Locked (PresLocke Series Book 2) (13 page)

I withdrew from his body and then plunged back inside, making him stumble, but he soon got himself stable and shoved back on me with just as much force, his ass swallowing my shaft to the root—
and hell
—my eyes blurred with how phenomenal it felt.

“Dylan…” I said. A warning of sorts as he slid himself off me and then, once again, propelled his hips back, impaling himself.

“Do it,” he said, and aimed frenzied eyes my way. “Stop being so damn polite when we both know you’re dying to be anything but.”

And with those words, something inside me snapped. The hand I had covering Dylan’s on the rail moved to the back of his shirt, which was hanging over the two of us, obstructing my view, and now I wanted to see, wanted to watch my shaft disappear in his hole.
 

I gathered the black material of his shirt and balled it into my fist, and then slid it up his spine to hold it at the back of his neck in a firm grip. As I held it there, I forced Dylan forward until he was so close to the staircase I knew I would be cleaning up the mess he was about to make, as opposed to having to explain it to someone. But for now, watching both of his hands come up and twine around the banister for a better hold, as I began to piston into him with as much power and force as I was capable of, was a rush.
 

The words escaping Dylan were demanding and uninhibited as he asked for exactly what he wanted from me.
 

Bite me.

Harder.
 

More.
 

Deeper.
 

Give it to me.
 

And I did every single thing he asked of me, as he hung on for dear life, and I took him in a way I’d only ever imagined taking someone.

With my hand still gripping his neck, I brought my other one up to cover his on the banister and crushed him to the solid surface of the base of the stairs. I wedged my feet between his as I pounded into him, completely out of my mind with my need and lust for him, and when he turned his head, I caught his lips in an aggressive and bruising kiss.
 

The taste of him and the moan that drifted past his lips had my orgasm slamming into me, and Dylan jerked his head away and shut his eyes as his arms tensed and his fingers turned white where he had a killer grasp on the rails. Then, without any physical stimulation to his engorged cock, Dylan came with so much passion and force that my breath rushed out of me as my name left his throat on a thunderous shout.
 

Fuck
. That was so damn sexy, and I couldn’t help but wonder if he’d be able to talk tomorrow as I slumped against him, curious as to how quickly I could strip him from his clothes and convince him to start round two.

12

PG-13

“ACE,” I MUMBLED the next morning through the haze of sleep. His bare chest was currently serving as my pillow, and I snuggled into him deeper, unwilling and unable to open my eyes yet. But the persistent ring of Ace’s phone had other ideas.

“Ace.” I gave him a gentle shake. “Gonna get that?”
 

All that greeted me was a grumble, and then Ace’s strong arms wrapped around my back, holding me in place against him. His voice was thick with sleep as he said, “They can leave a message.”

And just as the words came out of his mouth, the ringing stopped, and with a yawn, I settled back into him. For about five seconds.
 

As the rings reverberated again off the walls of Ace’s mammoth bedroom, my eyes finally cracked open. Pushing myself up, I said, “Okay, you have to answer that or turn the phone off.”

“Too early.”

A quick glance at the clock told me otherwise. “Actually, it’s after ten.”

“What?” Ace said, shooting up in the bed. “How is it after ten?”

Stretching my arms over my head, I gave him a grin. “That’s what happens when you fuck me all night.” When Ace’s brow shot up as if to ask,
Is that a problem?
I added, “Not that I’ll ever complain about that.”

“That’s just cause for more punishment right there,” he said, with a sinful smile on his lips, and when he went to move on top of me, I pushed him back.
 

“Ace, I’m gonna drown your phone in the hot tub if you don’t answer it.”

His hand went over his heart, and then he laughed and rolled over to grab his phone. He hit the speakerphone button and said, “Hello?”

“Mr. Locke, we’ve got unannounced visitors at the gate for you.”

“I’m sure you do, Pete. All with cameras in their hands, no doubt.”

The neighborhood security guard cleared his throat. “Actually, sir, they claim to be your parents.”

“My parents?” Ace frowned. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, sir. Dan and Patricia Locke, of twenty-three Cliff Acre Court in Chicago—”

“Ace Samuel Locke, you tell this young man we didn’t fly across the country to see our son through a fence. Now, be a doll and open up.”

“Yeah, yeah, that’s… Shit. Send them through.” Ace rubbed his forehead as Pete acknowledged his request and hung up. Then he looked at me, his face full of apology.
 

“So…” I said. “Your parents are here.”

“And I’m sorry in advance,” he said, jumping out of the bed and then throwing on his pants from the night before.
 

“I think I said those same words to you before you Skyped with mine.”
 

“And the difference there is that your family is chill as hell.”

“Chill is definitely the right word.”

“Mine are…” Ace hit a button on his phone to open the gate in front of his house. Then he looked at me and shrugged. “Not.”

As a silver Mercedes-Benz pulled into Ace’s driveway, he leaned over the bed and gave me a quick kiss.
 

“Just come down when you’re ready,” he said, and then left the room to head downstairs.
 

I watched from the window as the car pulled to a stop in front of the house, and a silver-haired man in a pristine suit got out from the driver’s seat and went around to the passenger’s side to open the door. The woman that stepped out had a shock of short white-blonde hair, and she wore a below-the-knee dress. As Ace’s mom took her husband’s arm and walked up to the front door, my first thought was that they looked like they were heading to a church service. Ace hadn’t spoken much about his parents, but I did know he’d been raised Catholic and was an only child, and, merely from a first impression, I could tell they were the complete opposite to Ziggy and Sunshine.
 

My second thought was that my pants were still on the floor of the foyer from where I’d kicked them off before Ace and I had gone for round two last night.
Shit. Double shit.
Hopefully Ace had gotten rid of them before they walked in, or that’d be a helluva way to make a first impression. But considering I couldn’t just go bare-assed downstairs, I was now officially pantsless. That’s what I got for never being presumptuous and bringing an overnight bag.
 

Rifling through Ace’s drawers, I pulled out a pair of jeans that I knew would be way too big on me—his quads were huge—and a plain t-shirt. Best I could do under the circumstances, but then, it wasn’t like they were seeing me for the first time either. They were well aware of who their son was dating, and I could only hope this visit was a positive one. Ace had enough people giving him a hard time right now, so the last thing he needed was to have his parents jumping on him.
 

Voices echoed up from the foyer as I headed to the master bathroom to freshen up, and I felt a slight flutter of nerves in the pit of my stomach.
 

Time to meet the parents.

* * *

“MOM, DAD,” I said, after opening the front door to greet them before they could knock. “This is a nice surprise. What brings you out this way?”

“Look at you, not even dressed yet,” my mom said, her sharp eyes giving me a once-over before she stepped inside and greeted me with an air kiss on each side of my face.
 

“I had a late night.”

“Mhmm, so I read.” She took out a rolled newspaper from her purse and held it up. On the front page was a picture of me and Dylan with our heads close together in an intimate embrace.

At least they only caught us from the waist up.

“Hey, Dad,” I said when he walked inside and gave me the firm, take-no-bullshit handshake I’d learned from him.
 

Giving me a curt nod, he said, “Good to see you, son.”

“Why didn’t you tell me you were in town?” I asked.

“It wasn’t to ambush you, dear. No need to act so defensive,” my mom said as the two of them walked farther into the foyer.

“Of course not,” I muttered, closing the door behind them. And when I turned around to see my mother staring over at the pants that were—
yeah, shit, exactly where I’d stripped them off Dylan the night before—
I jumped into action, stepping around in front of them and ushering them off toward the large sitting room at the front of the house. “It’s just you usually call and let me know when you’re coming. And it’s been, what? Seven…no, eight months since you last visited?”

My mother’s heels click-clacked over the tile as she followed behind my father, who’d strolled through the archway entry and headed over to the recliner he favored when he came over. “Ace, let’s not play stupid. We raised you better than that,” she said.

I slid my hands into the pockets of my crumpled pants, and when I caught my mother’s disapproving gaze, I bit my tongue. “So, you’re here because of…?”

“Why don’t you get dressed and we’ll discuss it over brunch?”

“I’m not really up for a big scene today, so why don’t we just hang out here and I’ll make some tea and coffee—”

“And deprive us of the fabulous restaurants just down the street?” My mom tsked. “We don’t get to enjoy the sunshine and fresh air with our meals, so how about you be a dear and run up and get a shower. We’ll wait.”

I let out a sigh. “Look, I’ve actually got company, so it’s not a great time right now. And you’ve seen the papers. It’s not exactly going to be a fun, quiet outing.”

When my mom couldn’t hide the sparkle of excitement that lit her eyes at that comment, I felt a stab of resentment. That was why they were here. For the attention. For their friends at the elite Cliff Acre Country Club to see them in the papers and on TV dining in Beverly Hills, surrounded by a frenzy of people shouting questions at them like they were superstars. I cringed at the thought of anyone enjoying what I tried so hard to avoid, but it wasn’t like I hadn’t known the kind of people my parents were. They weren’t bad people by any means, but they definitely…
enjoyed
the lifestyle my success had afforded them.

“Oh, pish posh,” Mom said with a wave of her hand. “You know we don’t care about a little ruckus.”

Yeah, but I do.

“Why don’t you go and get yourself put together and we’ll head out on the hour?”

I glanced at the clock to see it was ten fifteen, and wanted to groan. The last thing I wanted to do today was head out for brunch where we would be inundated by every single photographer within a twenty-mile radius. But what was the alternative? Start an argument?

I was about to turn on my heel and head back upstairs to see if Dylan had climbed out one of the windows and shimmied down a drainpipe, when I heard a throat clear from behind me. I pivoted around to see him standing just inside the archway in one of my Nike workout shirts, which swam all over him, and a pair of my jeans that made him look like a wannabe rap artist because they were barely hanging on to his hips.
 

The chagrined expression on his face was full of apology as he walked over to me, and when the denim slipped a notch and he had to tug them back up his legs, I couldn’t help the laugh that escaped me. His eyes darted over my shoulder, and I knew Dylan well enough to know that he wished he looked more put together than he currently was, but hell, he looked kind of adorable. Plus, he wasn’t the only one who’d been taken by surprise; I was in last night’s dress slacks, which had definitely seen better days, and a faded t-shirt that read
Morning Wood Lumber Company
, and had pine trees across the chest.
 

Yeah, clearly we hadn’t been expecting to receive visitors this morning.

“Hi,” Dylan said, giving my parents a smile that was bigger than anything I’d had yet to muster. Then he stepped forward to shake my father’s hand. “Dylan Prescott. It’s nice to finally meet you both.”

My father nodded. “Dan Locke, and this is Patricia.”

When Dylan went to greet my mother, she gave him her standard double air kisses—where she’d learned that in the past few years, I had no idea—and then moved back to give him another assessing look.
 

“You’re taller than I thought you’d be,” she said, tapping her lips with her pointer finger. “Oh, I don’t mean any offense by that, of course. It’s just I’ve seen these actors that work with Ace, and he always towers above them in person. So tiny, these men. They make them much bigger in Chicago.”

Dylan gave her a megawatt smile, the one he’d be famous for sooner than later. “I live in Florida.”

“Ah, well then, there you go,” she said, nodding, her eyes dropping down to the hand he had holding his—well,
my
—jeans up.

“Sorry,” he said, looking down at his outfit. “It’s laundry day.”

My parents chuckled, and then turned toward each other, a look I couldn’t decipher passing between them. When my mother turned back to us, she gave Dylan a pleasant, but stiff, smile.
 

“Well, dear, it’s nice to meet you,” she said, and then her eyes shifted to me. “We came by because we were hoping we could take Ace out for brunch to…catch up on things. It’s so impersonal to have these conversations over the phone, you know.”

But in front of eavesdropping patrons and a fuck ton of paparazzi is much more personal.