Beauty and the Beefcake

by Pippa Grant

  So I assume.

  Rather have Felicity in bed than a cup in my hands.

  She hooks one arm around my neck when I settle her on the bed. “Stay,” she says. Her other hand trails down my chest to the button on my jeans. “Lose these. And stay.”

  Stay.

  Oh, fuck yes, I’ll stay.

  I’ll stay with her all night long.

  No regrets for me.

  33

  Felicity

  I’ve never been so boneless, yet so spun up at the same time. Somehow, I find the strength to scoot over and make room for Ares.

  Not that there’s room enough on this bed, period.

  His feet—boot included—dangle over the end, and his shoulders alone could take up three-quarters of the space. He lays on his side and strokes my cheek.

  He’s still in his pants.

  Not that they’re stopping me from feeling the massive bulge he has trapped in there.

  “I’m going to take advantage of you,” I whisper. “Just as soon as I find my bones.”

  A grin quirks his lips, and it’s impossible to not kiss him.

  Kissing him makes it impossible to not throw a leg over his hips and rub my hands all over his chest.

  He’s enormous.

  Barrel-chested, chiseled out of ore. I can’t touch my fingers together when I wrap my arms around him.

  I can’t wrap both hands around his biceps and touch either.

  His skin is molten silk over granite, and I can’t stop touching.

  Exploring.

  Kissing.

  Ares Berger is a kissing master.

  Which shouldn’t be a surprise.

  He doesn’t waste breath talking. He watches. He learns. He adapts.

  He teases. He suckles. He nips. He licks.

  He caresses my breasts. Rolls my nipples.

  Brushes his fingers over the top of my ass, draws them up my spine, and strokes back down again with that light, feathery touch that ignites every nerve ending in my skin.

  My clit’s throbbing again.

  I finally manage to pop the button on his jeans.

  The boot’s going to make taking them off a pain in the ass, but I don’t need them all the way off.

  Not yet.

  I tug down his zipper, reach inside, and oh, my holy puppet god.

  I squeak. He chuckles against my lips.

  Presses that massive length harder against my hand.

  “Is that all you, or is Loki in there with you?” I whisper.

  He cocks a brow at me, then down at his crotch.

  I look down too.

  Holy fuck.

  “Oh my god, you swallowed a giant pickle man and he’s trying to get out through your dick!”

  Shit. Lucy’s talking.

  I’m not supposed to vent during sex. It’s a rule. A self-imposed rule after…

  Well, clearly, after stuff like that happened.

  Ares snickers.

  “Sorry,” I mutter. “I try not to—”

  He silences me with a finger. “Be you. I like you.”

  “You won’t say that for long after Lucy does a thorough analysis of your junk,” I vent as Tim.

  Shit.

  Ares looks at me expectantly.

  Like he wants to know what Lucy would say about his junk.

  Instead, I pop my bra clasp, wiggle out of it, and thrust my chest at him. “Want to lick my nipples while I rub your big rocket?” Oh, hell.

  Here we go. “Sorry,” I whisper again. “My mouth…I don’t shut up well. Which you know. Obviously.”

  He brushes my nipple with one knuckle, but he’s looking me straight in the eye while he does it. Like he knows my body well enough to find my good spots without even trying.

  Who does that?

  Ares Berger.

  That’s who.

  For a big guy, he hides really, really well. Right there in plain sight.

  “You have secrets upon secrets upon secrets, don’t you?” I whisper while I shamelessly arch into his touch.

  If the venting in bed isn’t going to scare him away, then who am I to not offer more breasts for his touching pleasure?

  “No secrets,” he says.

  “Other people don’t tell you things? I’d tell you all of my secrets.”

  Another go on brow.

  Coupled with another brush of his knuckles against my nipple.

  “You’re cheating,” I gasp.

  God, that smile.

  I reach between us and grasp his cock. Which isn’t hairy like a monkey, for the record. It’s hot velvet over steel. So thick I can’t wrap my fingers all the way around.

  I stroke up to his tip, and his eyes cross. He thrusts into my hand. A low groan slips through his lips. My clit throbs. I guide my hand back down his cock, squeezing.

  His eyes slide shut, his breath shudders, and he pushes his hips into my hand.

  “You like?” I whisper.

  He crushes his mouth to mine and pushes me on my back. My legs are spread, nestling his rigid length between my thighs, his thick cock rubbing my clit, his hand roaming my bare skin, tongue thrusting into my mouth while he hovers above me, vibrating.

  “Want you,” he gasps.

  “Yes,” I gasp back. My skin’s on fire. My heart pounds. My center is so very, very empty it aches, my clit heavy and desperate. I lick his rough jaw, clench his hair in my fingers, tilt my hips into his.

  So close. So close to that thick crown of his cock where I want it. Where I need it.

  He breaks free, rises on his knees, and the sudden lack of his body heat in the cool room makes goosebumps race over my skin. But then I blink my eyes into focus, find Ares, and the goosebumps turn to a full body shiver of heady anticipation.

  Holy. Fuck.

  Rippling pecs and biceps. The ridges and valleys in his eight-pack. That tattoo on his hip.

  The proud, thick cock, straining, a drop of moisture leaking out the tip, veins visible, his balls tight.

  I reach for his shaft again, brush the drop with my thumb, and rub it into his crown. I don’t want to stop at touching. I want to lick him from base to tip. Swirl my tongue around his head. Take him deep into my throat. He grunts, as though he can read my thoughts, and his eyes cross again while he pulls his wallet from his back pocket, slips out a condom, and rips the package with his teeth.

  I help him roll it on, and before I can get my mouth where I want it, he’s pushing me down again.

  “I want—”

  “Later,” he says.

  Later.

  That promise.

  This isn’t just tonight. This isn’t convenient. It’s not a distraction.

  It’s real.

  He holds my gaze while his cock probes at my entrance.

  Is this okay?

  Do you want more?

  We’re not stopping after once.

  I want you.

  I want you tonight.

  I want you tomorrow.

  I want you everywhere.

  I want you now.

  “Yes,” I whisper.

  I grip the two boulders that double as his ass cheeks and pull.

  He slides into me, parting me, wide, thick, so slow it’s torture. Just his head.

  Probing.

  Promising.

  I arch into him, and he pulls back, then pushes forward.

  Barely inside me.

  His crown teases my opening, the blunt, thick tip barely coming in and out, when I know there’s so much more of him to take, a slow hint at his control, his power, at all the ways he can drag out filling me, pleasuring me inch by slow inch, making me ache and spiral deep, deep inside where I need his cock so, so bad.

  “More,” I gasp.

  He smiles a lazy smile and drops his head to nip my earlobe.

  I gasp and arch into him, tilt my hips to take him deeper, and he obliges.

  Barely.

  But, oh, that feel of him exploring my pussy as though every little bit is a tre
asure to be cherished, stroked, pleasured—

  “Ares,” I grunt.

  He’s so thick, stretching me wider with every centimeter, filling me so full, so heavy. I’m gasping.

  Writhing.

  And he’s barely halfway inside me.

  “More,” I gasp.

  His fingers find my breast, roll my nipple, and a jolt of sheer bliss ricochets from my breast straight to that hot, tight coil building in my core.

  I wrap my legs around his hips, thrust once, and ohhhh yes. My inner walls are stretched tight around him, and he’s hitting that spot, that magic spot, right there.

  Everything shifts out of focus. Everything but his brilliant blue eyes. He pulls back, away from that secret, magic button inside me, and I whimper.

  His eyes smile, he pinches my nipple again, and pushes the tip of his cock back to that perfect, world-splintering, nothing-but-pleasure, secret spot.

  And while I lay there, panting and whimpering and moaning, that tight spiral building higher, harder, heavier, he thrusts—short, controlled, leisurely thrusts, right there, right there, deep inside, until that spiral is curling around his head, around his shaft, making my entire pussy light up and sing.

  I come with a scream, my entire channel clamping hot and hard around his thick length. I feel the orgasm from the pit of my stomach, out through my hips, down my thighs, in my knees, through my toes. I climax so hard, so deep, my vision blacks out, my shoulders come off the bed, and my fingertips tingle.

  My skin is flashing neon.

  My pussy is spasming all the way up into my ovaries.

  And Ares is still pumping inside me.

  Little thrusts.

  Dragging the ridge of his head over and over that magic spot while I come hard and long and unending around him.

  This isn’t an orgasm.

  This is a whole-body climax.

  Leaving me with spasms shaking my muscles after I’ve collapsed back onto the bed, my arms boneless, my ribs cooked spaghetti noodles held up by the air I’m gasping into my lungs.

  The room swims slowly back into focus, my head light, my heart pounding.

  My heart.

  Oh, my heart.

  Ares hovers over me, inside me, his body still.

  Good? those gorgeous blue eyes ask.

  “Oh my god,” I whisper.

  I’m surprised my lips can still move.

  “Kiss me,” I add.

  He obliges, tilting his lips to mine, taking his time as only Ares can—slow, leisurely, gently, building to hot and deep and heavy.

  He’s still inside me.

  Still solid as a rock.

  He thrusts into my melted pussy. A slow, tentative thrust.

  I have no nerve endings left. They’ve all been burned off.

  Yet—

  “More?” I whimper.

  He’s buried so deep inside me, I’ll never be the same once he pulls out.

  He cocks a brow.

  “Oh my god,” I whisper. Heat floods my cheeks. “You… you didn’t…?”

  How could he have not come?

  Now his grin’s turning smug. Don’t ever underestimate me, that grin says.

  Holy.

  Wow.

  “Is that a challenge?” I whisper.

  He presses a kiss to the side of my neck. “More,” he says.

  He pumps into me again.

  My singed nerve endings shake off their ashes and burst into song.

  “You’re going to completely ruin me, aren’t you?”

  He doesn’t answer.

  Not with words.

  Because of course he doesn’t.

  Instead, he dips his head to my chest. Kisses the swell of my breast. Right over my pounding heart.

  Like he’s claiming it.

  Claiming me.

  My eyes burn.

  This gentle giant, this quiet, perceptive man, wants me.

  And I’m helpless to resist.

  34

  Ares

  She rubs my shoulder.

  Other hand drifts to my chest.

  Her touch is magic.

  “On your back, mister,” she orders.

  Don’t want to get on my back.

  Want to stay here. Buried inside her.

  Can still feel the tremors around my cock. She’s holding me so tight. Feels so right.

  I’m on the edge of release.

  Hurts. In my balls. In my gut. In my chest. Feel it in my knees even.

  But once I come, it’s over.

  Don’t want this to be over.

  I lick my way down her breast to the rosy peak. So sweet. So hard.

  I suck, she gasps, her hips buck, and she squeezes around me.

  Fuck, I want to come.

  “Cheating.” She grips me by the hair and tugs. I lift my head, meet her eyes, and she’s got this stern doctor thing going. Frowny. Bossy. Determined.

  She’s so fucking gorgeous.

  So fucking mine.

  She pushes at my shoulders. “On your back,” she repeats.

  I pump into her.

  Slow. Careful. She’s so tight. I’m primed and ready to blow.

  Her breath wobbles and her lids drift shut. “Ares,” she whispers, “if you make me come like that again, I swear all my muscles will combust and they’ll be picking pieces of me out of the ceiling for the next two hundred years.”

  The door creaks open.

  She freezes. “Did you—”

  I cover her mouth, more because I love touching her mouth than because I need her to be quiet.

  No Loki. Monkey was tired. Should be sleeping.

  If he could sleep through Felicity screaming.

  I grin again.

  Fucking amazing scream.

  “Gammy’s ghost,” I tell her.

  She eyes me like she’s trying to decide if I’m serious.

  “You believe in ghosts?” she whispers.

  “Don’t not.”

  A slow smile spreads over those delicious lips. “Want to give her a show?”

  Already did.

  She laughs.

  And then she hits me in the ribs with that tickle finger.

  I oof and pull halfway out.

  She whimpers.

  I thrust back inside her.

  Not slow, not easy, because fuck, I need to be inside her.

  “Yes,” she gasps. “More, Ares, please, more.” She wraps her legs around my hips, pumps, jerky and unsteady.

  I claim her mouth.

  Pull out.

  Thrust back in. All the way.

  She moans while she’s kissing me back. Holds me by the ears. Rolls her hips against mine.

  I pump into her.

  Not slow.

  Not smooth.

  My cock’s heavy. Ready. Balls tight.

  She’s tight.

  So fucking tight.

  Her whimpers and moans are getting higher. Her hands clenching harder in my hair, pulling, kissing me, meeting me thrust for thrust, her pussy so slick and hot around my cock.

  “Ares,” she cries.

  I’m so close. Can’t hold out. Can’t stop the dam from bursting. Holding out.

  So long.

  So ready.

  But she’s not—she’s still building—not there—need her to—

  She reaches between us, grips me by the balls, squeezes once, and I come with a roar.

  She thrashes beneath me, crying out, jerking her hips with mine while I explode. Pulsing. Releasing. Thick, hot, and heavy.

  Straining.

  Can’t.

  Stop.

  Need her.

  Need more.

  Need everything.

  I’m coming in jolts.

  Held back so long. Too long.

  Don’t ever want to stop coming with her.

  Her body goes limp while mine’s still jerking and spasming. Her gasps fill my ears. Her pussy squeezing around me. My senses are inside out. Can’t feel the air, the bed. Can’t hear.
>
  Nothing but her.

  I can feel her breathing.

  Feel her heart beating.

  Feel her center holding me. Cradling me. Like she was made for me.

  She shrieks, and the entire room snaps back to focus.

  I leap off the bed, stumble on the fucking boot and my pants.

  “Ares!” she cries.

  Loki peers at me from the foot of the bed.

  Looks down at my deflating cock.

  Throws a cornhole bag at me, chirps something that sounds like monkey profanity, and dashes out the door.

  Swear the little fucker’s holding up a middle finger.

  Felicity scoots to the edge of the bed and reaches for my hand. “Sit.”

  She has whisker burns on her cheeks and neck and breasts. The rosy tips are hard and pointed, her lungs working too quick.

  Her pulse beats fast in the base of her neck.

  “Sit,” she says again. “Sorry. Loki startled me.”

  I slowly sit.

  She climbs off the bed and goes to work unstrapping my boot.

  “Felicity.”

  She looks up.

  I wave her off. I can get the boot.

  She rolls her eyes.

  Shut up and let me do this, you big stubborn brute.

  She’s buck naked.

  Tending to my ankle.

  She bends her head to her task. My dick’s already getting hard again.

  And that’s before she orders me to lie back so she can pull my pants off.

  “Don’t even think about it,” she informs me as she crawls onto the bed and curls into me, pulling my arm around her, her butt cheeks nestling against my hard-on. “I need at least thirty minutes to recover first.”

  I smile into her hair and tug her closer. Bed’s small. I barely fit. Should get up and get rid of the condom.

  But I don’t want to move.

  Not when the sweet scent of her hair and her come are tickling my nose. When that perfect ass is pressed into my stiff cock. When she’s sighing and huddling closer. “So you know,” she says on a yawn, “I may never let you leave.”

  I cup her breast. Feel her heart beating strong and steady. She covers my hand with hers.

  Soft. Strong. So perfect.

  Never thought I would find her.

  She’s more than hockey.

  35

  Felicity

  I wake up suddenly in the dead of the night.

  Something’s wrong.

  It’s not the arm wrapped around me. Ares being here with me is so right it should be terrifying.