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There was an empty ache where her heart should be. Should be, because only a heartless person could resist Beau in that moment. Should be, because her heart didn’t belong in this bed. She climbed right into his arms and curled up to his warmth.
He turned out the bedside lamp. “If I hadn’t worn you out, we could’ve used this time to talk some more,” he said. “I would’ve liked that.”
Her eyes were already closed and he said nothing else, so she gave in to the heady feeling of his arms around her and slept.
13
Her name and a kiss. And again, her name, clearer, a kiss, firmer. Their bedroom was colder than usual, but it made the bed a haven of warmth. It was dead-of-night quiet. She was being squeezed from behind with a strength and intensity she wasn’t used to. All at once she remembered where she was and opened her eyes.
“Lola,” Beau whispered. He moved her hair from her forehead. “It’s time.”
The room was dark except for the boxed, green numbers on the digital clock. Through the large window, black was seeping from the sky, leaving rich sapphire in its place.
“I need to shower,” she said. Beau was present everywhere on her body.
He stroked her jaw. She raised her chin to kiss him. She was exhausted and made no effort to hide the fact that she wanted that kiss. He rolled on top of her in one motion and her legs opened for him. He didn’t enter her right away, but kissed everywhere above her neck his lips could reach. He pressed himself against her thigh, close enough she could almost feel him inside her.
“I’m ready,” she whispered.
He thrust into her and groaned as if he’d been waiting to do it all night. They got slow and quiet, waking up together.
It was good. Too good. She felt him—him, not fast and hard and mind-blowing, but satisfying and warm. This slow, sleepy fuck was no less passionate than it’d been against the window. His groans came from somewhere deep inside. It was good—but it was dangerous. When she caught herself clutching him, digging her nails into his back, she stopped and squeezed her eyes shut. “I can’t,” she said.
“Okay.” He kissed her cheek, her nose. “It’s okay.”
He held her head. It was too dark to see his expression. It meant she could imagine he was Johnny and remove some of the guilt she struggled with. She didn’t. Even this way, in the pre-dawn, with his lovemaking, Beau demanded all of her.
As he came, he dropped his face into the crook of her shoulder and gripped her scalp. Then he exhaled what sounded like everything in his lungs. His body loosened on top of her. She stared up at the ceiling. Her limbs, depressed in the mattress, tingled. “I can’t feel anything.”
“I’m crushing you,” he said but didn’t move.
“It’s not that,” she said. Dread had seeped through her in seconds, numbing everything it touched. Her body was in survival mode. Facing Johnny would be as impossible as pretending the night had never happened. Neither thing could be avoided, though. She had to face him. Then they’d have to move on with their lives.
Beau raised his head and opened his mouth. If he asked her not to leave, she didn’t know what she’d say. Of course she’d say no. It didn’t matter that she wasn’t ready to go, or that she was leaving with more questions than she came with. Aside from the confusing fact that she’d actually enjoyed her time with Beau, she realized she’d never see him again after this. She had no reason to. Even if she admitted she wanted to, she couldn’t.
He spoke. “We should go. You can’t be late.”
There was an important detail she’d forgotten for a moment, but when it returned, it overpowered everything else. “I need to shower.”
He pulled out of her and pushed the covers back as he got out of the bed. “There’s no time.”
Her body coiled. She could not walk into Johnny’s home this way. “I have to shower,” she repeated.
“You can’t.” He put on his boxer briefs and disappeared into the walk-in closet. “I’m already worried about traffic,” he called. “If we don’t leave now—”
“Johnny will understand if we’re a few minutes late if it means I get to shower.”
“No,” Beau said firmly. He tossed a shopping bag onto the bed. “This isn’t up for discussion. I’ve never broken the terms of a contract in my life.”
Lola sat up, grasping the sheet to her chest. Any numbness dissipated in her panic. “You can’t be serious.” She dumped out the contents of the bag—the jeans, T-shirt and underwear she’d left her apartment in. “But I’m—I can’t go home like this. I’m disgusting.”
“Then you should’ve thought of that earlier. I’m not kidding, Lola. Get up. Now.”
He was already dressed in a hoodie and jeans, standing with his back straight and his hands on his hips. His hair was messy from sleep, something she would’ve found cute if anger wasn’t rising up her chest. She choked on her words. “C-can’t I at least—”
“What aren’t you understanding? The sky is already light. Get dressed, or I’ll do it for you.”
She clamped her mouth shut. What a fool she’d been to want to stay. Beau had been fire and ice all night, his moods swinging higher and further apart each time. “Then turn around,” she snapped. “I don’t want you to watch.”
He shook his head. “Time’s almost up, but not quite. You still belong to me.”
She swallowed thickly and let the sheet drop. She hooked herself into her bra and tugged her shirt over her head. He looked at his watch. She got out of the bed.
“I have to say,” he said thoughtfully as she pulled on her underwear, “this went even better than I imagined.”
There was something in Beau’s voice Lola didn’t recognize. The hair on the back of her neck bristled. “What did?”
