THE SOUND OF my doorbell being rung incessantly woke me out of a dead sleep.
I shot up in the bed, even as my eyes struggled to open, and reached over to switch on the lamp. A quick glance at the time on my phone showed that it was after one a.m., which meant I hadn’t been asleep for too long.
I couldn’t help the panic that filled my chest as the doorbell kept ringing, wondering who it could be at such a late hour and automatically thinking it was an emergency. There were no missed calls or texts on my phone, but that didn’t mean much, and I quickly threw on the pajama pants by my bed and practically ran downstairs.
Please let everything be okay, please let Serena be fine—
After turning off the alarm, I threw open the door…and my heart seized.
It wasn’t a police officer standing there, or even a firefighter. It was someone even more unwelcome, if that was possible.
Preston was leaning against the exterior wood paneling of my porch, his finger on the doorbell, continuing to hit the button until he finally looked up to realize I was standing there in front of him. His hand dropped to his side and his glazed eyes widened before doing a long, lazy once-over of my body.
“Wow. You’re shirtless,” he said, words slurring as he pushed off the wall, but the move caused him to stumble precariously close to the edge of the stairs, and I jerked forward, grabbing him by the arms before he could fall.
“Preston, what the fuck?” The panic I’d felt before opening the door turned into shock once I saw who was standing there, but now? Having a drunken visitor in the middle of the night was wild enough, but Preston?
Unacceptable.
“Have you lost your mind?” I snapped, righting him so he could stand on his own. The moment he stopped swaying, I took a step back, because I didn’t need to be touching him. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m no one’s mistake.” There was a wild look in his eyes as they narrowed on me, and he took a step forward, like he fully expected to come inside.
No. Hell no. No way was it a good idea to let him in. A sober Preston was dangerous enough, but being drunk and coming here in the middle of the night? It was reckless in a way he wasn’t. At least not usually, which made me wonder what the hell he was doing.
I looked up and down the quiet street, no cars or taxis around. Did he walk all the way here? Shit, I hoped not, since he could barely seem to stand up straight.
“Preston, you can’t be here. You need to go home.”
“I want to come in.”
Of course he wanted what he couldn’t have. “That’s not a good idea.”
“Because I’m a mistake?” He practically spat the word, and suddenly it hit me why he kept saying it.
The texts.
Motherfucker. Instead of warning him away, I’d brought him right to my goddamn door. Looking disheveled in a way I’d never seen him, but that didn’t make him any less appealing. Hell, it probably suited him even better. He’d obviously run his fingers through his hair, ruffling the brown strands that were always so perfectly in place.
Now that I was looking at him, I saw that his sweater was tucked into the back of his pants, leaving him in an unbuttoned collared shirt with the sleeves messily rolled up his forearms. He had to be freezing.
“You need to go home,” I said again, reaching for my phone in my pocket only to realize I’d left it upstairs. Shit. “How’d you get here? Your driver?”
Preston only gave a hint of a smile and licked his lips, and I took that as an affirmative.
I sighed. “Let’s call him. Give me your phone.”
“I’m not leaving,” he said stubbornly.
“You’re not fucking staying.”
A wicked glint sparked his eyes as he leaned forward and whispered, “How about staying and fucking, then?”
If I wasn’t actually standing there, I wouldn’t have believed the words that had just come out of his mouth. But with as close as he was, his words quickly conjured up images that had no business being in my head.
I took a step back, realizing that any kind of conversation was futile. Preston had come here with a mission, and I had a feeling that mission was me. The best thing I could do was get the hell away from him.
“Look, I’m going to go grab my phone. You put your sweater on and—”
“No.” Preston walked forward, and I had two choices: come toe to toe with the guy or back the hell up. The problem was, the only place I could back up into was my house—which was the last place I needed him to be.
“That wasn’t a yes or no question, Preston. It was an—”
“Order?” A relaxed smirk curved his lips as his toes bumped into mine. “Mmm. I can follow those. I told you earlier that I can be a good boy. Let me inside. I’ll show you.”
Jesus. What had I ever done to deserve this? Seriously?
Was I bad person? I didn’t think so. A bad father? Not according to Serena, who seemed as levelheaded as any young woman could be these days.
So that left what? A test? Was I somehow being tested right now?
I hadn’t been lying when I told Benoit I’d been making sure to date and keep myself satisfied, but I was only human, and if Preston had been anyone other than who he was, I would have had him in my house and naked quicker than I could say—
“Enough, Preston.” I put a hand to his chest, and just like that afternoon in the study room, he looked down at it and covered it with his.
“That’s the problem,” he said in a tone I’d never heard from him before. It was low, taunting, and just this side of forbidden. “I haven’t had nearly enough of you, and I don’t think you’ve had enough of me.”
He dragged my hand down his body, under the bright light over my front door, and curled my hand around his thick length. Holy shit.
“If you’re going to call me a mistake, then I’m going to make sure you know what a really fucking big one I am.”
He let go of my hand and left me standing on my front stoop utterly gobsmacked, as he stepped around me and into my house.
My. House.
I spun around in time to see him pull his sweater from the back of his pants and toss it over the banister of the stairs inside the main foyer, then head into the sitting room. As he disappeared out of sight, I shook my head and marched inside, shutting the door behind me.
This was bad. So fucking bad.
Not only was Preston now in my house, but I’d just been forced to lock the drunk little shit in here with me. At least, that’s what I was telling myself. It was late, and cold outside, I wasn’t about to leave the door wide open.
I looked up the stairs, wondering how much trouble he could possibly get in if I were to run up and grab my phone. But then the very real possibility that he might follow popped in my head, and I nixed that idea.
The last thing I needed was Preston Abernathy near my bedroom.
I took in a deep breath and counted back from ten. I could do this. I was the adult here—technically he was too, but I wasn’t about to let myself think like that—and I could deal with a drunk kid.
My palm tingled, reminding me that that was no kid who’d just waltzed into my house like he owned it, but a grown-ass man. A man I needed to toss into a cab and send home right fucking now.
I looked at the coat rack just inside the door and wondered how ridiculous it would be to throw one of them on to cover myself.
Okay, this was just stupid. Was I really standing in my foyer afraid to go and speak to Preston? Preston? The straitlaced guy who’d sat at my dinner table dozens of times and been nothing if not polite? The same guy who was on the road to be some sort of political force in the future?
It was time to put an end to this.
I grabbed his sweater off the banister and stormed into my sitting area, but what I saw when I got there had my feet grinding to a dead stop.
Preston Abernathy, the studious, quiet, polite young man that I knew, was nowhere to be found. In his place was a sexy, disheveled temptation lounged back in one of my leather chairs. His white shirt was unbuttoned at the throat and pulled from his pants, and his legs sprawled apart as he massaged a palm over his “big” mistake.
Fuck.
I swallowed hard. I couldn’t afford to encourage this, no matter how much my traitorous dick wanted to show him otherwise.
As casually as I could manage, I moved the hand holding his sweater in front of me and narrowed my eyes on Preston.
“For fuck’s sake,” I growled, shaking my head as he continued watching me and touching himself. “Stop.”
“Stop what? This?” He tried for an innocence I now knew he never really possessed, and his smile turned feral. Arching his head back, he let out a sexy moan and curled his fingers around his thick length. “If you want me to stop, you’ll have to make me.”
“Preston—”
“God I love the way you say my name.” His eyes opened and locked on mine. He stopped moving his hand, and for a brief moment I thought he was going to give me some relief and realize this wasn’t a good idea.
But then he began to unbutton his shirt. One by one, he flicked each button free, bringing his smooth skin into view. Dark hair lightly dusted his chest, trailing down his fit body, and fuck, I couldn’t tear my eyes away. I needed to. I needed him to leave, because I couldn’t trust either of us to make a good decision.
No, it had to be me. He’d been drinking. He didn’t know what he was doing.
“You want me,” he said, his voice heated but still slightly slurred around the edges. “I won’t tell anyone.”
“You’re drunk.”
A throaty laugh rumbled out of him. “No shit. You called me a mistake. Why would you do that?” As his shirt fell open at the sides, he reached for the button of his pants, and before I could tell him to stop, he had it undone.
Whatever control I thought I had of this situation was clearly a figment of my imagination. I cursed, gripping the back of my neck and turning away from the man trying to lure me into his snare.
“I meant it,” I said, and even to my ears the words didn’t sound at all convincing. “This can’t happen—”
“You’ve said all that.” The sound of his zipper being undone had my jaw clenching and my dick hardening. “But no one has to know.”
Keeping my back to him was the smart thing. Leaving the room would be even smarter.
Another moan from Preston’s lips made my heart beat faster, and my hands were clenched so tight around his sweater that I thought I’d rip the fabric.
“Come touch me.”
“I already told you I’m not touching you again.”
“You’re missing out.” I could hear him shifting in the chair behind me, and I quickly turned around, thinking he was getting up.
But he remained right where he was, only now his pants and boxer briefs were down his thighs, his bare ass on the leather seat, and his hand teasing the head of his dick.
His gorgeous, perfect, long, flushed dick.
My lips parted at the sight, and somehow I’d let go of the hold I had on his sweater. Preston’s eyes dropped to my obvious erection, and he bit down on his lower lip, like he was more than satisfied at my reaction.
“You’re so fuckin’ hot,” he said, running his fist down his length. “Your body… That tattoo. I didn’t even know you had one.”
It was irrational, the wave of pride I felt at having such a gorgeous young thing admiring…me. I kept in shape the best I could, but I wasn’t a twenty-something anymore. To look at Preston’s lustful expression, though, you would’ve thought I was the sexiest motherfucker on the planet.
Why did he have to look at me like that?
“Watch me,” Preston said. “If you won’t touch me, then watch me.”
I shouldn’t. But even when I told him again to stop, it was halfhearted. Because the truth was, I didn’t want him to stop, and that was a dangerous admission I couldn’t say out loud.
Preston spat into his palm and then reached for himself again, stroking his cock from base to tip, and I decided—fuck it.
If there was no way to stop this train wreck, I might as well take a seat, because it was going to happen whether I wanted it to or not.
I moved to the leather chair opposite to him, and the expression on Preston’s face turned downright sinful. His eyes darkened and his cheeks heated as he slowly dragged his tongue along his lower lip.
This was so wrong on every level, I knew that. But when his hips lifted off the seat and the plump head of his dick slid through his tight fist, all I could think about was licking the pre-cum that glistened at the tip.
I dragged my teeth along my lower lip as though I could taste him there, and a low groan met my ears.
“Archer…” My name sounded like a dirty word as it rolled off his tongue, and I reached down to adjust my wayward cock. “Oh, I’m sorry. I’m supposed to call you…Mr. Carrington.”
Goddamn. How did that sound even dirtier than my first name?
This was crazy. But then again, so was the fact that I was eye-fucking my daughter’s boyfriend—no, fake boyfriend—to orgasm right now.
And there was no mistaking that that was what I was doing, as Preston locked eyes with me and that hand of his began to move even faster.
“Tell me you don’t think about that night? That kiss? That it wasn’t a mistake, but denying me was.”
My nostrils flared as I all but strangled my dick in an effort to both punish and stop it from making a fool of me.
“Tell me you don’t want to come over here and taste how much I fucking want you.”
“Preston—”
“Yes… Say that again.”
I was in way over my head at this stage, and nothing I did or said was going to stop this now—and really, did I want it to?
“Preston…”
“Louder.”
“Preston.”
“Yes…”
He closed his eyes and let his head fall back against the chair as he began to fuck his fist in earnest. The sight of him unraveling in front of me was like some kind of magnetic pull. It had to be. That was the only reason why I was on my feet, moving across the room and stopping in front of him.
“Preston.”
His eyes snapped open as I reached down and covered his hand with mine.
“Oh fuck…” Preston’s breath caught as he sucked in a deep swallow, his eyes glazing over as I tightened my fist around his.
“You can follow orders, can you?” Damn, I was in so much trouble. “Then show me. Be a good boy, and come.”
