The music changes, and Elvis’s “Can’t Help Falling in Love” comes on. Kent grins, waggling his brows, as he spins me around, and I realize he must have planned this. My insides soften, and I smile at my boyfriend, all tension temporarily forgotten. He reels me into his arms, a quirky lopsided grin on his mouth, as he sings to me in his terribly bad yet terribly cute Elvis impersonation.
He is loud, so damn loud, and his brothers move in closer to us, all of them dancing with their wives, grinning and laughing, as they watch Kent serenade me. At the very end, he dips me down so low my hair trails the ground, and then he whips me up into his arms, forcing my legs to go around his waist, holding me in his strong embrace while he kisses the shit out of me.
In front of everyone.
Catcalls and hollers ring out around us as Kent finally sets me down. I clutch him when he sways a little, keeping him steady. “I love you, Presley,” he says. “Love you so much, baby.” He buries his face in my neck, pressing his hot mouth to my ear. “I couldn’t have done this without you. You are my rock, baby. Don’t ever leave me. Please.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Presley
Kent falls in the door of our cabin an hour later, and I lunge for him, grabbing the back of his shirt and stopping him from face-planting the floor. He laughs, rolling to the ground on his back, pulling me down on top of him. His leg juts out, and he slams the door shut with his foot. “Baby, I wanna sex you up,” he slurs, his hands fumbling under the hem of my dress. He’s been insatiable today, mauling me any chance he got. His brothers lost no opportunity to tease him over his grabby hands, and Mrs. Hayes sent disgusted looks in our direction whenever she noticed how amorous my boyfriend was.
I attempt to climb off him, but he slaps my ass, holding me in place while he thrusts his hips up, ensuring I feel his rock-hard erection digging into my stomach. “Feel that, baby. That monster is all for you.”
“Honey.” I smush his face in my hands. “I want that monster, but I also want to wear this gorgeous dress again, and if you don’t let me up, I know you’re going to rip it off my body, and that will make me mad.” I lightly slap his face. “So, if you want to put your cock in my pussy, let me up.” I drill him with a “don’t mess with me” look that works.
He stumbles to his feet with me, and we strip out of our clothes, tossing them on the couch. Kent is a mess, falling on his butt as he tries to pull his pants off, and I crawl toward him, helping him to undress. Then he’s on me, grabbing at me like he can’t get enough, driving his tongue in my mouth while he pumps his fingers inside me. I’m already wet because he’s been working me into a frenzy today. “Sit on me,” he commands. “Reverse cowgirl. I wanna pull your hair.”
I sit up and turn around with my back to his face, sitting on his lower stomach, stroking his erection. He hands me a condom, and I roll it down over his thick length before positioning myself over it and slowly lowering down. I like this position because he can fuck me and play with my tits and my clit, but I miss the intimacy of seeing his face.
Kent wraps his hand around my hair as I use my legs to move up and down on him. He yanks my head back, using my hair like a leash, and his free hand wraps around my throat, squeezing. Kent likes it rough a lot, but I never complain, because every way we do it is orgasmic.
Moans slip from my lips as I rock up and down on him, and he pivots his hips, thrusting up inside me while he tugs on my hair and presses in on my throat. I move my hands down my body, over the place where our bodies meet, reaching for his balls to play with them. Because I can’t look down, not with the way he has my hair pulled back, I miscalculate, and my fingers graze against his asshole instead.
The response is immediate and terrifying.
Kent roars, letting loose a string of expletives, as his hand tightens on my neck, squeezing and squeezing until it feels like I can’t breathe. Panic slaps me in the face as my air supply is constricted, and I stop moving on him, grabbing his arm with both my hands, trying to loosen his grip.
His hand tightens further, and black spots mar my vision while the room spins. I sink my nails into his arm while choking sounds rip from my throat. I thrash around on top of him with tears leaking from my eyes. My eyelids close, and the pain in my chest is so tight. My hands drop from his arm, and my body sags as my vision flickers in and out.
And then the pressure is gone, and I’m falling forward, slumping against the floor as I suck in air, my chest heaving as I drag oxygen into my lungs. Tears leak from my eyes, and my heart is pounding as relief sluices through my veins.
I’m lying motionless on the floor, on my stomach, sobbing, and laboring for breath. Pulling my knees up, I tuck them into my chest as I automatically curl into a fetal position. Behind me, Kent is mumbling and crying, none of the words distinguishable. A steady thumping sound accompanies his anguished cries, and I want to move, to turn around to see if he’s okay, but I think I’m in shock.
“Presley,” Kent cries, his voice shaky as he crawls to my side. “Baby, I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry. I didn’t mean it. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
His hand lands on my head, and I flinch, scooting away from him, sitting up against the wall in the main room, tucking my legs back into my chest, and wrapping my arms protectively around myself. Burying my face in my knees, I cry. Huge wracking sobs rip from my chest as if they’ve come straight from my soul. The pain spearing me on the inside reminds me of the pain I felt the day I lost my Tillie.
“Presley, baby, please don’t cry. Please, baby, I’m begging you. Don’t cry. I will fix this. I will make it right. Just tell me what to do, Pres. Please, baby. Look at me,” Kent pleads.
This time, when he touches me, his hand softly brushing against my leg, I don’t flinch. I lift my head, staring at the man I love—this broken, tormented stranger—through blurry eyes, wondering how the hell we ever could come back from this. “You could have killed me,” I whisper between sobs. “I couldn’t breathe, Kent. You weren’t stopping.”
Tears pour down his face. “It wasn’t me, and it wasn’t you. I was lost to the rage, and I didn’t know what I was doing.” His chest heaves, and he wraps his arms around his body as he rocks back and forth. “I would never hurt you, Presley. I love you. You’re the only good thing in my life. Please don’t leave me, baby. Please don’t leave me. I didn’t know it was you. It was him. It was him I was killing. It was him. It’s alwayshim.”
He stops rocking and jumps to his feet. Grabbing a vase from the coffee table, he throws it down on the ground, roaring and shouting. It smashes into pieces, and I stop crying, watching in horror as Kent slams his head into the wall, repeatedly hitting his forehead, while he cries and screams.
Finding strength from somewhere, I get to my feet and go to him, wrapping my arms around him from behind. He stops hurting himself, but he doesn’t move, resting his forehead against the wall while I cling to his back and cry. His hand threads through mine over his stomach, and the only sound in the room is his strangled breathing and my cries.
Sometime later, I let him lead me to bed. He tucks me in, pressing a kiss to my cheek. His red-rimmed eyes are full of remorse when his gaze dips to my neck, and I’m guessing bruises are already forming. “For as long as I live, I will never forgive myself for this,” he says in a hoarse voice. “I’m so very sorry, Presley.”
I’m exhausted. It’s been a draining day, and even if I wasn’t exhausted, I still wouldn’t know what to say.
He pulls a blanket off the chair and grabs one of the pillows. “I’ll sleep on the couch.”
I say nothing. I just close my eyes and wait for sleep to claim me. Maybe when I wake up, I’ll have some clue what to do.
His lips brush against my temple. “I love you, Pres. I know it probably doesn’t seem like that now, but it’s true. It’s the only truth I fully believe in right now.”
