Page 48 of Cherry Beats

Lips swollen from his growing stubble and assaulting kisses? Check.

Cheeks aflame with happiness and desire? Check.

Neck tinged with red and pink marks from his caress? Check.

Chest bouncing with heavy breaths as the reality of what’s happened over the last few hours finally sinks in? Check.

On the outside, I looked good.

It was a good thing I couldn’t see the way my brain was exploding on the inside or the way my heart had its hands over its eyes as she waited for the impending crash.

I dropped the blanket, letting it pool around my feet, and I ran my hands over my stomach, my chest, my breasts, and my waist—all the places he’d spent the night. I could smell him on my skin; still feel the aftershocks of his embrace.

There was no stopping the small smile that broke free as I looked myself in the eye again.

“Remember this,” I mouthed to myself. “Remember all of it.”

The shower was bliss, taking charge of my body and making my skin burn. I’d been standing underneath the pounding water for too long, staring at my feet as I let my head hang limply and my hair fall forward to create a constant waterfall from the ends of it.

I didn’t hear him come inside the bathroom.

It wasn’t until his feet came into view—his toes pressing against my toes—that I pushed the hair from my face, gasping as the water invaded my mouth, and I allowed myself to look up at him.

“You’re staying for breakfast,” he said, not leaving it up for discussion.Presley stepped forward, sliding his fingers into my wet hair and cupping my neck. “I figured I could let you do what you wanted to do, or I could remember who I am—the selfish bastard—and make you do what I want.”

“Selfish bastard wins again, huh?” I blinked repeatedly, trying to see him clearer until he tugged me closer to him and out of the stream of water.

“He always wins, Cherry.”

He crushed his lips to mine, and he stole my tongue, using it as his. He stole my lips, playing with them like they were as easy to manipulate as his drumsticks. He stole my face and my body, breaking them until I was a mushy mess of want and desire at his very fingertips all over again. Without effort, he lifted me, wrapping my legs around his waist, and he pressed me back against the hard, wet tiles.

Then he pushed inside me.

Only this time it felt so much stronger than all the times before—the sting of it too much, both on my body and my soul. His movements were slow and controlled, masterful, and heavy.

Presley’s breaths fell into my ear. His grunts, pants, and wants filling my head with a fairy tale dream of the hot drummer boy finally falling in love with the sarcastic quirky girl.

“Why can’t I let… you… go?”

“Please,” I panted, closing my eyes and moving where he wanted me to move—riding him with a rhythm he was controlling.

“You want this?”

“Y-yes.”

“Will you stay?”

“Y-yes.”

He pushed inside of me violently, pausing when he was deeper than he’d ever been. “Don’t ever fucking make me beg again.”

I cried out in pure ecstasy, blinded by the intensity of the orgasm that ripped through my body.He came with a guttural moan, burying his head in the curve of my neck, leaving the two of us panting and breathless against the tiles as the water rained down around us.

“What would Bryan Adams say about that?” Presley asked against my skin, still gasping for breath.

“Heaven.”

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