Healing Beau (The Brothers of Beauford Bend Book 6)

by Alicia Hunter Pace

  He was Adonis, Chris Hemsworth, and the boy she’d loved her whole life, all rolled into one.

  And best of all, his penis stood at attention like a beefeater outside Buckingham Palace. She’d never touched a penis—which was part of the reason her attempts to lose her virginity had come to nothing. She’d been waiting to touch this penis—and she was done waiting.

  She rolled to her side and held out her hand. “I’ll have that now, please,” she said primly.

  He laughed a warm, easy laugh that washed over her and made her love for him increase at least tenfold.

  “Yes, please.” He stepped closer to the edge of the bed so she could take it in her hands.

  It felt so right to hold his pulsating penis—warm, smooth, and throbbing with a life of its own. She stroked and rubbed, fascinated with how she could make him moan with pleasure each time it jerked against her palms. She grew bolder, increasing the friction even as she gently cupped his testicles.

  “Good, so good. Yes. That’s right. Perfect,” he moaned when she found the rhythm that made him tremble until he had to grab the headboard to steady himself.

  “I want to make you feel good,” she whispered, so as not to break the moment.

  “Oh, you do. You do.”

  “I love this. I could do it forever.” And that was true. If she could do nothing but lie here fully clothed touching Beau like this, making him groan with pleasure until she starved to death, she would die in paradise.

  “I could let you do it forever.” He laughed a little. “I have perfect control. It would have been over a long time ago for most men.”

  Christian was at a loss as to how to describe the emotion that came over her then—love, gratitude, lust. Maybe all of that. Suddenly, she wanted to do more, had to do more, had to have the perfect intimate moment. Not only had she never done such a thing before, but she also would have never imagined she’d be ready right now—but she’d read plenty of books with her hand between her legs and her mind on Beau. And in the books, one thing was always sure: No matter how the woman went about it, the man never thought there was a wrong way.

  She rolled closer to edge of the bed, urged him nearer, and took his penis in her mouth.

  The sound Beau made was somewhere between anguish and rapture—and she knew it wasn’t anguish. She concentrated on the taste. Salty, maybe a little metallic, like clean sweat. And there seemed to be a small drop of something at the end—not enough for the Big Finish. Just a little leak. She’d read about that, too. She flicked at it with her tongue.

  “Damn, Christian!” he growled, and his knees buckled a little.

  She backed out. “Should I stop?”

  “No! For God’s sake, no.” Now that was a sound of agony. She slid her tongue up and down the base and then around the head. “Ahh.” He sighed contentedly.

  But she didn’t want him content. She wanted him in heaven, so she took him fully in her mouth again and began to suck in earnest.

  He took her hand and guided it to the base. “Do this. Hard.” And with his hand over hers he set the rhythm.

  Christian began to suspect that this might be the moment. And she was okay with that, even if this was all there would be, even if she left this room still a virgin. She hadn’t come in the room feeling that way, but it was different now. She wanted to give him pleasure, to make him happy, and that was all that mattered—all that had ever mattered.

  But then he pulled back. “No more.”

  He pulled her to her feet, and just for a moment, she thought he was stopping. But then he pulled her sweater over her head, threw it on the floor, and pulled her pants down around her ankles. “That’s better.” He eased her onto to her back and finished removing her pants. When he came to lie beside her he began to laugh.

  “What?” How dare he, after she’d put herself out there like this? “Why are you laughing at me?”

  He kissed the corner of her mouth and ran his hand over her silk-clad bottom. “I’m not laughing at you. I’m delighted with you. Interesting underwear choice.”

  Shit. She’d forgotten. “I try.” There was a little wail in her voice. “I mean well. I buy matched sets, but I can’t manage to get them on at the same time.” And it was true. Today she wore the baby pink balconette bra that wasn’t much more than a lacy whisper, but the matching Brazilian bikini underpants had been nowhere to be found. So she’d worn the purple paisley boy shorts, whose matching bra was in the wash.

  “I like that you aren’t all matched up.” He lightly ran his hands over the lace of her bra. That was nice, though she didn’t like to have her nipples touched. Maybe she could endure it without him noticing. He stroked again. “It reminds me that you don’t have time to match up your underwear. Because you are taking care of the things and people who are important to you.” He kissed her cleavage. “You take care of your business.” And then the top of her right breast. “Your friends.” He let his tongue drift over and give her left breast a mirror image kiss. “And me. You take care of me. You always have.” And he kissed his way down between her breasts and ran his tongue along the band of her bra.

  “I’ll bet your other women always match.” Why had she said that? Remind him of other women? Stupid, stupid, stupid!

  “Other women?” He settled his face into the curve her neck and nipped at the tender skin. “There aren’t any other women. There’s only you.” He turned her so they were lying face to face, and he rubbed his bare penis against her thigh. She reached down and stroked it. “Mmm. That feels good.” He reached around and unhooked her bra. “I’ll tell you what. If this mismatched underwear bothers you, I can take care of that.” And he did. In seconds the bra and panties were on the floor. He pulled her to him hard. “Wrap your legs around me,” he commanded before settling his mouth on hers for a long, deep, sloppy kiss. Sloppy kisses always got bad press, though Christian couldn’t figure why. She loved the heat, the mixed spit, and teeth on teeth. And now he was lightly biting her lower lip. What could be better?

  What, indeed? His hard, enlarged penis rested between the folds of her sex like a plow in warm, fertile earth. He didn’t move, but held firm and still, throbbing and jerking against her.

  She needed to move against him, had to.

  But when she lifted her hips, he placed a hand on the small of her back. “No. Not yet. There’s time enough for that. Right now, enjoy how good it is just to be still and close. And this. Enjoy this.”

  And like all three of the boys/men she’d tried to close the deal with and failed, his mouth dipped to her nipple, and though she hadn’t meant to, she recoiled.

  He noticed. “Don’t worry. I know nipples are sensitive. I’ll get them ready. You’ll tell me when you want more.”

  What did that even mean? And then she found out.

  He didn’t latch on like a starving baby. In fact, her nipples might have been a baby’s cheeks, because he began to kiss them lightly—no tongue, no teeth, no sucking. Just gentle, sweet kisses from one to the other. Christian closed her eyes and tried to take it all in. She wouldn’t have to stop at the last minute and be called a cock tease, because it was Beau here with her, Beau between her legs, Beau with his lips on her nipples. She gently caressed his back and goose bumps rose against her hands. He moaned against her flesh.

  It was a marvel—a miracle—that she had the ability to cause these responses in him.

  Then he opened his mouth against her nipple—just that, opened his mouth, wet and warm.

  “Nice,” she said. “That’s so nice.”

  And it was. He raised his face and looked into her eyes. “You deserve nice. Can I suck them now? I won’t hurt you.”

  At the thought, her groin twitched, and a fresh burst of moisture gave way there. “Oh, yes.” She guided his head back to her breast and slid her hands over his shoulder blades. She’d always wanted to do that and never thought it would happen.

  “You taste so good.” He swirled his tongue around her nipple, and her hips buc
ked against him involuntarily.

  “Do I taste like a mismatched bra?”

  And she found how a laughing mouth felt as it sucked … and sucked … and sucked. She thought she would die from the pleasure. He switched on and off from nipple to nipple, nipping and biting as he went. Time lost all meaning. There was only his mouth making a magic she hadn’t known existed, and his penis pounding against her. Somewhere along the way, they had started to move together, stroking in perfect time.

  “Fantastic,” Beau whispered. “Just wet enough.”

  Finally, he rolled away from her with a groan.

  “No!” Christian protested—and then she remembered. Maybe the groan wasn’t one of pleasure. How could she have forgotten? “Are you in pain? Is this hurting your back?”

  His laugh was low and sexy. “Believe me, I’ve never been better.”

  Relieved, she reached to pull him back against her. “Then why would you pull away? It feels so good.”

  “That’s why.” His voice quivered. “Do you want me to come all over your stomach?”

  Yes. That’s exactly what she wanted. She didn’t want him to discover she was a virgin and be appalled. At her age, she didn’t want to bleed and cry out in pain with any man, but especially not this one.

  He pulled her to him and slid his hand across her stomach, down the inside of one thigh and up the other. Then his fingers danced up and down, between, and inside all the right places.

  “Mmm,” he said against he ear. “So tight. So wet. Wet for me. Here.” He rubbed some of her natural moisture onto her palm and guided it to his pounding penis. “Stroke me.”

  He captured and invaded her mouth with his tongue just as he slid a finger inside her and rested his thumb on her clitoris. She bucked against his hand and stroked and stroked him, determined to make him feel as good as he was making her.

  He buried his face in her neck, frenzied, out of control. “Never wanted it so much. Never felt so good.” His words were low, like an incantation, and he nipped at her neck, her nipples, and her lips between words.

  Empowered by her effect on him, Christian continued to stroke him and ran her fingers over the head of his penis with the other hand.

  The sound he made was primal and went to her core in a way that even his touch could not.

  “I have to. I have to now.”

  “Just do it.” Christian flipped to her back and spread her legs wide. To hell with the fear and the pain; it couldn’t be worse than the wanting. “Do it right now.”

  And though he wasn’t gentle, didn’t have it in him to be at that moment, and though she steeled herself for it, there was no pain and no blood.

  There was only Beau inside her, crying out with pleasure, making her answer him in kind. He caressed her face, looked into her eyes, and stroked, lifting high and going deep. She lifted her hips to meet him, determined to make the very best, the very most of this moment.

  And she did. At last the spasms would wait no longer to come. They ripped through her, making her turn her head from side to side and tears spill from her eyes.

  Then his moment came, with all the abandon that she could have hoped for. Afterward, they held and stroked each other’s faces silently for a long minute.

  Then he smiled radiantly into her eyes.

  “If you meant what you said, Christian, look into my eyes for your best Christmas present ever. I am a happy man. Merry Christmas.”

  She tried to take it all in and pack it away in case she needed to bring it out later for comfort.

  Chapter Nine

  Beau looked at Christian out of the corner of his eye as she drove hell for leather toward Beauford Bend. It was that second round that was making them late for Christmas lunch—a small price to pay, really, if you only considered the complete nirvana of the last few hours. God, it had been good—earth-shaking-reach-deep-into-your-happy-place good.

  But it was a short trip from Happy Valley to Panic City.

  What had he done? Even taking out of the equation that he should not have had sex with his best friend, Beau had never, ever had sex without a condom—let alone with no thought of one. Jackson had drilled into him early and often that sex without a condom was never an option. He had regaled Beau and the twins with horror stories of disease, pregnancy, and whole lives gone wrong, so that by the time Beau had sex for the first time shortly after his fifteenth birthday, he was well stocked and ready.

  So, why had it not occurred to him today? Was it because Christian wasn’t so much another person in his bed as an extension of himself? No excuse, of course, but he liked to explain things if only to himself.

  “Uh, Christian?”

  “Yes?” She glanced at him and turned her eyes back to the road. There was not one bit of awkwardness. She was as cool and easy to be with as ever.

  “I thought I should let you know I’m sorry for not using a condom. I can assure you that you are in no danger of a disease. Not only have I never had sex without a condom before, I have just spent a month in a military hospital where they did every test known to any man.”

  When she glanced his way again, she looked barely startled, as if she hadn’t thought of it either.

  But she found her voice. “And you have nothing to worry about. I’ve never had sex without a condom either.”

  It would have never occurred to him to wonder about that. Jackson would say that was asinine, stupid thinking that could only lead to disaster. But this was Christian.

  But there was something else. “Is there any chance—?”

  “That I could become pregnant?” She didn’t take her eyes off the road this time. “I assure you that you don’t need to worry about that.”

  That was a relief.

  Her hair looked a little messy, and he wondered if she knew exactly how gorgeous she was. And those breasts. He’d had no idea. Christian wore demure, classic clothes—not too big, but by no means clingy. Who knew those silk blouses and cashmere sweaters were hiding the world’s most perfect breasts?

  Now, he’d seen some breasts—large, small, augmented, and not, but none that compared to Christian’s. Somewhere between the size of a large orange and a grapefruit, they were lush, with the pinkest, pearliest nipples imaginable. At the thought, his cock sprang to life, and he wanted nothing more than to tell her to pull off the road so he could rip off that sweater and taste his fill of them again. And then when she was moaning and straining her hips to get near him, he would rip off those pants and mismatched underwear and bury his head between her thighs until she screamed and spasmed against his mouth.

  Stop it! he admonished himself. All he needed was to show up at Beauford Bend not only late for Christmas lunch, but with a raging hard-on and aching balls. But it was too late for that, and too late to ask her to turn the car around, because they were now parked in Beauford Bend’s front circle drive and the front door was opening.

  “We’re late. I’m parking here because it’ll be faster to get to the dining room.” Christian cut the motor and turned to look at him, her hand still on the key. “Are we good?”

  Oh. He had not responded when she said she couldn’t be pregnant.

  He wanted to pull her into his arms and kiss her, but Jackson was coming out the front door glowering.

  Beau summoned up the Charmer smile and flashed it at Christian. “I would say we were more than good. We were mind-blowing sensational.”

  The smile she blessed him with was not one she had invented to get her way. It was warm and sweet and came straight from the heart—and it reminded him what he never should have done.

  “You’re late, Beau,” Jackson said. “And I know it’s not Christian’s fault.” That was the truth.

  “No. Not Christian’s fault. I fell asleep.” Of course, so had she, between sessions. “I’m sorry.”

  Jackson softened. “It doesn’t matter. You’re here now. But let’s go in. Everyone’s waiting.”

  Beau braced himself for the ghosts. And to be sure, they were t
here. But with Christian at his side, they seemed a little friendlier, and they lurked only in the background. The ambrosia and the German chocolate cake didn’t have to fight past a lump in his throat, and the Christmas lights that had seemed hard and jagged before now twinkled and glowed—all because of Christian’s laugh.

  But he absolutely could not have sex with her again. No matter how good it was, no matter that he might never find any to equal it again, no matter that—even now—they had leaned into each other to watch basketball, he could not, would not, risk this relationship for sex.

  No matter how bad he wanted her. And he wanted her bad.

  But at the end of the evening, less than thirty minutes after returning to Firefly Hall, he was deep inside Christian again, with her writhing under him, begging him not to stop, begging him to make it last, begging for more.

  And he did all that until daybreak.

  • • •

  Christian carefully untangled herself from Beau and pulled the covers around his bare shoulders. She winced when she stood. The flesh between her legs was bruised and sore, but it had been worth it. The last time they had started to make love, Beau realized she had become tender, and he did something that would have made her fall in love with him if she hadn’t been already. He bathed her with a warm cloth and then soothed her enflamed genitals with an ice bag.

  But the warm, followed by cold, aroused her again. When she began to move against the ice bag, Beau’s mouth found its way to her breasts. He ended up moving the ice bag from her crotch to her nipples, creating a sublime kind of cold-hot pain until he warmed them with his tongue. When she could take no more, he knelt between her legs and gently, gently brought her home with his tongue. By then, he was hard and wanting again, but when she reached for him, he whispered that he wanted to try something else. He slid his penis between her breasts and showed her how to swirl her tongue around the head as he slid up and down, and finally take it deep into her mouth. At the last moment, he tried to pull away, but she held fast to him, reveling in the hot blasts of semen filling her mouth.