Chapter 8: Scandalous Park Avenue Prince: Chapter 8

THE THROBBING IN my head was what woke me up. It felt like it was getting smashed in a door repeatedly, and all I could do was lie there and take it.

Ugh, even my eyes hurt, which was why I couldn’t seem to pry them open.

And then there was the unease in my stomach that I didn’t recognize, like a turbulent storm had rolled through, leaving my insides swaying precariously.

God, this had to be the hangover from hell. I remembered doing shots with East, though how he’d convinced me to join in was beyond me⁠—

Wait.

Shit.

I’d been the one to ask him, hadn’t I? Because I’d been pissed off at Mr. Carrington.

My eyes flew open, and that was a mistake. The sun was too bright, sending a fresh wave of pain through my skull.

Was this all from alcohol, or had East given me something even stronger? Because damn, this was intense. It didn’t help that I’d apparently fallen asleep in a chair, judging by the stiffness in my neck and back. I forced my eyes open again.

I was in a chair…that wasn’t mine.

Squinting, I shielded my face from the sun streaming in windows—also not mine—and realized in a heartbeat where I was.

I was at the Carringtons’ place. Mr. Carrington’s place. Sprawled out in a leather chair with a blanket over me. How and why was I here?

The house was quiet as I pushed the blanket aside, but when my bare chest and undone pants came into view, I sucked in a breath. Holy shit, what happened to have me half-naked and alone in a chair at Mr. Carrington’s house?

“That was quite the performance you put on last night.”

I looked up to see Mr. Carrington staring at me, his head slightly cocked, his hands in the pockets of his pants.

He was already dressed like he was heading to the office, in a navy suit and tie that cost more than most people’s rent in the city, or at least from what I’d heard.

Goddamn he was gorgeous, and that wasn’t the alcohol lingering in my system doing the talking. Mr. Carrington wore a suit better than anyone I’d ever seen, and even as hot as that was, I couldn’t help but wonder what was underneath those layers.

His gaze roved over me and a faint smirk appeared as he took in the exposed skin my blanket had uncovered. Belatedly I realized he had a full view of my unzipped pants, my briefs tented with the hard-on that mornings brought.

I pulled the blanket back over my lap—not that he hadn’t already gotten an eyeful—and felt a flush of heat rise up my neck. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to offer Mr. Carrington a view of me, but I was feeling a bit off-kilter, not sure what the hell was happening and figuring I probably looked like a mess, if my clothes were any indication.

What was I doing here? And what did he mean about putting on a performance?

“Preston?”

“Mr. Carrington, um⁠—”

“Oh, we’re back to Mr. Carrington, are we?” He turned on his heel and walked out of the sitting room. “That’s interesting.”

Interesting? What did he mean by that?

I quickly scrambled to my feet to follow, but instantly regretted it when it felt like a boulder rolled around inside my skull.

Holy shit. This was the hangover from hell.

I grabbed hold of my head to make sure it wouldn’t roll off my shoulders, and promised myself I would never, ever go to East for anything again. Even if my life was in danger.

After regaining some semblance of balance, I looked down at my rumpled state and figured I should at least try to look presentable. It was bad enough I was in his house with no knowledge of why. I could at least try to look like I hadn’t gone on a two-week bender before I showed up.

I quickly buttoned my shirt, tucked it in, and zipped up my pants, and still couldn’t for the life of me remember why I’d unzipped them in the first place.

I knew what I wished the reason was, but the likelihood that had happened was nonexistent.

Resigned to the fact that this was as good as it was going to get, I made my way out of the sitting room and spotted my sweater hanging over the banister of the stairs.

That was weird. I didn’t remember putting it there, but maybe Mr. Carrington had?

I stepped inside the kitchen, and Mr. Carrington turned from his espresso machine, coffee cup in hand.

“I figured you could do with one of these.” He handed over the steaming cup.

“Oh my God. This smells like heaven.” I groaned as the aromatic scent hit my nose. When I glanced over the rim of the cup, I noticed Mr. Carrington’s eyes were locked on…my lips.

The throbbing in my head was joined by a distinct throb between my legs as he lifted his gaze back to mine and grinned.

“How’s your head?”

I wasn’t sure, but something about the way he said that made it feel like there was a double meaning there.

“It looked like it was bothering you.”

Or maybe it was just me.

“Yeah, it’s pretty bad.” I grimaced. “I, um, I don’t really remember all that much.”

I wasn’t sure how I expected Mr. Carrington to react, but his deep, sexy chuckle as he turned back to his espresso machine was not it.

Fuck. Clearly I’d embarrassed myself if he was laughing about it. Great. This is what I got for trusting East. I’d wanted to forget last night, forget that humiliating text, and clearly I’d forgotten my brain somewhere in there too.

I might as well just apologize and get it over with.

“Look.” I moved up to the counter, still not entirely sure my legs wouldn’t give out on me. “Whatever I did last night, or said, I’m sorry.”

Mr. Carrington turned back around with his own cup of coffee and ran his eyes over me. How could I have been so stupid to show up on his doorstep last night? It wasn’t like showing up drunk was going to make him think I was less of a mistake.

As regret over anything inappropriate I did began to wash over me, Mr. Carrington walked across the kitchen and stopped a couple of inches from me.

“Why are you sorry?” He leaned against the counter, looking effortlessly sexy. “When you were such a good boy.”

His words immediately hit their mark as the memory of Mr. Carrington standing over me last night flashed through my mind. I’d been in the chair I woke up in, working my dick as I watched him cross the room toward me. At that moment, I hadn’t been feeling any shame, hadn’t been self-conscious in the slightest, not with the hunger I felt for him driving me. And then he was standing there, looking down at me with the same desire in his expression that I’d been feeling, wrapping his hand around mine on my cock, and what he’d said had thrown me over the edge.

“You can follow orders, can you? Then show me. Be a good boy, and come.”

“Holy shit.” It was a miracle I didn’t drop my mug as shock rolled through me. Bits and pieces of the night began to fill my mind, but all I could focus on was Mr. Carrington’s words and the way he was looking at me now. Like he was waiting for me to remember, almost like he hoped I would?

That couldn’t be right. But he’d wanted me to…come for him. And he’d called me a good boy just now for doing what he wanted.

All the blood in my head went straight to my rising cock.

He dropped his gaze to take a greedy look. He wanted me. That much was obvious.

“Looks like you remember,” he said, as a spark of heat appeared in his eyes.

“I… Did we… Did you…?”

He arched a brow. “Did I what?”

Fuck, he wanted me to say it. But I didn’t have whatever liquid courage I’d downed last night, and the words tripped on my tongue.

Just say it. He wants you to.

“You ordered me to come,” I finally said.

“Hmm.” He took a sip of his coffee. “And you did so. Beautifully. All over my hand.”

My eyes almost popped out of my head. “All over your… Fuck.”

His mouth quirked over the edge of his mug. “We didn’t get that far.”

No shit, because there was no way, even as drunk as I was, I would’ve forgotten that.

My mouth had gone dry, and I took a long drink before summoning up what I needed to ask. It would’ve been an unhinged question a day ago, but considering what I’d woken up to, maybe it wasn’t that crazy.

“But you”—I stopped and wet my lips—“want to?”

Oh my God, I’d just asked Mr. Carrington if he wanted to fuck me. I’d imagined it hundreds of times, and now I’d just put it out there.

Then again, I’d come all over his hand last night. That was so depraved that I was ready to combust again right here and now.

He set his mug aside, and I forgot all about the pounding in my head or the way my body physically ached. It was an altogether different kind of ache that overtook me now. The top of my ass hit the counter as he backed me up against it, and I left my coffee there before gripping the edge of the marble.

He didn’t have to touch me for me to feel him everywhere, and his voice was a sexy caress when he said, “I want a lot of things. It’s just a matter of whether I should take them.”

“Like what?” I pushed, not knowing when I’d get another chance like this. I wanted him to spell it out. To reassure me I wasn’t the only one putting himself out there. That he was finally on the same page, or willing to be.

“To start with, I’d like to hear you say my name. My first name.”

A frown creased my forehead. “I didn’t say it last night?”

“You did.” Mr. Carrington lowered his gaze to my lips. “But I want you to say it…sober.”

If he was worried I was about to tell him this was all some kind of drunken mistake, he had nothing to worry about. I was more than happy to say his name.

“Archer.”

Mr. Carr—Archer’s—eyes darkened as though I’d flicked some kind of switch, and he braced a hand on the counter beside me and leaned in until a breeze would’ve had trouble getting between us.

“You’re right,” he said in a voice that vibrated through me. “I have wanted to hear you say that. I just didn’t know how much until you shouted it last night.”

“Touch me right now and I’ll shout it all over again.”

“From just a touch?”

I craned forward, trying to capture his mouth, but he backed up.

“Uh uh, we have things to discuss before that.”

I let out a groan that made him shake his head.

“And apparently patience should be at the top of the list.” He grinned in a way that was so fucking sexy I almost fell to my knees.

Is this really happening?

Archer picked up his mug and eyed me from a safe—but frustrating—distance. “You…are a complication I did not see coming.”

“Well, that’s not true…”

“You’re right. Poor choice of words.”

I ran a palm down my aching length and squeezed, wishing like hell I could come all over again. “No, just frustrating ones.”

“So I see. But you aren’t the only one feeling a little on edge this morning. So I think it’s best if we take a step back and⁠—”

“No.”

“Excuse me?”

I pushed off the counter and walked over to where he stood. I’d come here last night because I’d been shut down. I’d been told what we did was a mistake. Archer wasn’t saying those exact words now, but it felt like that was where he was headed, and I’d be damned if I left his place with him thinking that after everything that he’d just said.

Yeah, because barging into his house, stripping, and coming all over him didn’t get that message across.

“I don’t want to take a step back. I don’t want to leave here and you to go to work, only to convince yourself of all the reasons this is a mistake.” I leveled him with a pointed look. “That I’m a mistake.”

Archer let out a sigh and put his mug down.

“I shouldn’t have sent that message to you last night.” He hooked a finger through the belt loop in my pants and tugged me forward. “I was trying to push you away, make you see that this, whatever this is between us, it’s…”

“Complicated?”

“To say the least.”

Feeling brave, I put a hand to the lapel of his jacket. “It doesn’t have to be.”

Archer scoffed and released me, taking a step back. “Preston, this would be nothing but complicated.”

“Why? Because⁠—”

“I’m on the board at Astor. I’m president of the Elysium. You’re twenty-plus years my junior, and I’m friends with your parents. Oh, and let’s not forget that to the outside world you’re straight and dating my daughter. I need to think about this, Preston, and so do you.”

“So that’s it?” I blinked, trying to wrap my mind around the fact that my one and only time with Archer Carrington would be a drunken haze of a memory. “I’ve waited so long for something like this to happen with you, and the fact it’s blurry— Wait.” My eyes dropped to the impeccably tailored suit jacket he wore, zeroing in on his right bicep. “Do you have a tattoo on your arm, or did I imagine that?”

Archer’s brow rose, but he didn’t answer me. Instead, he finished off his coffee and headed to the sink to rinse and stack his mug. When he crossed back to me, he pushed my coffee in front of me.

“I have to go to work and you have to go to school.” A soft, mocking laugh left him as he shook his head. “Not complicated… Right.”

He went to step around me, but I grabbed his arm. “The tattoo?”

Fire flickered in Archer’s eyes, the heat from seconds ago returning. “Be a good boy, finish your coffee, and let me go to work.”

My dick jerked at the request. “And if I do that?”

“Then the next time I see you, I’ll let you look for yourself.”

“Fuck.” I let go of his arm and nodded. “I can do that.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

Archer left the kitchen, and I followed, leaning against the doorframe to watch him walk down the hall to the front entrance.

“So that means there’ll be a next time?” I said as he reached for the front door.

He stopped and glanced back, his scorching gaze traveling over me, making my heart pound in time to my pulsing dick.

“Well, I can’t exactly avoid you. You’re dating my daughter. Have a good day, Preston.”