by Amelia Wilde
The sight of it has me rock-hard.
“I’m sorry,” I murmur into her ear.
She can hardly string two words together as my fingers glide in, glide out. “For . . . what?”
“I’ve been teasing you terribly.”
“How?” It’s one breathless word.
“I’ve given you the impression”—I press the pad of my thumb against her clit, and she gasps—“that I was going to make you come with my fingers.”
Her eyes fly open and lock on mine. “You’re . . . not going to?” She looks so beautifully desperate that I can’t stand it. I can’t stand it.
I let the question hang in the air. “Not only my fingers.”
She grins at me, a heated, wicked grin. “You’re a terrible—”
Annabel doesn’t have time to say anything else. I lift her, turn her onto her hands and knees, and knock her knees apart with my hands. She gasps as I take my position behind her. She backs her ass up as close as she can get to my cock, but I won’t let her have it yet.
“Please,” she says, low and throaty. “My hair . . .”
A surge of heat makes me even harder. I like a woman who knows what she wants. I love a woman who has no shame about begging for it.
I gather her hair into my hand and twist it into a rope. I hold it tightly in my fist. And then, while she’s perched on hands and knees, ass presented to me like the world’s greatest gift, I tug. She’s forced to lift her chin. Her juices streak down the inside of her thighs. She loves this.
I love this.
God, this could be a lifetime. I could do this with her for a lifetime, and we’d still never be done discovering everything about each other. It terrifies me. It thrills me.
But there’s no time to dwell, because Annabel is trembling with want, more of her juices dripping onto the bedspread.
“Fuck me,” she whispers.
So I do.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Annabel
I’ve lost all track of time and space. I don’t care if I ever get it back. All I care about is how it feels to be in Beau’s arms with nothing between us, not even the sheets.
I’ve been falling in and out of sleep because it’s late. It’s late, or it’s early. I don’t know. Does it matter? Does it ever matter, when everything feels so good?
He’s been holding out on me.
“You’ve been holding out on me,” I murmur out loud, and he runs his fingertips down the ridges of my ribs. It makes me shiver. It’s the nicest shiver I’ve ever felt.
“Mmm?” He says, shifting toward me and pressing his palm flat against my stomach before he guides it around to my hips. He settles back in. There’s another pause. Did I fall asleep again? It’s getting hard to tell.
“Why are you so careful?” I open my eyes and force my tired head to turn toward the window. It’s very dark outside. As dark as it gets in New York City, with the orange glow of light pollution blanketing everything. It’s night. That’s all that matters. If it was sunrise, I’d be heartbroken. Sunrise means going back to work at the Pearl. Sunrise means disentangling myself from Beau’s sculpted body and spending all day pretending I’m not aching for him.
“Careful?” He echoes me after a pause.
My heart picks up speed. “You were so . . . thoughtful about all of this. You never want to be spontaneous.” My tongue feels heavy and slow, like I’m drunk on the scent of him, the taste of him.
“Being spontaneous gets people hurt.”
The tone of his voice shakes me out of my lazy sleep. In the dark of his bedroom, Beau is completely at ease. His body is utterly relaxed, except for the hand that’s stroking languidly over my skin. He sounds candid, unguarded, and it’s so natural and easy that it makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up. A sharp awareness washes over me, but I don’t make any sudden moves. Not a chance. “Hurt? How? I mean, aside from the obvious.” I keep my voice low and smooth.
He takes in a long breath and lets it out, circling my belly button with two fingertips in a slow rhythm. Up, then down. Up, then down. “My mother didn’t want to move to the US.”
What does this have to do with what he was saying before? “No?”
“No,” he says, and then he’s silent for a long time. Maybe he’s fallen asleep. I close my eyes, but he speaks again. “They always planned. It was always very regimented in our household. Routines, all that. Never going overboard. That’s not what I’m saying. I had time to play after school.”
“It sounds nice,” I say.
“It was a fine childhood.” His fingertips go up and down, up and down. “And they never fought. They were good parents, Annabel. I don’t want you to think they weren’t.”
“I don’t.”
He swallows. “I heard them fighting once. I’d come home from school—the first grade is what you’d call it here—and I was sitting down for tea at the kitchen table. There was a shouting match. I know now that people . . . there are worse things that happen when people are young. But at the time it was a terrible departure from how things were.”
“They made up, though, didn’t they?” My heart is almost torn in two at the image of a young Beau trying to eat his tea and crumpet—biscuit?—and trying not to hear the fighting. It’s impossible to avoid that kind of thing.
“Honestly,” he says with a sigh, “it was never quite the same after that. My father used to dance with her in the kitchen in the evenings sometimes. I never saw them do that once we moved. My mother was heartbroken by the whole thing. Not that she’d ever want to admit it out loud. It was in the air around her all the time.” Beau shakes his head against the pillow, his breath in my hair. “After that fight, she came downstairs and asked me how I was, and then she went and stood in front of the sink, looking out over the garden. Do you know what she said?”
“What did she say?”
“She said, ‘Be careful with other people’s hearts, Beau.’ I didn’t know what she meant. Later I heard my father on the phone to his uncle talking about a snap decision. ‘My wife is a bit put-out.’ Those were his exact words.” He stops moving his fingers. “A snap decision,” he says quietly, almost to himself.
“I like a good snap decision every once in a while,” I say. It’s more than an understatement, but now doesn’t seem like the time. Especially because I’m not sure I’m going to want to leave once I hit the sweet spot with Beau. Not after . . .
He took me, again and again, and remembering makes heat gather between my legs. Beau is in his element in the bedroom. He doesn’t hesitate. He claims. And now he’s claimed me.
I’m ruined for anyone else.
No. That’s not true. I could pick up and carry on . . . if I had to. If I had to.
Oh God. I’m in it now, if leaving is a distant plan B and not inevitable.
It’s too late to be agonizing over this.
I wriggle under Beau’s touch. The heat has turned into a gush of juices. His fingertips are tracing their path again.
He lets out a laugh under his breath, and the sound is electric. I know what it means. I know, because in response to the movement of my hips, he traces downward. Down a few inches, then a few more. My nipples go hard in an instant. It doesn’t matter that we’ve done this many times already. It won’t ever matter.
Beau reaches between my legs, and I’m done thinking.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Beau
I wake up a new man.
The sound of the shower at the other end of the master bedroom, down a narrow hallway, rushes in my ears. That’s the first thing I notice. The second is that Annabel isn’t in bed with me. That means she’s in the shower. Naked.
I’m ready for her before I’ve thrown off the sheets. What is it, pulsing through my veins? Adrenaline? Testosterone? I want to sink my hands into the flesh of her hips and pull her back onto my cock. Her hands will need to stay pressed against the tiled walls of the shower if we’re going to stay balanced.
I stop at t
he double sink and brush my teeth. One of the spare toothbrushes I keep in the linen closet is in the holder. Annabel has made herself right at home. She’s a zero-to-a-hundred kind of girl. I’d grin if every nerve in my body wasn’t screaming to be pounding inside her immediately.
“Did you wake up?” she calls from inside the glassed-in shower. I put my toothbrush back in the holder and curse my past self for choosing frosted glass. Annabel’s body is too gorgeous to be hidden from my eyes. Screw that glass. I’ll have it replaced this afternoon.
“I did. The bed was quite empty, though.”
“What did you expect?” Annabel teases, a laugh in her voice. “We have work, Beau. It’s got to be at least ten after seven, and I’ve got to get back to the Pearl, and you’ve got to get to your office, wherever that is, for your meetings or whatever else you’re doing—”
I pull open the door.
The sight in my shower is everything I could have hoped for.
Annabel stands beneath a stream of water, steam drifting in lazy clouds in front of her. She runs her hands over her hair, her head tilted back. The view from the front almost makes me lose it on the shower floor. It would be an unforgivable lapse in self-control. But we’re past that now, aren’t we?
At the sound of the door clicking shut, she opens her eyes. She looks into mine for a brief moment, wearing a little smile, and then her gaze moves downward. “Whoa. You’re—”
I move toward her then. I can’t get my hands on her fresh, wet curves fast enough.
We were up late last night. Far too late. I should be utterly useless, but Annabel melts into me like this is the first time we’ve been allowed to touch. I kiss her hard, backing her up against the wall, and she moans. I nip at her lip. “Beau . . . wait. Wait.”
My heart sinks right through the floor, right through the rest of the building. Did I take this too far? Did I fuck things up, lunging at her like that? I take half a step back and meet her gaze.
It’s not hesitation I see there. It’s a pure, wild wickedness.
“What is it?”
“There’s one thing.” She puts her hands on my chest, palms flat, and watches the water droplets collecting there before she drags them downward. “I wanted to do something with you last night.”
“We did a lot of somethings last night.”
Her grin gets wider, sultrier. “One thing,” she says again.
Then she sinks to her knees.
*****
Annabel hops on one foot, then the other, laughing while she struggles to get into her skinny jeans. “We are going to be so late.” She laughs again. “I’m going to be late, I should say. You’re the boss. You can show up whenever you want.”
I put one arm into the suit jacket I’m holding. What would Edgar Sykes say if I started showing up to meetings whenever I wanted? Nothing good, that’s what. It would be the end of my partnership with him and probably Bennett Inc. besides. “A few privileges come with owning the business.”
She pulls up her jeans the last few inches, then surveys the pile of T-shirts on the ottoman at the foot of my bed. “You went all out.”
“I wasn’t sure what brand of T-shirt you wear.”
“You took precautions. Like, fourteen precautions,” she says with a smile, pink rising to her cheeks. It’s true. She didn’t have any clothes with her last night, so I had my personal shopper assemble a collection. The deadline was early for most of the boutiques, but I made it clear I’d be a loyal customer if they did me this one favor.
“I can have more brought up, if none of those are right.”
Annabel looks at me, eyes huge. “What kind of girl do you think I am? These are black T-shirts, Mystery Man. If I can’t find even one that works, I need to reevaluate my life.” She holds up one, then the next. For the third try, she reaches into the center of the stack. “Bingo,” she whispers under her breath.
“Wait.”
She freezes in the act of opening the shirt to put it on. “What is it?”
I’m not the same person I was before. The old Beau would have insisted that we leave ten minutes ago, even fifteen. The old Beau would have spent all that time in the shower trying to figure out which was the better option—remaining loyal to Bennett Inc. or indulging in the finest blow job humanity has to offer.
I cross the distance between us—all of two steps—and move behind Annabel, my hands on her waist, then on her hips. I pull her back. She’s warm through the front of my shirt. Her body feels right underneath my hands. She rests her head against my chest and puts her hands on mine, swaying so gently I’m not positive she knows she’s doing it.
“I’ll be heartbroken if you put that shirt on,” I say into her. “I don’t care if we’re late. Not today.”
She whirls in my arms and presses her lips against mine, fast and hard and hot. “Thank God,” she says, eyes alight with desire. “I’ve been waiting all morning for those words.”
We leave Winston waiting another forty-five minutes. He’ll be getting a big, big bonus.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Annabel
Everything’s different.
Beau’s different, and let’s be honest. He is everything right now. Everything. He consumes my mind every minute I’m awake and most of the minutes I’m sleeping, too. I cannot stop lingering over that unbelievable body. Even more than that, I’m addicted to the way he sounded when he was telling me about his childhood in England. One hit, and I’m hooked.
So is he.
Things are ramping up in the costume shop. Rehearsals are about to start in earnest, and these people are serious. Even Bethany has stopped making jokes. Instead she’s running her lines. “Take him, and cut him out in little stars,” she says while I move the fabric of her skirt this way and that. I’m not quite sure which way will be best. I need to feel it in my hands. I need to focus. It’s hard to do this when my mind is full of Beau.
“Sounds kind of gross,” I say absently, and she laughs.
“You can’t cut him out in little stars,” she says in a low voice.
I look up from the dress. There’s Beau in the doorway.
This is the second time today. His eyes are dark with need.
But I’m working. I can’t do this. I can’t constantly be leaving with him.
The saving grace is that Bethany’s phone rings. “It’s my mom,” she says, something on her face changing. “Five minutes?” Then she’s whirling away toward the back of the shop. There’s an overstuffed ottoman behind a dressing screen there that muffles the sound.
I put my pins aside and go to Beau.
He bends down to kiss me, his lips urgent on mine. When he breaks away, I’m short of breath. “Hi.”
“Hi,” he says. “Are you on a break?”
“I can’t always be on a break with you, Mystery Man. I’m going to get fired one of these days.”
He gives me a half smile. “Isn’t that ultimately the plan?”
“To get fired? I’ve been fired only once in my life.”
“Come to my penthouse.”
I laugh out loud. “I can’t leave.”
“You can.”
I arch an eyebrow at him. “Since when are you so reckless?”
He whispers in my ear. “Since we fucked all night, and in the morning I still had to have more of you.” He runs his fingers down my neck, letting the goose bumps rise. His hand sinks lower . . . but he keeps it on my arm, moving down to my wrist. “Come with me.”
I twist around, looking to see if Bethany is still hidden away behind the screen. She is, but her voice rises. “Mom, I can’t come home this weekend. It’s not going to work out. But on my day off next week—no, Mom, you’re not listening—”
I want to give in to Beau so badly. His touch makes me feel alive, makes me feel like I could do anything. But I don’t want to do anything. I want to do him.
“I have a better idea.”
*****
There’s a closet down the hall from th
e costume shop.
It’s a door everyone overlooks. I’ve never seen anyone glance at it, much less open it.
It’s hardly a classy enough place for Beau Bennett, but that’s part of the appeal. Plus, I have four minutes left in this little break. I’m not willing to waste any of it.
“Here.”
I take a look around, yank the door open, step inside, and then tug him in after me. It’s so overlooked that there’s nothing in here aside from some old polishing equipment, probably for the stage floor.
“I know it’s not a penthouse, but—”
Beau silences me with a growl and a kiss. I feel myself surrendering to his strength, to his control. In this space, in this dingy little closet, I don’t think about a thing. Not the sweet spot. Not the break. Nothing.
He is as ravenous as I am, and he pulls away so he can tear my jeans off. They fall to the dusty floor. Beau kneels in front of me, takes my panties in his hands. I suck in my breath. He glances up at me, and he’s . . . someone else. This isn’t the cautious man who didn’t want to sleep with me in case there were unforeseen consequences. This is a man who will take what he wants no matter the cost.
I love it.
I’m already slick.
He rips my panties in two, his eyes still on mine.
It doesn’t hurt, but I gasp. Before the sound is out of my mouth, he’s taken me in his arms and lifted me so that my back is up against the rough concrete wall. When did he unzip his pants? I don’t know, and it doesn’t matter, because the head of his cock is teasing my slit. I arch back, and he thrusts in, his hands tight on my ass.
“Look at me,” he growls. I’m holding on for dear life, but I look down into those eyes, a flash of fear trickling down my back at the tone of his voice. I’ve never been into dominant men. I’ve never been with a man who can be like this behind closed doors. “I want to watch you come.”
That’s all it takes. The steady thrust of him deep inside, filling me completely, and his desire. The way he’s watching me. The way he sees me. The first wave hits, and he lets out a low sound as my muscles clench around him. “Keep looking,” he commands. “Keep looking.”
