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I traced my fingers across his chest, swirling through the smattering of dark hair there, flowing over the ink that marked him like he had me.
Beau inhaled sharply, catching my wrist. “It can never be more,” he whispered, his voice laced with tomorrow’s regrets.
I pushed hard at his chest, enough to shock a laugh from him. “But we have now. Tonight. Else why did you close that thing?” I threw a thumb over my shoulder at the raised divider.
Beau hissed a breath, locking a hand at my nape and dragging me close enough to kiss. “Because if I have to see another man’s eyes on you tonight, when you’remine, I’ll kill everyone in sight.”
“Filthy little fucker, aren’t you?” I said sweetly, sliding my thighs wide to straddle him until our bodies rubbed together.
The scent of sex mingled with leather and murder...and I didn’t run. It didn’t bother me. Whatever Beau did, he did it for a reason. To keep me safe, himself...it wasn’t like he was out there killing ad hoc, though I suspected he was more than capable of it. A thrill ran through me, and I liked flirting with this dangerous side of him. It made me feel alive for the first time in months.
Since the last time he took a life, for me.
“If there was anyone to lose myself in, it’s you,” he murmured, massaging his fingers in sensual circles at my nape. “That my brother had his hands on you...” He broke off, swearing. “My fault. I let another man touch you and I’m so fucking sorry for taking you into that den of vipers.”
“Is that why we were only there for an hour?” I tilted my head to one side, assessing him.
Beau returned the favor. “You wanted to be a party girl tonight, did you?”
“No.” I shook my head, and he swept my hair from my face, cupping my check and guiding my mouth to brush his, again and again, the lightest, teasing touch that left me needingmore.
“No?” His mouth brushed my jaw as he rearranged me on his lap, swinging my legs together and across him, one large hand braced against my spine to hold me in place. His other hand toyed with the filmy, sapphire studded material between my legs. “Then what?”
“I want...” A flush crept over my breasts and he studied the color change with interest. “I want you,” I whispered.
“Just me? Not my brother? I’m fairly sure he was up for a threesome, you know.” His voice was light and teasing, but the hardness that settled over his eyes was not.
This has gone on for long enough.
I learned forward, bracing my hands on the buttery leather either side of Beau’s dark hair. Midnight eyes stared back at me, fathomless and unyielding, but I knew that defence mechanism. I’d seen it go up days on end as his exhaustion increased because of me. Because he chose to stay and made sure I’d fight.
Who knew? Maybe if it hadn’t been for him, I wouldn’t have fought. Wouldn’t have gone home to the expectations of marrying into a wealthy family or–God forbid–earn an empire of my own to cover the multibillion losses my own family succumbed to.
I never cared. They did.
Without Beau, I might not be here, and I knew his bullshit was just a front, at least when it came to me. Not that I could explain why, I just knew.
“Is it so impossible that someone wants you for you, Beau? You’ve shut yourself off from the world, and I get it. Family sucks. Hell, dying might have given me a good out– Fuck!” I yelped as his fingers dug into my side, right over my scars.
“Don’t you fucking talk to me of dying.” His hands were back in my hair, fisting the strands and pulling tight. “Don’t you fucking dare. You live, Sylvie. Every goddamn day. The hate and the pain, they keep you alive.”
I held my head still despite the pain radiating from my scalp, my fingers flexing in the leather where he couldn’t see my kneading it but could probably feel the motion. “No, Beau,” I said softly. “You live despite hate and pain.”
His gaze softened, along with his hands. Beau cupped the back of my head, drawing me closer until our mouths melded in the same slow, unhurried soul deep kisses from before the gala. His tongue glided along mine like he’d always known me, his fingers massaging my scalp until I moaned.
“You know what you make me want, Sylvie? TV dinners. Nights with your feet in my lap while I work, just touching you while you sleep. Cooking breakfasts for you.” He broke away to rub his nose along my cheek, breathing deeply.
I giggled softly, and the sound was nothing like the horrific fakeness of the gala. “Do you cook?”
“No.”
His mouth found mine again, and we stopped talking fantasy and made a real one. Beau’s manhandling of me made more sense as he rolled his weight over me, settling between my legs. He pushed the delicate material aside, grinding himself between my thighs like a lovelorn teen, though he had never been one of those. I swore he was born in a suit and a ‘fuck me? fuck you’glare in those midnight eyes.
I spread my thighs when he settled deeper into me, taking his weight with the sort of pleasure true intimacy brings. Beau Bennett might fuck everything that walked, but the way he touched me was almost...reverent. Worshipping. And any resolve I held against him, against this whole night, debacle that it was, crumbled.
His tongue slid into my mouth, invading my senses as he slowly fucked my mouth with it, his hands gliding along my sides, squeezing and plumping until he found the end of the seam at my side and ripped it clean away.
“Shit!” I gasped, clutching the material together. “What the hell are you doing?”
