Beautiful Beginning
Page 48
He laughed, bending to run his nose along my jaw. “There’s also a duffel bag in the limo outside that has several of my ties to get kinky with, the bottle of lube from the drawer, and a few other things.”
“What other things?”
“Trust me,” he said.
“Where are we going?” I asked, tripping after him when he tugged my hand and led me forward.
“Trust me.”
“Do we have to fly?”
He playfully smacked my ass, growling, “Christ, woman, trust me,” in my ear.
“Am I going to have orgasms tonight?”
He turned pulled me close to his side and said, “That’s the plan. Now shut up.”
Chapter Eight
Bennett helped me climb into the back of the limo and then slipped the blindfold over my face, tying it firmly behind my head. It was wide and tight; the bastard had anticipated my plan to peek, and the silken fabric covered half my face. I was left in total darkness.
But beside me, I could sense when he shifted closer, could smell the clean, crisp sagey smell of him when he leaned in, sucked gently on my collarbone.
“Are you going to f**k me in this car?” I asked, reaching out blindly for him. I found his arm and pulled it around me.
His rumbling chuckle vibrated along my collarbones, from one side to the other, and I felt him reach for the hem of my wedding dress and slowly drag it up my legs.
Bennett’s fingertips tickled their way past my knee, along the inside of my thigh and to the thin white lace barely covering my pu**y. He slid a knuckle under the fabric, dragging it back and forth over the already-slick skin beneath.
“Fuck,” he hissed. “Goddamnit, Chlo.” He pulled back, sliding two fingers into me, pumping them deep. “I’m not feeling particularly gentle tonight.”
Arching my neck, I gave his mouth better access to the most vulnerable part of my throat, whispering, “Good. I don’t want you slow and sweet.”
“But it’s our wedding night,” he argued with mock sincerity. “Shouldn’t I gently lay you on a feather bed and bring you endless, loving pleasure?”
I reached for his hand, pressed it harder into me. “You can do that when I’m bruised and sore afterwards, in the middle of the night.”
His laugh was so dark, and communicated such barely restrained need that it sent shivers down my back. I felt his breath on my ear when he asked, “So I have permission to be rough?”
I nodded, my throat suddenly dry. “Encouragement, even.”
“Maybe a little filthy?” When I answered with a nod, he growled, “Tell me.”
I exhaled, a shaking, tense breath. “I want you filthy. I want you wild and impatient tonight. It’s how I feel.”
He twisted his wrist, and pushed a third finger into me so deep I felt the cool of his wedding ring against my skin, and I cried out from the sensation of the pressing metal, of being stretched tight. His thumb made teasing, maddening circles just around my clit, expertly never quite touching exactly where I wanted it. Traffic sounds grew to a crescendo and then ebbed into silence, and the steady thump of bridge spacers sounded beneath the wheels.
“Are we leaving Coronado?”
“Yes.”
“Are we getting on a plane?” I asked again.
“Does my hand not feel good?” Irritation simmering in his voice.
“. . . what?” I asked, confused.
“Are you distracted by the street, rather than the three fingers currently f**king you?”
“I—?”
He pulled his hand out and reached for my shoulders, pulling me off the seat and dragging me so I kneeled on the floor. I felt him shift around to pull me closer, and I realized I was positioned between his legs. The sound of his belt, his zipper, and his pants being shoved down his hips cut through the quiet.
“Come here,” he said on an exhale, cupping the back of my head. “Suck.”
Despite the single rough word, his touch grew careful as I began to lower my mouth over him, as if he wasn’t sure how to blend his pent-up need to come with the reality of our brand-new marriage. We’d talked for cumulative hours about how things would be in this very moment—the two of us finally alone, married, and faced with the reality that it might be different—but now that we were in it, I could tell Bennett was a little torn.
We’d said no way would it feel different: it was just two rings, just a piece of paper.
We’d said we’d never stop being hard on each other, or start having easily bruised feelings.
“What other things?”
“Trust me,” he said.
“Where are we going?” I asked, tripping after him when he tugged my hand and led me forward.
“Trust me.”
“Do we have to fly?”
He playfully smacked my ass, growling, “Christ, woman, trust me,” in my ear.
“Am I going to have orgasms tonight?”
He turned pulled me close to his side and said, “That’s the plan. Now shut up.”
Chapter Eight
Bennett helped me climb into the back of the limo and then slipped the blindfold over my face, tying it firmly behind my head. It was wide and tight; the bastard had anticipated my plan to peek, and the silken fabric covered half my face. I was left in total darkness.
But beside me, I could sense when he shifted closer, could smell the clean, crisp sagey smell of him when he leaned in, sucked gently on my collarbone.
“Are you going to f**k me in this car?” I asked, reaching out blindly for him. I found his arm and pulled it around me.
His rumbling chuckle vibrated along my collarbones, from one side to the other, and I felt him reach for the hem of my wedding dress and slowly drag it up my legs.
Bennett’s fingertips tickled their way past my knee, along the inside of my thigh and to the thin white lace barely covering my pu**y. He slid a knuckle under the fabric, dragging it back and forth over the already-slick skin beneath.
“Fuck,” he hissed. “Goddamnit, Chlo.” He pulled back, sliding two fingers into me, pumping them deep. “I’m not feeling particularly gentle tonight.”
Arching my neck, I gave his mouth better access to the most vulnerable part of my throat, whispering, “Good. I don’t want you slow and sweet.”
“But it’s our wedding night,” he argued with mock sincerity. “Shouldn’t I gently lay you on a feather bed and bring you endless, loving pleasure?”
I reached for his hand, pressed it harder into me. “You can do that when I’m bruised and sore afterwards, in the middle of the night.”
His laugh was so dark, and communicated such barely restrained need that it sent shivers down my back. I felt his breath on my ear when he asked, “So I have permission to be rough?”
I nodded, my throat suddenly dry. “Encouragement, even.”
“Maybe a little filthy?” When I answered with a nod, he growled, “Tell me.”
I exhaled, a shaking, tense breath. “I want you filthy. I want you wild and impatient tonight. It’s how I feel.”
He twisted his wrist, and pushed a third finger into me so deep I felt the cool of his wedding ring against my skin, and I cried out from the sensation of the pressing metal, of being stretched tight. His thumb made teasing, maddening circles just around my clit, expertly never quite touching exactly where I wanted it. Traffic sounds grew to a crescendo and then ebbed into silence, and the steady thump of bridge spacers sounded beneath the wheels.
“Are we leaving Coronado?”
“Yes.”
“Are we getting on a plane?” I asked again.
“Does my hand not feel good?” Irritation simmering in his voice.
“. . . what?” I asked, confused.
“Are you distracted by the street, rather than the three fingers currently f**king you?”
“I—?”
He pulled his hand out and reached for my shoulders, pulling me off the seat and dragging me so I kneeled on the floor. I felt him shift around to pull me closer, and I realized I was positioned between his legs. The sound of his belt, his zipper, and his pants being shoved down his hips cut through the quiet.
“Come here,” he said on an exhale, cupping the back of my head. “Suck.”
Despite the single rough word, his touch grew careful as I began to lower my mouth over him, as if he wasn’t sure how to blend his pent-up need to come with the reality of our brand-new marriage. We’d talked for cumulative hours about how things would be in this very moment—the two of us finally alone, married, and faced with the reality that it might be different—but now that we were in it, I could tell Bennett was a little torn.
We’d said no way would it feel different: it was just two rings, just a piece of paper.
We’d said we’d never stop being hard on each other, or start having easily bruised feelings.
