The Beau & the Belle
Page 51
“Not good?”
He laughs and hauls me up over his shoulder. It’s the second time today that a man has carried me like a sack of potatoes. The progressive feminist in me is protesting, but not very loudly. His hand grips my ass as he carries me down the stairs. I’m swaying from side to side, my hands outstretched like I’m on an upside-down rollercoaster.
“Too good,” he clarifies faintly.
He couldn’t handle my mouth on him.
My cheeks are flushed. “Oh. Oh.”
Once we’re in his room, he drops me down onto his bed and I sit dutifully on the edge as he bends down in front of me. Now our roles are reversed. I like him on his knees; we’re the same height. Our lips are perfectly aligned. I lean forward and kiss him just like that, because I want to and there’s nothing stopping me. It’s our first kiss of the day, and it feels long overdue. My mouth and hands and tongue speak for themselves: Finally. Yes. I’ve waited so long for this. Minutes pass in a dreamlike state. We’re learning everything we need to know. He’s showing me the ropes. Tilt your head and open your lips. Yes, let me lick and bite and suck. His hands find the back of the bodice and I have no clue how I got myself into this thing, but he manages to get me out of it. It falls to my lap and his hands replace the silk. Hard, warm, calloused hands, rough as they drag across my sensitive skin. Every little nerve in his path is put on notice when his fingertip brushes across them. The neglected ones mount a protest. The only solution is to have him touching every part of me. I need him to push me back and press me down onto the bed, let me feel his full weight.
I break our kiss and inhale. His eyes drop and he indulges in every bare inch of me—my modest breasts, my stomach, which is quivering and shaky no matter how hard I try to contain my body’s reaction to him.
“It’s not polite to stare,” I tease, playfully pushing his shoulder.
He catches my wrist and presses his mouth to my pulse before turning back and smiling. He looks devilish, cunning and dangerous with those bright eyes and tan skin. I think I used to dream about him like this when I was a teenager. I used to wonder what it would be like to have him stare at me just the way he is right now. How did we get here?
“You have a freckle right here,” he says, skimming his hand along the top of my ribcage.
I have to resist the urge to flutter my eyes closed.
“I’ve had it since I was young.”
“It’s not how I imagined.” My face must show my confusion because he shakes his head, his eyes filled with wonder. “You’re not how I imagined.”
Disappointment doesn’t have time to grip hold of my mood because he’s pushing me farther up the bed and whispering into my ear, telling me I’m even better. He sounds hoarse with it, the longing. I feel it too, and I tell him as he lays me back against the pillows.
“I can’t believe this is happening.”
He drops down on his elbows and cages me in against the bed. His mouth drops to mine and my lips part. His weight pins my hips down and I’m so wet, it’s embarrassing. A soft breeze could push me over the edge of climax.
I try to squeeze my thighs together but it only makes it worse. He rolls against me and I feel the first waves start to hit me. I clamp down against it, fighting it off. There is no way I’m coming so easily, so I change tactics.
“I think you should take your pants off and put it in.”
What a way with words I have.
He laughs and shakes his head. “We’re not having sex.”
I make a noise like I’m dying on a battlefield.
No. No. No. He’s not doing this to me. I squirm underneath him. “Beau, yes we are. I am not leaving this bedroom until I’ve felt you inside me.”
He chuckles and kisses my nose. He won’t give me room to get up. If I could, I’d roll over and sit on him like a cowgirl. I’d use every dirty position I researched over the last few weeks. Some of them would inevitably lead to a short stay in the hospital, but I think that’s a risk we’re willing to take.
I brush my hips against his and he groans.
It’s the only move I have at the moment, so I do it again. He retaliates by dropping more of his weight onto me. I’m squashed against the bed and it’s heaven.
“If we have sex, you can’t freak out and pull away again. I’m not going back to shaking your hand.”
I shake my head. “Of course I won’t!”
“We kissed at my office and then you wouldn’t let me touch you for two weeks.”
“That was different—the opposite. I’m ready now.”
He narrows his eyes like he knows I’d say anything to convince him.
“I think we should wait.”
WAIT?
“Until what, marriage? I feel you, Beau. You’re rock hard.” His hardness is pressing into my stomach and I’m having to use all my energy to keep my eyes from rolling into the back of my head. “You’re so close to slipping inside me and putting us both out of our misery.”
I arch my back and brush my breasts against his naked chest. It’s underhanded and it makes us both shiver. Goose bumps ripple down my body.
“I don’t want this to be a one-time thing.”
His words tickle my cheek and emotions fly at me so fast I can’t decide which I’m supposed to cling to: hope, fear, elation.
“Let’s just make it through tonight and then we’ll talk,” I say with a promise. “We can talk and talk and talk, but right now, I just—”
He cuts off the end of my sentence with a kiss. It’s like he’s had it. He’s done being the responsible one. Whatever decorum there was before this kiss, there is none after. Our skin is slick with sweat. Our mouths are tangled. Tongues skimming. Lips crushing. He grips my breast in his hand and I think I’ll bruise. I want to bruise; I want reminders of this. His hand skims lower and my panties are brushed aside. He takes my hand and has me hold them against my thigh so he can dip a finger into me. My legs part and he slowly adds a second, pushing past his knuckles and curling up, sending little tingles spreading through me.
He uses his thumb to rub me, and I last for two gentle circles before my orgasm is so close, I can hear its footsteps.
“HOLY—”
“Fuck.”
“I’m so close,” I say anxiously. “But st-stop—I want to feel it when you’re inside me.”
This time, he doesn’t protest. He reaches for a condom in his bedside table and rolls it on while I lie useless on the bed, watching his body in all its close-up HD glory. It’s insane, all of this—the way I feel as he bends down and tells me to part my legs even more, my thighs brushing against the cool sheets. I shiver. He positions himself, teasing a little. Up and down, he strokes himself against me, and it feels like I’m on fire. I’ll scream if he doesn’t push into me, and then he does.
One excruciating inch at a time. I take him, and then I take some more. He sinks into me with a luxurious groan and I wrap my legs around him, securing my ankles like a twist-tie just in case he gets any ideas about pulling back out. He’s squashing me against the bed, and I’m keeping him there. I’ve never been filled quite this way before. I feel more emotions bubbling up inside of me, but then Beau starts to move and I can’t focus on a single thing outside of what we’re doing.
He props himself up on his elbows and looks down at me. His eyes, through the magic of sex, have somehow gotten bluer than blue. Sweat glistens on his brow as he pumps his hips over me. He’s building the pace, rolling and thrusting faster and faster.
“This is…I could…please…”
I can build thoughts like bubbles as he drags back out of me, but then he thrusts and they vanish as if pricked by a pin.
I clench around him and he curses. It’s the sexiest, most guttural sound—this giant of a man losing himself on top of me. I do it again and he starts pumping faster. I think he’s as lost as I am.
His fingers lace with mine and he drags them up over my head. My stomach pulls taut. My breasts arch up toward him. He bends and licks one of them.
“Oh my god.”
I don’t know who’s speaking. My voice has never sounded so strained, so lust-filled and crazy. I think there are tears slipping down my cheeks, but I’m too consumed to care.
He laughs and hauls me up over his shoulder. It’s the second time today that a man has carried me like a sack of potatoes. The progressive feminist in me is protesting, but not very loudly. His hand grips my ass as he carries me down the stairs. I’m swaying from side to side, my hands outstretched like I’m on an upside-down rollercoaster.
“Too good,” he clarifies faintly.
He couldn’t handle my mouth on him.
My cheeks are flushed. “Oh. Oh.”
Once we’re in his room, he drops me down onto his bed and I sit dutifully on the edge as he bends down in front of me. Now our roles are reversed. I like him on his knees; we’re the same height. Our lips are perfectly aligned. I lean forward and kiss him just like that, because I want to and there’s nothing stopping me. It’s our first kiss of the day, and it feels long overdue. My mouth and hands and tongue speak for themselves: Finally. Yes. I’ve waited so long for this. Minutes pass in a dreamlike state. We’re learning everything we need to know. He’s showing me the ropes. Tilt your head and open your lips. Yes, let me lick and bite and suck. His hands find the back of the bodice and I have no clue how I got myself into this thing, but he manages to get me out of it. It falls to my lap and his hands replace the silk. Hard, warm, calloused hands, rough as they drag across my sensitive skin. Every little nerve in his path is put on notice when his fingertip brushes across them. The neglected ones mount a protest. The only solution is to have him touching every part of me. I need him to push me back and press me down onto the bed, let me feel his full weight.
I break our kiss and inhale. His eyes drop and he indulges in every bare inch of me—my modest breasts, my stomach, which is quivering and shaky no matter how hard I try to contain my body’s reaction to him.
“It’s not polite to stare,” I tease, playfully pushing his shoulder.
He catches my wrist and presses his mouth to my pulse before turning back and smiling. He looks devilish, cunning and dangerous with those bright eyes and tan skin. I think I used to dream about him like this when I was a teenager. I used to wonder what it would be like to have him stare at me just the way he is right now. How did we get here?
“You have a freckle right here,” he says, skimming his hand along the top of my ribcage.
I have to resist the urge to flutter my eyes closed.
“I’ve had it since I was young.”
“It’s not how I imagined.” My face must show my confusion because he shakes his head, his eyes filled with wonder. “You’re not how I imagined.”
Disappointment doesn’t have time to grip hold of my mood because he’s pushing me farther up the bed and whispering into my ear, telling me I’m even better. He sounds hoarse with it, the longing. I feel it too, and I tell him as he lays me back against the pillows.
“I can’t believe this is happening.”
He drops down on his elbows and cages me in against the bed. His mouth drops to mine and my lips part. His weight pins my hips down and I’m so wet, it’s embarrassing. A soft breeze could push me over the edge of climax.
I try to squeeze my thighs together but it only makes it worse. He rolls against me and I feel the first waves start to hit me. I clamp down against it, fighting it off. There is no way I’m coming so easily, so I change tactics.
“I think you should take your pants off and put it in.”
What a way with words I have.
He laughs and shakes his head. “We’re not having sex.”
I make a noise like I’m dying on a battlefield.
No. No. No. He’s not doing this to me. I squirm underneath him. “Beau, yes we are. I am not leaving this bedroom until I’ve felt you inside me.”
He chuckles and kisses my nose. He won’t give me room to get up. If I could, I’d roll over and sit on him like a cowgirl. I’d use every dirty position I researched over the last few weeks. Some of them would inevitably lead to a short stay in the hospital, but I think that’s a risk we’re willing to take.
I brush my hips against his and he groans.
It’s the only move I have at the moment, so I do it again. He retaliates by dropping more of his weight onto me. I’m squashed against the bed and it’s heaven.
“If we have sex, you can’t freak out and pull away again. I’m not going back to shaking your hand.”
I shake my head. “Of course I won’t!”
“We kissed at my office and then you wouldn’t let me touch you for two weeks.”
“That was different—the opposite. I’m ready now.”
He narrows his eyes like he knows I’d say anything to convince him.
“I think we should wait.”
WAIT?
“Until what, marriage? I feel you, Beau. You’re rock hard.” His hardness is pressing into my stomach and I’m having to use all my energy to keep my eyes from rolling into the back of my head. “You’re so close to slipping inside me and putting us both out of our misery.”
I arch my back and brush my breasts against his naked chest. It’s underhanded and it makes us both shiver. Goose bumps ripple down my body.
“I don’t want this to be a one-time thing.”
His words tickle my cheek and emotions fly at me so fast I can’t decide which I’m supposed to cling to: hope, fear, elation.
“Let’s just make it through tonight and then we’ll talk,” I say with a promise. “We can talk and talk and talk, but right now, I just—”
He cuts off the end of my sentence with a kiss. It’s like he’s had it. He’s done being the responsible one. Whatever decorum there was before this kiss, there is none after. Our skin is slick with sweat. Our mouths are tangled. Tongues skimming. Lips crushing. He grips my breast in his hand and I think I’ll bruise. I want to bruise; I want reminders of this. His hand skims lower and my panties are brushed aside. He takes my hand and has me hold them against my thigh so he can dip a finger into me. My legs part and he slowly adds a second, pushing past his knuckles and curling up, sending little tingles spreading through me.
He uses his thumb to rub me, and I last for two gentle circles before my orgasm is so close, I can hear its footsteps.
“HOLY—”
“Fuck.”
“I’m so close,” I say anxiously. “But st-stop—I want to feel it when you’re inside me.”
This time, he doesn’t protest. He reaches for a condom in his bedside table and rolls it on while I lie useless on the bed, watching his body in all its close-up HD glory. It’s insane, all of this—the way I feel as he bends down and tells me to part my legs even more, my thighs brushing against the cool sheets. I shiver. He positions himself, teasing a little. Up and down, he strokes himself against me, and it feels like I’m on fire. I’ll scream if he doesn’t push into me, and then he does.
One excruciating inch at a time. I take him, and then I take some more. He sinks into me with a luxurious groan and I wrap my legs around him, securing my ankles like a twist-tie just in case he gets any ideas about pulling back out. He’s squashing me against the bed, and I’m keeping him there. I’ve never been filled quite this way before. I feel more emotions bubbling up inside of me, but then Beau starts to move and I can’t focus on a single thing outside of what we’re doing.
He props himself up on his elbows and looks down at me. His eyes, through the magic of sex, have somehow gotten bluer than blue. Sweat glistens on his brow as he pumps his hips over me. He’s building the pace, rolling and thrusting faster and faster.
“This is…I could…please…”
I can build thoughts like bubbles as he drags back out of me, but then he thrusts and they vanish as if pricked by a pin.
I clench around him and he curses. It’s the sexiest, most guttural sound—this giant of a man losing himself on top of me. I do it again and he starts pumping faster. I think he’s as lost as I am.
His fingers lace with mine and he drags them up over my head. My stomach pulls taut. My breasts arch up toward him. He bends and licks one of them.
“Oh my god.”
I don’t know who’s speaking. My voice has never sounded so strained, so lust-filled and crazy. I think there are tears slipping down my cheeks, but I’m too consumed to care.
