by Jenna Sutton
The plain truth was he didn’t want other men to touch Ava Grace. Hell, he didn’t want other men to even look at her.
If Roarke had done Trinity body shots with anyone other than Ava Grace, Beck probably would’ve seen the humor in the situation. He wouldn’t have been all that thrilled his award-winning bourbon was associated with a trashy drinking game, but he wouldn’t have been enraged either.
When he moved on to the next button, she placed her hand over his, stilling his fingers. “Are you sure you want to do this?”
“Yes.” He took her hand and pressed it against his erection. “Here’s the proof.”
Her fingers flexed under his before she pulled her hand free. “The last time we had sex, it was—”
“So fucking hot I’m surprised the rickhouse didn’t explode.”
Her lips twitched. “I’m surprised too. There’s a lot of flammable liquid in there.”
“Yeah, about six hundred thousand gallons.” Bending down, he nuzzled his nose behind her ear. “You smell good.”
“It’s my body lotion.”
He licked a circle on her smooth neck. “You smell like a blondie.”
“Do all blondes smell the same to you?” she asked breathlessly.
It took him a second to comprehend her question, and when he finally did, he laughed so hard he almost choked. When he could speak, he explained, “A blondie is a kind of dessert. Like a brownie.”
“Oh. Right.” Her face pinked. “I knew that.”
He sucked lightly on her fragrant skin. “You taste good too.”
She tilted her head to give him better access, and he trailed his mouth down to the place where her neck and shoulder met. He nibbled at the delicate flesh, and she gasped softly.
“Jonah, I don’t want…”
“What?” Lifting his head, he met her eyes. “I thought you wanted this.”
He waited for her to respond, his breath trapped in his chest. He honestly didn’t know what he’d do if she turned him down. He liked to think he’d accept her rejection with dignity, but it was quite possible he’d howl at the moon and turn into a werewolf.
“I do want to be with you, but not if…” Her eyes searched his, and he wondered what she hoped to see there. “Are you going to regret this tomorrow?”
Not tomorrow. And maybe not the day after. Eventually, though, I will regret it.
Being with Ava Grace wasn’t smart. It couldn’t—wouldn’t—end well for him. But he just didn’t care anymore.
On the ride back to the hotel, he’d realized his feelings for her were similar to a common cold—there was no cure. You just had to let the virus do its worst. You had to suffer through it and then give yourself some time to recover once it left your body.
“No, sugar,” he answered quietly. “I’m not going to regret this tomorrow.”
She stared at him for a long moment before grasping his hand. Weaving her slender fingers through his, she led the way toward a set of double doors on the far side of the room.
As they entered the bedroom, she flipped a switch near the door. A metal lamp with a black-and-gray-striped shade flared to life, creating a pool of golden light near the king-size platform bed.
A silvery-gray duvet covered the mattress, the material gathered into swirls to look like huge flowers. Puffy pillows in a variety of fabrics nestled against the black tufted headboard.
Stopping next to the bed, she turned to face him. With her eyes locked on his, she deftly unbuttoned the remaining buttons on her pajama top and shrugged it off her shoulders.
As he eyed her chest, a moan built in his throat. Her breasts were beautiful, firm and full. Rosy areolas and tight little nipples tipped the creamy mounds.
“After that day in the rickhouse, I thought about your breasts all the time. I knew how wet and tight your pussy was, but I didn’t know how your breasts felt in my hands or the color of your nipples. And not knowing made me crazy.”
She sucked in a harsh breath, and her breasts lifted. Before he could touch them, she untied the drawstring of her pajama pants. The waistband loosened, and the pants slipped over her hips. She gave a little shake, and the soft cotton fell to the floor.
As she stepped out of the pants, he let his gaze wander over her. With clothes, she looked willowy, maybe even a tad too thin. But without clothes, she was a fucking goddess. Her stomach was flat and toned, yet her hips were curvy. Her legs were long and lean but retained their womanly shape.
His eyes zeroed in on the place between her legs. He’d wondered if she was a natural blonde, and the neatly trimmed pale gold fluff at the juncture of her thighs proved she was. His mouth watered, and he swallowed thickly.
He couldn’t wait to taste her juice again. And this time he wasn’t going to lick it from his fingers. He was going to shove his face between her legs and gorge himself on her plump pink flesh and her sweet cream.
Like a zombie, he moved toward her, his arms outstretched. He didn’t bother to hide his hunger for her, and she backed away from him, probably frightened by the look in his eyes.
The back of her legs hit the bed, and she dropped heavily onto the edge. Before she could move, he fell to his knees between her legs and clamped his hands around her thighs.
“I’ve been thinking about this too. Your juice is the sweetest I’ve ever tasted.”
She gasped, and he slid his hands up her legs before cupping them around her hips. He gently pulled her forward until her ass rested on the edge of the bed.
“I told myself it couldn’t have been that good.” He looked up into her face. “Lie back. I want to know if you taste as sweet as I remember.”
Bracing herself on her hands, she slowly leaned back, and he immediately bent down until his face hovered over her pussy. He breathed deeply, the earthy musk of her arousal filling his nostrils and making his cock throb.
“Hook your legs over my shoulders, sugar, and widen your knees,” he cajoled.
As soon as she did what he’d asked, he used his thumbs to spread the lips of her pussy. Her delicate tissue glistened with juice, her clitoris plump and engorged.
Leaning forward, he wrapped his lips over the little knot of nerves and sucked gently. She jerked against him, her thighs quivering around his head. He sucked a little harder, and she moaned low in her throat.
He released her clit and slowly swirled his tongue around it before licking toward her opening. Her juice trickled over his tongue, and he filled his mouth with the sweet tanginess.
“I am so fucked,” he groaned. “Your juice tastes even better than I remember.”
He was never going to be able to go down on another woman without comparing her to Ava Grace’s delicious pussy. In fact, the thought of doing this to another woman made him sick to his soul.
He circled her opening with slow, light strokes of his tongue. As she lifted her hips against his mouth, he increased the pressure and the pace. He darted the tip of his tongue inside her, and she clutched his head in both hands, panting loudly.
Licking his way up, he found her clit again. It was hard against his tongue, and he pressed against it. She moaned, and he rolled his tongue over her sweet nub until she rocked against his mouth.
When he sucked on it, she whimpered. “Jonah,” she gasped. “Help me.”
He knew exactly what she needed. As he increased the suction on her clit, he slipped two fingers inside her and pressed them into the smooth wall of her vagina.
Her beautiful body bowed, and she cried out, coming against his mouth. He felt the ripples of her pussy against his fingers, and his balls twinged.
He stayed with her as she came down, his fingers wedged deep inside her and his tongue firm against her clit. After several minutes, her legs slipped from his shoulders, and her hands fell from his head. As he pulled his fingers from her body, he sat back on his heels and wiped his forearm across his mouth.
She rose up on her elbows. “Thank you,” she said, her voice low and raspy. As she sat up, she asked,
“Ready for your turn?”
“Maybe later,” he replied, shaking his head. “Right now, I just want to be inside you.”
She stood abruptly and did a one-eighty. Her perfect ass was just inches away from his face, and as she leaned over the bed to pull back the duvet, he got a flash of her pussy.
Unbelievably, his cock hardened even more. When she placed a knee on the bed to climb in, he vaulted to his feet. Settling a hand on her lower back, he asked, “Do you like it from behind?”
She looked over her shoulder. “I like it any way you want to give it to me.”
“This way,” he said, his voice gravelly.
As she crawled onto the bed on her hands and knees, he jerked his shirt from his pants. He unbuttoned his cuffs, but was too impatient to deal with the ones on the front. Instead, he just pulled the dress shirt over his head.
She shook her ass. “Hurry.”
He clumsily unbuckled his belt and tore the fastening on his pants in his haste to get them open. He didn’t bother to kick off his shoes. He could do that later, after he’d fucked Ava Grace so hard he couldn’t remember his own name. He’d remember hers though.
After yanking down his zipper, he hooked his thumbs into his boxer briefs and shoved down his underwear and pants. His cock was so hard it pointed toward his stomach, and he prayed he’d last long enough to get her off.
Sliding his forearm under her stomach, he pulled her backward until her knees reached the edge of the bed. He stepped behind her, his stomach flush against her ass. Fisting his cock, he placed it against her opening.
She looked over her shoulder. He saw her mouth move, but he couldn’t hear anything over the pounding of his heart. He focused on her lips and finally realized what she was saying: condom.
Holy shit!
He’d almost forgotten a rubber. He’d never been so worked up he’d neglected to think about protection.
He grabbed a condom from his pants, ripped it open, and sheathed his cock with trembling hands. Once again, he positioned himself against her opening and took a deep breath.
Gripping her hips in both hands, he plunged into her in one deep stroke. Just like last time, she came the moment he filled her. She cried out, arching her back, and he worked his cock deeper. Her pussy clenched around his length, and his vision blurred.
He dug his fingers into her hips, trying not to come. When he thought he could handle it, he slowly pulled out until just the tip of his cock remained inside her. Before he could move, she pushed back against him, taking him to the hilt.
She moaned, and he grunted as his balls drew up. He leaned down and placed his mouth against her ear. “Let’s take our time.”
He eased out of her, letting his erection rub against her folds, before pumping back inside in shallow thrusts. He found a smooth, steady rhythm, nothing like the fast, furious fuck in the rickhouse.
He rode her, plunging deep, and she moved with him, her hips rocking back against him. The supple muscles of her pussy sucked him in with each thrust.
“Goddamn,” he gasped, “you’ve got the tightest, wettest pussy I’ve ever felt.”
To his amazement, her pussy tightened again, milking his cock in powerful squeezes. A shock zinged down his spine to his balls. He tried to hold back his orgasm, but the burn spread. His release burst through him, and he shouted hoarsely, his cock pulsing as cum jetted from the tip.
The pleasure pulled him down, and he drooped over her back. Although he tried to keep his full weight off her, her arms collapsed anyway. She flattened against the mattress, and he fell on top of her, his cock still wedged deep. She groaned, and he hastily pulled out, holding the condom to make sure it didn’t slip off.
After rolling to his side, he brushed her hair away from her face. Her eyes were shut tightly, her long lashes curling upward.
“Are you okay?” he asked, worried he might’ve hurt her when he’d fallen on her.
Her eyelids fluttered before lifting. “Is that the only condom you have with you?” she asked, her eyes soft and hazy.
“No.”
He’d been sure they couldn’t go through six condoms in one night, but now he wondered if he was mistaken. He was still semi-erect, and it wouldn’t take much to run the flag up the pole.
“How many condoms do you have?”
“Five.”
Her lips tipped up in a satisfied smile. “You must’ve been a Boy Scout.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Bright sunlight snuck beneath Ava Grace’s tightly closed eyelids. With an annoyed growl, she threw her forearm over her eyes.
Ugh. Why didn’t I close the curtains before I went to sleep?
The reason slammed into her, and she sat straight up in bed, completely naked. She looked around, noting the scrunched-up pillow beside her and the tangled sheets. Other than that, and the condom wrappers on the nightstand, there was no sign Beck had ever been there. His clothes and shoes were gone.
Tilting her head toward the closed double doors, she listened intently to see if anyone was moving around in the suite’s living area. It was completely, oppressively silent.
He’s not here.
She pulled her legs to her chest, wincing a little as her inner thigh muscles twinged. Resting her head on her knees, she tried to wrangle her runaway emotions.
She’d walked into this situation with her eyes and legs wide open. She’d asked Beck if he’d regret being with her, and he’d said no. But he’d never indicated this was anything more than a one-night stand. She should’ve clarified that point.
She’d never wanted a relationship with a man before, but she wanted one now. She wanted more than one night with Beck. She wanted everything.
Her stomach growled, and she glanced at the clock on the nightstand. It was after ten o’clock, and she decided to get up. With Beck gone, there was no reason to stay in bed.
In the bathroom, she took care of her morning business before brushing her teeth and pulling her hair into a messy bun. She stepped into the sumptuous walk-in shower and turned on the faucets. She hoped the hot water would ease her aches and pains. She wasn’t used to this much sex, and she was sore inside and out.
As she waited for the water to heat, she evaluated her naked body in the full-length mirror. Beck had put his mark on her, from the faint fingertip bruises on her hips and inner thighs to the whisker burn on her neck, breasts, and belly. She even had a tiny hickey on her collarbone.
Beck wasn’t a polite lover. He had no hang-ups in the bedroom, and he hadn’t allowed her to have any either. She’d let him do things to her that she never imagined she’d allow anyone. His hands, mouth, or penis had touched every inch of her body. She’d experienced more orgasms in one night with Beck than her whole life.
Her stomach growled again, and she contemplated her need for food. She should probably order room service before her shower so she wouldn’t have to wait for it when she got out.
After turning off the faucets, she shrugged into the fuzzy white robe provided by the hotel and padded barefoot to the bedroom’s double doors. She pulled them open, crossed the marble floor to the living area, and came to an abrupt halt.
Her breath whooshed out, and she pressed her hand against her chest as her lungs worked to replenish the air. She blinked a couple of times, praying she wasn’t imagining things.
He’s still here.
Beck was lounging on the velvet sofa, his bare feet propped on the brushed metal cube that served as a cocktail table. He wore his black pants from the night before, but he was bare-chested, and his dark hair stuck up in the front.
He was reading the sports section of USA Today, and he must have sensed her presence because he glanced up. As he lowered the newspaper to his lap, his gaze lazily traveled up and down her body before settling on her face.
Their eyes met, and he smiled slowly, showing just the edge of his white teeth. That smile made her stomach feel wobbly. Or maybe it was just hunger pangs.
“Mornin’, sugar.�
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His voice was morning husky, and she broke out in goose bumps as it seeped through her. She could hear the echo of his baritone in her ears, telling her how good she felt … how tight … how wet … how much he wanted her.
She’d never liked pet names. She hated it when people called her sweetheart or darling or honey. But every time Beck called her sugar in his deep drawl, she melted like chocolate chips in a hot oven. She wouldn’t mind if he never called her Ava Grace again.
“Are you crabby this morning, Miz Landy?” His smile widened. “Or did I take care of that?”
His deep voice held a teasing note she’d never heard before. Her heart rate picked up until it thumped in her ears like a bass drum, and she swallowed to ease her dry throat.
He folded the newspaper and placed it on the cushion next to him. As he rose from the sofa, she couldn’t help staring. His pants were zipped but not buttoned, revealing his tight six-pack. Dark hair arrowed toward his groin, and the same silky hair dusted his muscular torso.
He met her in the middle of the room. Snaking a hard arm around her waist, he bent down and dropped a soft kiss behind her earlobe.
“Maybe you need some more lovin’,” he whispered, his breath hot against her ear.
Something sweet and warm filled her chest, and she let it radiate through her. Even though she’d never been in love before, she recognized it. And after last night, there was no doubt in her mind or heart.
She was in love with Beck. He was the solid guy she’d been searching for.
She’d watched him with Gabe and Ren, and she knew he was a good friend. Steadfast and loyal. He was attentive and patient with Gatsby, and she had no doubt he’d be the same way with his own children.
His relationship with Gabe and Ren, as well as Ellis, proved Beck stuck around. Even Trinity proved he knew how to commit. Distilling bourbon lacked immediate gratification, that was for sure.
She knew Beck wasn’t in love with her … not yet, anyway. But lust could turn into something more … something deeper. It could turn into love.
Nothing in her life had come easily, and there was no reason to think Beck would be any different. She just needed to keep her heart—and her legs—open.
