The Beau & the Belle
Page 50

My stomach hits the floor.
“Okay. Okay. So that means we’re…”
He steps closer and starts to undo the double knot on my robe. My hands hang limp at my sides.
“Lauren?”
“Yes?”
“Breathe.”
WE’RE STANDING ON the third-floor landing. The hallway is dark and quiet. The carpet runner is soft beneath my feet, but I forget about the details as soon as Beau works the knot free. It doesn’t take him nearly long enough—I should have done some intricate, convoluted sailor’s knot. The two sides of the robe spread apart, and cold air hits my skin between the corset and my panties.
This feels extreme. I feel like I’m a gift being unwrapped slowly. We need to be in a bedroom with the doors closed. I need it to be pitch black, and there should be music playing so I can’t hear every one of my pained breaths. His finger brushes across my bare collarbone and I sigh. It’s so embarrassing I want to clamp my hand over my mouth.
“I’m smoky,” I protest. “I want a shower.”
“After,” he says, his voice husky and raw.
He’s on me, standing only a few inches away so when my robe parts a little more, his suit pants brush across my bare legs. I reach up and touch his chest. His skin burns me through his dress shirt.
“Don’t,” he says, taking my wrists and forcing my hands back to my sides. “Let me touch you.”
I fidget on my feet. I resist the urge to squirm. I’m not being tied down, but I might as well be. If he’s not going to let me touch him then I have nothing to distract me from his touch. His fingers skim my collarbone again and then he gently pushes the robe aside. The terrycloth drags across my hypersensitive skin, and my nipples press against the satin bodice.
“Please hurry up,” I cry.
He chuckles and bends down to drop a kiss right above his hand. “You think after all this time, I’m going to rush this?”
Why wouldn’t he? Every other man I’ve slept with went straight to the main attraction. Foreplay consisted of a few grunts, a grope, and a squeeze. Nothing has prepared me for this.
One hand stays on my waist, gripping me against him. The other does the exploring, dragging down and opening the robe even more. I’m covered in white terrycloth and then a breath later, the robe slips down my shoulders and Beau has a perfect view of my chest from my neck to my waist. I can’t look down. I can’t see what he’s seeing. His expression tells me everything I need to know.
His hold on my waist tightens.
He exhales slowly. “Fuck.”
I squeeze my eyes closed and he presses a kiss to my cheek, another to the edge of my mouth. He tells me I’m beautiful, but I can’t process the words. I’m so close to saying mercy.
He chuckles, and I realize I said it out loud.
“You want to stop?” he asks, dropping a kiss to my chin then to the middle of my neck. He reaches the small dip at the top of my collarbone and adds a hint of tongue, and I didn’t know I could be kissed like that anywhere but my mouth.
My hands shake at my sides. I want to grip a fistful of his hair and hold him there against me.
“Again,” I beg.
Lips press against my heated skin and I feel feverish. I press onto my tiptoes and bring my chest closer to him. I’m an offering, a human sacrifice. Here, take it, all of it. It’s yours if you want it.
There’s a method to his madness. The same attention to detail I spent on the tour of his house, he’s now spending on me. His hand blazes the way down my body and his lips follow behind. His hand traces along the top of my corset, and I think I’m starting to sweat. My panties are wet. He takes the lace between his teeth and I breath deep.
Our food arrives. We both hear the doorbell ringing.
The delivery man shouts through the door, “Leavin’ it on the doorstep if nobody answers!”
We don’t say a word about it. They say the average human can go three days without water and three weeks without food. If Beau keeps doing what he’s doing, with the occasional trip to the tap, I figure I can last a month.
But I’m done standing still. His hand drops to my chest and he rolls his palm across my nipple, hardening it even more. With a bloodthirsty groan, I jerk my hand up and dig my fingers into his hair.
His mouth drops and his lips circle my breast. I’m being kissed through lace, and there’s never been a sensation so exquisite. I tell him so and he groans, dragging his tongue across my nipple. My hips are against his hips. Terrycloth and the fine wool of his pants separate us, but I still roll against the impressive hardness I feel there. It’s tit for tat, a hip roll for every kiss. I can tell I’m driving him wild too, but then my robe slips to the ground and I’m wearing what feels like nothing while he’s still in his suit pants and dress shirt.
I push him off me and take two steps back.
I drag in breaths like a boxer between rounds. I need to splash water on my face. I need a corner man to slap my cheek and tell me to keep my head in the game.
His shirt sits askew on his chest. Random buttons have been pulled free. I see a smattering of dark hair and tan abs.
“Take your shirt off.”
He drags his hand across his lips and smiles. “A minute ago you wanted to see my attic.”
His joke falls on deaf ears. I’m going to rip his clothes off him like a rabid animal if he doesn’t start to strip, and quick.
I take another step back. It’s a taunt and he responds, lifting his hands to his shirt. One button is unfastened. Then another. His body is the stuff of legends—coiled muscle, lean lines. All that time he spends in the gym has really paid off. I’m going to send the owner a fruit basket in the morning.
He yanks his arms out of the sleeves and the garment drops to the floor. I hate that we’re in a dim hallway now. I want to look at him under a magnifying glass surrounded by bright fluorescent lights.
His hands touch his belt and I’m on him in three quick steps. My hands aren’t dexterous. I haven’t tugged a man’s belt free in years, maybe never, but he doesn’t reach down to take over. He grows harder as I finally succeed. His suit pants slip a little on his hips and there are two sharp lines forming a V, leading down, down, down.
I fall to my knees.
He tries to convince me to get back up.
The soft carpet digs into my skin.
“Lauren…”
If he’s trying to convince me to stand up, he shouldn’t sound so damned turned on by the sight of me kneeling in front of him. I look up from beneath my lashes as I tug down his zipper.
His jaw is locked tight. His eyes are searing into me. I smirk, and he exhales a shaky breath.
I haven’t even touched him yet.
I lean closer and press a chaste kiss to the base of his abs.
I’ve never been into this. Blowjobs haven’t interested me in the past and I haven’t really had much practice, but it sort of feels innate. I have a soft, wet mouth and Beau has something he’d very much like to put inside of it. Easy peasy. I’ve never felt more in control in my life. I’m shorter than Beau, weaker, younger. He’s probably so used to stomping around life in perfect control—yet at this moment, I’m on my knees before him, resting on a throne.
“I like this,” I tell him as my fingers skim past the elastic band of his briefs.
I could tug his pants down and free him completely, but this feels sexier. I push my hand farther inside, grip his hard length in my hand, and lick my lips.
His head tips back and his eyes flutter closed. I drag my hand back and forth along his hardness.
I think he’s close to professing his love for me.
“Beau?”
He groans in response.
“You can’t come if I do this to you. I want you to wait until later, when we’re…y’know.”
He nods hungrily.
I’m stroking him while I talk, and his hips buck against my hand. I think I could ask him to sign his house and business over to me and he’d do it, no questions asked.
His hand is in my hair. He’s tugging me closer and I pull his briefs down just enough to kiss the very tip then part my lips and slide my tongue across him. He’s silky soft, big enough to fill my mouth and then some. I pull off him and then slide him back into my mouth. I do it once more, and I think I could find a delicious rhythm, but I’m being tugged up and off the floor. My mouth is still in a perfect O shape. Maybe it’s not as intuitive as I thought?