Page 17 of Cherry Beats

And suddenly, I wasn’t in the bar anymore. I was with him—letting his hands roam over my waist while I locked up the bar on that fateful night three years ago.

I hissed, bouncing on my toes as I tried to turn the heavy key in the lock. I’d been going for looking cool and slick, but with Presley’s chest pressed to my back and those sweet breaths of his against my neck, I was becoming heady and uncoordinated.

“Need some help?” His lips brushed against the lobe of my ear.

“Funny how you’re offering up help but only actually dishing out distractions.”

“I can’t wait to get you home and fuck you.”

Presley slid a hand between my legs, his palm rubbing over the heat I was trying to hide beneath leather trousers. I groaned, inhaling shaky breaths, ready to throw off my clothes in the middle of the street and let him screw me up against the glass doors. But he slowly began to pull his hand away, leaving me aching, wanting and on fire. One touch. One touch had my knees feeling weak.

Tonight was going to break me forever.

Curling his fingers around my hand, Presley lifted the heavy handle on the door and turned the key with me. Slowly. Precisely. With very little effort at all.

“Are you good at everything?” I asked in a whisper.

“Yes.”

“Humble, too.”

“I refuse to live in this self-deprecating age, Cherry. It’s creating addicts, depression, and suicide on every corner. Just because I know what I’m good at, it doesn’t mean I don’t know my faults, too.”

“You have faults?” I scoffed, tucking the key away in the safety of my bag and turning to face him. His piercing eyes shot me straight in the vagina with a passion bullet.

Presley raised a brow and smirked weakly. It was barely there, which made it sexier.

“Care to tell me just one of them?” I wrapped my bag over my shoulder and tugged it down by my side. “You know, so when you leave me behind for the glitz, glamour, and the Victoria’s Secret models, I can reminisce aboutthis one fault of yours and think to myself, ‘Fuck that loser. He was damaged goods. I’m glad he left town, dragging his fault in tow.’”

His huff of laughter was sexy, too. Shocker. No surprise. Maybe I should just stop telling you he’s sexy, and you can assume that from every single moment from here on in that Presley Aron West was fucking sexy.

“I’m selfish,” he said like it was the simplest thing to state.

“How selfish are we talking?”

“Level ten. Easy.”

“Of how many levels?”

“Not that many. Maybe five.”

“Going off the scale? Gotcha.” I groaned.

Presley stepped forward, closing the gap between us, and dragged the pad of his thumb over my pouting bottom lip.

“Unless I’m in bed,” he whispered, his bright eyes staring down at me. “In bed, I’m all about charity.”

I blew out a breath as I looked up at him.

“You scared?” he asked softly.

“Little bit.”

Presley cupped my face and leaned in closer. “Don’t worry, Cherry. Your body will burn, but you sure as shit won’t be in Hell.”

And with one slip of his tongue, I was his.

“Hey, lady! You deaf or something?”

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