Mr. Beautiful

by R. K. Lilley

  Even so, she didn't want me to stop. She moaned out a protest when I so much as paused.

  I shot her a chastising look as I leaned forward, shifting until my mouth hovered over her slick flesh.

  With a soft groan of my own, I bent down and started sucking hard on her clit.

  She was primed already and came screaming with a few rough pulls of my mouth.

  I'd reached my limit, as well.

  I rose from my lazy elbow, climbing up her body. I left her bound while I fucked her rough, sucking her tongue while I drilled my hard length into her soft body repeatedly.

  I pulled back to watch her face as her cunt began to clench around me, I shoved harder into her, rocking my hips from side to side to jar along her walls.

  I came hard.

  I rocked into her roughly and shot deep inside, rubbing out every bit of my seed, letting her milk me to the last drop.

  She'd be sore tomorrow; every shift of her body would remind her how I'd taken her repeatedly through the night. Remind her of my total ownership of her body.

  It was only fair. After all, she had claimed complete ownership of my soul.

  It was minutes later, when I'd caught my breath that I got off her and went to the closet.

  When I came back, I paused to take her in for a long time. She was still bound, body limp, eyes sleepy but on me.

  I opened the large jewelry box in my hands, watching her face.

  She gasped.

  I took her delicate collar out, approaching the bed. I climbed between her legs, to hover over her prone form, propping myself on one elbow, setting the collar against her chest with the other.

  "Are you ready to wear this again?"

  Her eyes were pure liquid on mine. Enough so to drown in. "Always," she said, with relish. "I never wanted to take it off."

  I hadn't wanted that either. They'd cut it off, in fact, in the hospital. I'd had to have extensive repairs done to it, but it was as beautiful as ever.

  I moved up her body to straddle her, using both hands to fasten it, my fingers smoothing over it.

  "Aren't you going to lock it?" she asked.

  That warmed my chest. Her willingness. Her enthusiasm for a thing that had once intimidated her.

  I smiled into her eyes. "Of course, love."

  I had to untie her to get at her nape. She bent forward eagerly, flipping her hair out of my way.

  A shiver of delighted relief ran through me as I locked it into place.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  MY VERDICT

  We were at the New York apartment for the first time since the shooting, and she was at least healed enough for us to make full use of it.

  We'd just barely started traveling again, and it was a fact that we'd both been looking forward to this.

  I was fairly brimming with anticipation.

  Bianca was acting giddy with it. She was never like this. She could barely hold still. It was adorable. And sexy.

  I gripped her hair at the nape, hooked a finger in her collar, and watched her face, seeing where in the room her eyes wandered first.

  We were poised in the doorway of our neglected playground.

  I tensed when she looked longingly at the piercing table.

  She'd mentioned a few times, lately, about wanting her nipple piercings back. Everything had been removed when she'd gone into surgery, after the shooting.

  I was torn on the issue; it had been on my mind, as well.

  I'd finally come to a decision about it.

  "You won't like this," I began, "but I've decided not to pierce you there again."

  "What? Why?"

  "It's a bad memory for me, when I did those piercings. I lost it. Lost my mind. Lost my temper. Lost control. I went too far with you, in a few different ways. I've apologized several times for that, and you seem to be over it . . . but the entire thing is a hard memory for me, so I've decided that's not a marker I want to put on you."

  "Don't I have a say?"

  "You can always say no, to anything, but you don't get to force a yes. I've made up my mind. Also, I learned from that loss of control. I won't be putting my hands on you, not for pleasure or pain, when I'm angry with you again. It's a rule I should have made from the beginning. It just wasn't anything I'd run into before. There was always such an emotional disconnect between me and my subs. It left me ill-equipped to deal with my emotions where you were concerned. The subsequent onslaught of feelings was . . . an adjustment."

  She looked surprised. "Whatever you're comfortable with."

  "This is what I'm comfortable with. The burden is on me, and this is the solution I came up with."

  "So no piercings. That's the final verdict?"

  I smiled, watching her face as I said, "I didn't say no piercings."

  She looked intrigued. "What did you have in mind?"

  "Do you trust me?"

  She didn't hesitate. "Of course."

  Joy bloomed in my chest. I leaned forward, kissing her softly.

  I didn't deepen it. I was still very careful with her face.

  The bandages were off, the surgeries done, the wounds healed. She had a scar along her cheek, but it wasn't disfiguring, which was a miracle, all things considered. I didn't think it marred her beauty at all, but I was still wary of touching it.

  It continued to be a raw wound for me, what had happened to her.

  As though reading my thoughts, one of her hands covered mine, pulling it up to her face, she cupped it over the side of her face that had been injured.

  I pulled back, bringing my other hand and cupping her face in both hands.

  "You can touch it. It doesn't bother me. I won't break."

  I traced it with loving fingers. "It doesn't hurt to kiss, either? It's not tender."

  "No. It's not. You don't have to hold back so much."

  I just kissed her for a long time, letting it deepen, until passion ruled, and we were breathing each other's air, my mouth relearning hers after so much time away.

  Eventually, I guided her to the piercing table. I fastened her wrists to the table, but left her legs unrestrained. I pushed them wide. "Keep them open," I ordered, going to prep.

  She squirmed as I slid on tight latex gloves.

  I went through the careful, meticulous steps of piercing her naval.

  When I was finished, I straightened, and waited.

  "That was it?" she asked, shifting restlessly on her back.

  I gave her a smile that was all teeth. "Not quite." I pinched the hood over her clit, rubbing the soft flesh.

  "Any objections?" I asked her, as I prepped the area.

  "You're going to pierce my clit?" she asked, sounding a bit panicked at the notion.

  I waited a bit to answer, enjoying her tense impatience as I continued to work on her.

  "Not your clit. I don't want to risk you losing any sensation there." I pinched the area I was going to pierce. "I'm going to pierce the hood of your clit. It heightens sensation, if done right."

  She swallowed hard, chest heaving. "Have you done that before?"

  "No, but I've done my homework. I'm confident I can do it. Any objections?"

  She took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and submitted to the point of going limp. "No objections. Please, Mr. Cavendish."

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  AT PEACE

  PRESENT

  STEPHAN

  In front of our loved ones, on a perfect day in December, at a private resort in Bali, our own little slice of paradise, I took Javier as my husband, joined my life with his.

  They were not legal vows, but spiritual ones, which was all that mattered to me.

  Without even one ounce of shame, in front of all of those people, I said I do and kissed my groom.

  We kissed like we were just learning how. Like the sensation of my mouth pressed to his mouth was a new invention. I melded my lips to his and kissed him like there was nothing else, nothing to precede or follow, like this was the final act, the only
one. This kiss was a vow. A promise. It was the sacrament and the ceremony that bound us together.

  This kiss was all.

  And then.

  We threw one hell of a party.

  It was a celebration of pure joy.

  We danced. We drank. We howled at the moon. We reveled. We loved.

  The party lasted four crazy, wonderful days.

  I'd never been so happy. Never felt so at peace with every part of whom I was, what I'd been through, where I was going. Never been so accepting of all that was me.

  Bianca gave the best man toast at the reception. It was short and succinct.

  She hated hated public speaking, but didn't hesitate to do it for me.

  She held up her champagne glass and turned to me, her eyes bright. She was breathtaking in a clingy light blue dress with a simple cut, her hair loose and tousled with the ocean breeze.

  "I think everyone knows that Stephan and I have been attached at the hip for quite a while now. We've had each other's backs since we were teenagers. A decade and counting."

  There was cheering, and she smiled at me, love shining in her eyes, so clear and true I could have reached out and touched that love, held it in my hands.

  "I've always been proud to call you my best friend," she spoke directly to me. "Always. Unspeakably proud. You are the kindest person I have ever met. Your kindness has healed me. No one could ever have a more loving best friend. Your love has quite literally kept me breathing on this earth, more than once."

  Of course, I was tearing up. Bianca rarely spoke like this, and never in front of other people. I knew how hard it must have been, and that made it all the more special.

  "You've always accepted me," she continued. "Categorically. Unconditionally, you have embraced all that I am, every part of me, the good and the bad, the hard and the soft. That acceptance saved me. We had it rough for quite some time, you and I, but having you with me, having you love me, having you there to take care of me—we both know I would not be here without you.

  "But as good as you are," her voice caught, and she took a steadying breath to continue, "as good as you are, as worthy of love, we both know that it was a long journey for you to finally learn to love and accept yourself."

  She turned to Javier, her crystal clear eyes boring into his bright shining ones, tears running down his face. "I hold you solely responsible for helping him complete that journey. Thank you, Javier. Thank you so much. I can't express in words, can't ever properly illustrate the level of gratitude I feel for what you've done, for helping my dearest friend finally learn to accept and love himself. I'm so thankful, so happy to welcome you into our family."

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  MY TORN LOYALTIES

  PRESENT

  JAMES

  I wiped my mouth with a napkin, setting it down carefully, looking across the table at my friend.

  We often met up for lunch, so I'd had no reason to see this coming.

  I stared at Tristan. He was one of my closest friends, and I wondered why he was doing this to me, putting me in this position right before my wedding.

  I sighed. "Tristan, this is Bianca's department—"

  "Bullshit. She hates organizing this stuff. Either you or the wedding planner are handling these kinds of details."

  I grimaced, rubbing at my temple, feeling torn by both a need to protect Danika and respect her wishes, and an acute sympathy for Tristan and the way I knew he felt about her. I was one of the few that knew what had happened between them.

  "I don't think this is going to go the way you think it is," I told him, my tone careful. Gentle.

  "I'm not asking you to control that part. That part is my burden. I'm just asking you to seat me by her. Just give me something, some contact, an opening to get her to speak to me again." He swallowed, looking away. "Please."

  How could I say no to that? There was an entreaty in his voice that I could not deny.

  I tried one last time, for Danika. "Tristan, why can't you just let this go?"

  But I knew. Even after six long years, years of bitter separation, an endless, silent, hostile standoff all laying heavy across each of those years, Tristan was a man obsessed.

  "Listen," he started haltingly. "Even if she never—even if I, ugh, there are some things I need to change. I . . . I'm not who I was. I'm not the junkie that broke her heart and ruined her life. I know I'm not. But I need her to know that. Her eyes break my heart every time I look at them. If nothing else, I need to look in those eyes and see that she understands that I've changed."

  I nodded. "Closure," I tried.

  He sliced an impatient hand through the air. "No, not fucking closure. Closure is bullshit. A fucking myth. What I'm looking for is peace. Anything approaching absolution."

  "You only love like this once," Tristan explained to me. "I don't know about women, but I don't think men were made to survive this twice. That's okay, though. It's worth it. Even if it all blows up in your face, it's worth it. Don't take one single second of it for granted."

  Poor bastard. I felt for him, now more than ever. "I'm so sorry, my friend. So sorry you and Danika had to take different paths."

  His eyes went wild. "No." He shook his head. "No. No. We're not on different paths. She's my path."

  How could I tell him no, when I knew exactly how he felt? I just didn't have it in me. I could be a very hard man, but not to those I cared about, not to those I loved.

  "Swear you'll never hurt her again. Not in any way. Promise me." I had to say it, even knowing how he'd react. Such was the nature of my torn loyalties.

  His eyes went wild, his shoulders bunching up, as though it took every muscle in his body to keep his gut reaction toned down to something appropriate for this quiet restaurant. The room was suddenly too small for him.

  "You think you need to tell me that? You think it's your place?" An impotent rage dripped from his words. He was angrier at himself than he was with me, because we both knew why I had to ask.

  He'd broken her once, and though I had faith in him now, in who he'd become, I had to hear the words.

  I didn't flinch from his rage, meeting his wild stare with my calm one. "She's my friend. I care about her, and you're asking me to help you get close to her again. It's not a comfortable position that you're putting me in, and I just need to hear you say the words."

  He took a few deep breaths, looking away, his rage deflating out of him, and I could see the reason flowing back in. "I swear. I won't hurt her. I'll spend the rest of my life trying to make up for the times that I have."

  I nodded, satisfied with that.

  "C'mon, James," he said, smiling now, a broken smile, managing his anger like the grownup he'd become. "I keep hearing all of these matchmaking stories about you. Why are you so hesitant to use that talent for my benefit?"

  I grinned. "I'm new at it. Not yet qualified to interfere in your mess of a love life. I need to work up to a task like that."

  "That's a terrible attitude. Where's the arrogant prick I've come to know and love, who thinks he can run the world?"

  I ignored that, sighing deeply, my mind on my future wife. "Bianca isn't going to like this. She's grown fiercely protective of Danika."

  Bianca reacted about how I thought she would, though I did my best to put her in a good frame of mind before I told her.

  I came home early from work, wandering through the house until I found her playing in the closet, her back to me.

  I stood in the doorway, silently watching her for quite a while.

  She had her wedding dress out, a veil on her head, more hair accessories laid out on the closet's large table, as though she was deciding which to wear.

  She was dressed in some lacy white underthings that I assumed were meant either for under her wedding dress or after the wedding.

  I loved her in lace. Pale lace, a perfect foil to her flawless alabaster skin. Antique lace was my favorite, the stiff kind, that upgraded her skin just a bit, but this was up there, t
oo. Just then she wore soft, stretchy lace, all of it starkly white. Every bit of it screamed bride.

  My blood coursed through my veins, my cock swelling and throbbing in time to the erratic rhythm of my heart.

  My eyes moved over the lace topped stockings that ran up her thighs as she bent down.

  I moved a few steps closer to her to see what she was doing. She was fastening some delicate white heels on her feet.

  Her long hair cascaded over her shoulder as she played dress up with her wedding finery.

  God, had I ever looked upon a more lovely sight?

  She looked both pure and sinful all at once. It was the most heady combination.

  I wanted to ravish her more than I wanted to breathe, but I held back, savoring the vision of her first. Inhaling the feast before I partook.

  My cock pulsed persistently as I started quietly unbuttoning my shirt. I reached for my belt next, and the sound of it dropping to the floor finally penetrated.

  She jumped, her hand flying to her chest. When she recovered, she glared. "One of these days, I really am going to put a bell on you."

  That surprised a laugh out of me.

  She glanced down at the front of my pants, where my erection tented the material out.

  Her lips parted as her breath quickened

  "Isn't it bad luck for me to see you in the lingerie I'm going to fuck you in at the wedding?"

  She gave me a rueful lift of her brow. "You're getting things mixed up. You don't fuck at weddings."

  "Make love."

  She laughed, the sound music to my ears. "You don't make love at weddings, either."

  "Why not?"

  "It's . . . inappropriate. And besides, there's no place to do it. It's usually in a place crowded with other people."

  "The wedding reception, then."

  "After the reception, maybe."

  I smiled at her fondly. She knew me better than that, but I didn't pursue it. It would come up later. Guaranteed.

  "Stand on the table," I ordered her abruptly.

  "What?"

  I pulled a stepping stool that was used to reach shoes up to the closet's large island dresser.