Page 47 of Cherry Beats

“Stay,” he said.

“You know I can’t.”

“Says who?”

“Me.”

“You can do whatever you want to do.”

“And how long do I stay?”

Presley’s half-smile was ovary-destroying. “At least for breakfast.”

“You have to get ready to leave,” I reminded him quietly, unable to stop the small smile that tugged at the corner of my mouth.

“I don’thaveto do anything I don’t want to do.” He held out his arm. “Come back to me.”

“Oh, the days and nights I dreamed of you saying those words to me throughout high school,” I sang. It was true. If I could have shown the thirteen-year-old version of myself this moment right there, I would have. The promise of Presley West begging me for more would have kept the smile on my face on even the darkest of teenage days.

His eyes trailed up and down my blanket-covered body before they eventually fixed on my face again. They shone like bright blue beacons of devilish delights. Strands of his blonde, wavy hair were splayed on the cushion behind him, making it look like he was wearing a damn halo. His tanned, glowing skin begged for me to lay down on top of him. And those lips. Those sweet, pink, perfectly-shaped lips were parted, waiting for me to accept his invitation. My skin prickled with a promise of more.

My heart begged for it.

My mind, however, was having a panic attack.

You’re never going to get over this, it taunted me.

I had to look away.

Moving around the room, I began to pick up the stray bits of clothing he’d thrown all over the place.

“Do you mind if I take a quick shower?”

“Do whatever you want.”

Presley was staring up at the ceiling now, one arm above his head while the other hung limply over the edge of the sofa. He was lost in a private thought, a moment of silence and calm, and I would have given anything to know what he was thinking.

“Thank you, rock star,” I said with a smile.

His head slowly rolled my way, and when our eyes connected, his smile came alive.

I shuffled over to him with my hands full of clothes and blanket. My cheeks were flaming red with lust. I wanted him so badly that it was painful. The whole world was going to want him this way soon, and the thought of sharing him with anyone else ever again made my stomach roll with an ugly jealousy I wasn’t proud of.

Leaning down, I pressed a kiss to his stubbly cheek, moving my mouth to his ear. “Whatever you’re feeling right now, I bet Bryan has a song for it.”

Presley’s laughter was husky and raw as I walked away.

“To be loved like you love Bryan Adams. That’s the new dream,” he called out to me.

I smiled all the way to the bathroom—grateful he couldn’t hear my response.

“You already are, Presley. You already are.”

Once inside the bathroom, I closed the door, dumped my clothes on the counter, and I blew out a breath as I stared at my reflection in the mirror.

Cherry red hair in the style of freshly-fucked? Check.

Eyes bright and alive with that post-sex glow? Check.

---