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Is this happening?
He’s angry. I know all of Beau Landry’s moods, and this isn’t going to be make up sex. I know I should stop this make out session before it gets out of hand. Before he regrets it. But the one bad trait that comes from being an only child—my selfishness—comes out tenfold. I am not going to give up being with Beau. I refuse to try one more time.
As he pushes down the top of my dress, exposing my breasts, he sucks so hard it hurts—yet it feels so good. His fingers find my inner thigh. He squeezes the muscle hard then gently runs his fingers between my legs.
“You wore panties. Good girl.”
I’m not sure what he means so I don’t say anything. His fingers slip under the black lace strip, and he scissors his fingers against the fabric until he yanks, ripping them from my legs. Damn, that’s hot. The military truly made him a man.
“When he touched you, I went insane,” he mumbles against my skin as he slides the pads of his fingers through my folds.
Holy moly, he’s perfection. His touch is magical. Other guys have never gotten me so hot and bothered from just their hands.
I still don’t know if he’s talking about Rome or his brother. I have the right to remain silent, so I do. I am not fucking this up, not this time.
“You’re drenched from my touch.”
He moves us around until my back is against the counter. I wiggle until my dress pools around my feet. Sheer lust swirls in his eyes, and I sneak my finger inside the waistband of his boxer briefs. His dick wants out, and I intend to free it.
“You don’t get to have me.” He kisses my neck. I moan, caught up in his caress.
“You don’t get to touch me there.” He sucks my tit. My breath hitches, hearing the popping sound when he releases suction.
“You don’t deserve all of me.” He shoves his fingers inside me. The invasion is welcome, hard, and his words don’t register. “Were you thinking of me when his uncalloused hands touched your skin?”
“Oh… Ohh.” I’m already about to break. My pelvic muscles squeeze him tight, contracting again and again. I can’t hold out and lift my mouth into the soft spot between his shoulder and neck. I let go. My body pulses, pushing every last bit of arousal from my center.
This elicits a rumble from deep in his chest. “You’re bad, Nessa. Coming all over my hand so quickly.”
He keeps fingering me. Marking my skin with his lips and teeth.
“Please, I’ll be good. I’ll do whatever you want. Just give me more.” I beg as I tuck my chin into my chest, willing him to look at me. A tear rolls down my cheek as I catch my breath. The rogue tear lands in the stubble on his cheek. “I need you, Beau. I’ve always needed you.”
“You don’t need me.” His tongue flicks my nipple one more time then traces the circular edge, making me want more. Finally, he lifts his head, his fingers moving in a tantalizing, deliberate crawl, teasing, and tormenting with every touch.
I grab his wrist, bringing his fingers into my mouth. I suck them to the base, swirling my tongue then using the flat of it. His glare bores into me as his chest inflates. I want a second chance.
“Nessa,” he rasps out with weighted lids.
Heaviness tugs at my core and I ache to rip his clothes off. Hope rings in my heart as I think this is the beginning of our second chance.
Our eyes lock, and for a few seconds, it’s Beau and me—the way we were meant to be—together.
I taste good on his fingers, so I inch toward his lips to share.
His raspberry lips shine as he swipes his tongue over the plump flesh and licks the last bit of nectar from his calloused fingers. His nearness has me at the point of another little explosion.
Then he says, “You lost the right to kiss me, but you taste like peaches in the summertime. Fucking fresh.”
He pulls his pants up and hands me my dress.
What?
I don’t know how to feel. Did we take a step forward or five steps back? When he said my name, it was the old Beau, but his last statement was void of emotion. He sounded more like Rome Lennox than the boy I grew up with that had a heart of gold and would never hurt someone emotionally or physically.
Unless they hurt me.
Or him.
