a possessiveness that leaves me feeling exposed and vulnerable.

"Can we not do this now?" I plead quietly, trying to keep my voice steady while my insides churn with panic.

"Addy," he says, his voice a low drawl that slithers over my nerves like barbed wire. "I'm getting tired of waiting. You're mine. Your daddy is going to sign those papers, we both know it. When are you gonna stop teasing and give it up?"

His question lands like a punch to the gut, knocking the wind out of me. I swallow hard, trying to will away the tremor in my limbs. "Preston... after the wedding. That's when."

"Is that so?" He leans in closer, his lips brushing against my ear as he speaks, making me cringe inwardly. "Because if you make me wait any longer, sweetheart, I might just take what's owed to me, whether you're ready or not."

I stiffen at the threat, cold dread pooling deep in my stomach. "It won't come to that," I say, my voice barely above a whisper, but still holding firm. "After the wedding."

"Come on, Addy," his voice is a slurred whisper, thick with expectation and something darker. "You can't keep me waiting forever."

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