Sea Breeze 04 - Just for Now

he was taking off his clothes. First his shirt. I wanted to see his chest. I’d heard from girls giggling about it around town that he had one of the tightest, most ripped stomachs they’d ever seen. Rumor was, even Mrs. Gunner, the wife of one of the city council members, had slept with Preston. I didn’t believe that, though. He was just too pretty to have sex with someone her age. I heard a crinkle and started to ask what he was doing when it dawned on me—he’d opened a condom wrapper.
    His hands started running up the insides of my legs, and I didn’t care so much about Mrs. Gunner or the other rumors I’d heard about his sex life.
    “Open up.” His husky demand got the desired effect. I let my legs fall open. His hand slipped right up to the edge of my panties. With one finger he ran down the center of my warmth. “These panties are fucking soaked.” The approval in his voice eased any embarrassment I might have felt from a comment like that.
    Both his hands reached up and slipped my panties down until they were at my ankles. Preston knelt down and slipped each of my high heels through the holes. Then he stood up and leaned over me. “I’m keeping these.”
    My panties?
    “Lay back,” Preston said as his body came over mine.
    I reached back to make sure that the box was large enough for me to lie all the way back. “You got plenty of room, Manda. Lay back,” Preston repeated.
    I didn’t want him to change his mind or possibly sober up, so I did as I was told. The cardboard was sturdy and full of something firm and heavy, because we didn’t even put a dent in it.
    Preston’s mouth lowered to mine and I prepared myself for our first kiss, when he stopped. His lips hovered over mine only for a second before he moved away and began kissing my neck. What had just happened? Did my breath smell bad? I’d just had a peppermint inside the bar.
    The little licks and nibbles he was making along my collarbone made it hard for me to think too clearly about it.
    Then his hips lowered and both of his hands shoved my skirt up around my waist. I didn’t have too much time to prepare myself before he was pressing against my entrance.
    “Tight, fuck, fuck, it’s so tight,” Preston whispered, and his body trembled over me, making the sharp pain between my legs a little more bearable. “I can’t hold back, Manda. Fuck it . . . I can’t.”
    Pain sliced through me, and I screamed and bucked underneath him. He was cursing while saying my name as he slid in and out of me. The pain slowly started to ease, and I felt the first tremor of pleasure.
    “AHHH, holy shit,” Preston cried out, and his body jerked over me. I wasn’t sure what exactly had just happened, but from the small moans coming from him, he enjoyed it.
    When he didn’t move anymore and the hard length inside of me began to go away, I realized it was over. Preston pushed himself back away from me and slowly pulled out of me as he muttered more curse words. He moved, and from what I could see, he was putting on his shirt. Already?
    I sat up and pushed my skirt down. The fact that I was on display suddenly mattered. When I heard the zipper on his jeans, I quickly fastened my bra and started buttoning my shirt.
    “Manda.” His voice sounded sad. “I’m sorry.”
    I opened my mouth to ask him what for, because what we’d just done I’d completely asked for, when he opened the door and walked off into the darkness.

Chapter One
    Three months later . . .
Preston
    The bottom step was rotten. I needed to put fixing that on my priority list. One of the kids was going to run down them and end up with a twisted ankle—or worse, a broken leg—if I ignored it. Stepping over it, I walked the rest of the way up the steps to my mother’s trailer.
    It had been a week since I’d stopped by and checked on things. Mom’s latest boyfriend had been drunk, and I’d ended up taking a swing at him when he’d called my seven-year-old sister, Daisy, a chickenshit for spilling her glass of orange juice. I’d busted his lip. Mom had screamed at me and told me to get out. I figured a week was enough time for her to get over it.
    The screen door swung open, and a big gap-toothed smile greeted me.
    “Preston’s here!” Brent, my eight-year-old brother, called out before wrapping his arms around my legs.
    “Hey, bud, what’s up?” I asked, unable to return the hug. My arms were full of groceries for the week.
    “He brought food,” Jimmy, my