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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 nokidwho’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.
