Chapter 10
Chapter ten
Abigail
Beau’s kiss isn’t gentle anymore.
His lips are warm and firm and demanding, moving against mine with an urgency that steals my breath away.
I gasp into his mouth, fingers curling into the front of his long sleeve—because, as usual, despite the frigid temperatures, the man refuses to dress accordingly—as he makes a low, rough sound in the back of his throat that sends heat straight to my core.
God.
He smells like him. Like sunlight filtered through fresh air—warm, bright, and clean.
Like the earth itself in its happiest form.
It’s comforting in a way that makes my knees weak.
And when his stubble scrapes against my skin, when his mouth tilts against mine as he tastes me, my entire body responds like it’s been waiting for him to feel alive again.
His hand slides to my waist, and the other braces above my head against the beam between the stalls, caging me in completely.
Not trapping me.
Claiming me.
The post is solid at my back, but I barely register it–there’s too much of him.
Beau crowds in close, boxing me in until there’s nowhere to go but into him.
His breath is uneven as he kisses me, mouth moving against mine with intent, with purpose, and every sound he makes only makes me want him more.
I kiss him back just as fiercely.
I want him to know I’m here. That I want this. That I want him.
My hand slides up his chest, over muscle and warmth, and he shudders—actually shudders—breaking the kiss just long enough to drag in a ragged breath.
“Abbie,” he murmurs, my name thick and desperate on his tongue.
The way he says it makes something inside me coil tight.
His forehead drops to mine for a heartbeat, breath fanning across my lips. Then, he kisses me again—slower this time. Deeper. “I love you,” he rasps against my lips.
My only response is a desperate whimper. I feel drunk off his touch, and all he’s done is kiss me.
It’s overwhelming in the best possible way.
When he finally pulls back again, we’re both breathing hard, his eyes dark and focused on me.
Only me.
“Upstairs,” he says hoarsely. Not a question, but a command. “Before I lose what little control I’ve got left and fuck you right here.”
I raise a brow as my lips pull into a mischievous smile. “Well, now… that wouldn’t be so—”
He kisses me quickly, but before pulling away, he nips at my lower lip—silencing my sass in the most delicious way.
Taking my hand, he leads me toward the narrow stairs at the back of the barn.
My legs feel unsteady beneath me, pulse still racing, my body humming from where he touched me, and from where he hasn’t touched me yet.
The office door barely clicks shut behind us before he reaches up and tugs his backwards cap off, tossing it across the room without a second thought. It hits the wall and drops to the floor as his hands find the hem of his shirt.
He peels it off in one smooth motion, muscles flexing as he does, that wide, boyish grin flashing across his face—except his eyes dance with hunger instead of humor. Still dark. And still locked on me.
I can’t help the laugh that slips out. “You sure are eager today, Mr. Saint John.”
“For you,” he says as he bites his lower lip while he prowls toward me like a lion stalking its prey. “Always.”
I can’t help but take one step back for every one he takes forward—wanting to stretch this moment out for as long as possible, to memorize him like this.
The way his jeans dance along his hips with every step.
The way his skin—tan despite the harsh winter—is dotted with goosebumps, not from the chill outside, but from the heat in here.
And the low chuckle that rumbles deep in his chest as he shakes his head at my antics.
“Don’t tease me, Abigail,” he warns, stepping closer now. “You might regret it.”
“Now you’re starting to sound like Linc—”
His mouth crashes back onto mine, stealing my breath as he backs me up once more until my hips hit the edge of a desk cluttered with papers, pens, and legal pads.
I barely have time to register that this isn’t his desk before everything goes flying.
Paper, a mug, and a tray full of paperclips clatter to the floor as Beau sweeps it all aside with one arm without even breaking our kiss.
I break away just long enough to murmur, breathless, “Lincoln is going to kill you.”
He huffs a laugh against my mouth. “I don’t give a fuck. I’ll clean it up later.”
Then his hands are on me again—urgent, decisive—as he shrugs my coat off my shoulders, then my sweatshirt, then my shirt, each layer discarded as carelessly as the contents of Lincoln’s desk.
His eyes dip, just for a second.
And the look on his face tells me that he needs this just as badly as I do.
His warm palms skate over my bare skin, thumbs brushing just enough to make me shiver without quite giving me what I want. I make a frustrated sound into his mouth, and Beau grins against my lips, seemingly pleased with himself.
“That noise,” he groans. “It’s gonna get me into trouble.”
“With who?” I breathe, tilting my head so his mouth can slide along my jaw.
“Me,” he says promptly.
His lips trail down my jawline, slow and deliberate, as he maps my skin with his mouth. Kissing. Lingering. Teeth grazing just enough to make my pulse stutter before his mouth finds the sensitive spot beneath my ear and lightly bites at the skin.
I gasp, and he groans right back—deep and unrestrained—and the sound vibrates against my skin. “Jesus, Darlin’,” he mutters, forehead pressing into my neck like he quite literally needs a second to gain his composure. “You taste like you’re about to ruin me.”
I smile, breathless. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
His laugh is soft and wrecked. “It’s a problem.
” I must tense at his words because he clarifies, “All I want to do is spend every minute of every day trying to get you to make those sounds. Trying to taste you. Trying to get you to just smile in my direction. I’d happily forget about anything and anyone so long as I’m lucky enough to breathe your air. ”
Dragging my mouth along the line of his throat, I feel him tense beneath me, his hands tightening instinctively at my hips. His words make my head spin as he tilts his head back just enough to give me access, and I don’t hesitate to take it.
When I pull back, his eyes are drowning in hunger. For me.
He straightens, just slightly, and that’s when I see them.
The scars.
I’ve noticed them before, fleeting glimpses when his shirt rode up or that night with him and Lawson, or even on Christmas Eve.
But this—this is the first time I really see them.
They’re pale against his skin. Old. Some thin and faint, others thicker.
One in particular catches my eye, though.
It’s longer. Angrier. And it sits just beneath the ranch brand tattooed over his chest.
Without thinking, I sit up a little and reach out.
My fingers brush the scar gently, and Beau flinches.
It’s not violent, and he doesn’t pull away, just a sharp intake of breath and his jaw tightening for a split second before he forces himself to relax.
I still my hand immediately. “Hey,” I whisper. “I’m sorry. Did that hurt?”
His eyes flick down to where my fingers hover, then back to my face. He shakes his head as his large hand wraps around my wrist, guiding my hand back to his chest.
“How did you get this?” I ask softly.
For a long moment, he doesn’t answer.
Instead, he reaches out and traces a small scar on my biceps—one from one of Maxim’s worst temper tantrums. His thumb moves over it with a gentleness that makes my throat tighten. “Probably the same way you got yours,” he responds quietly.
Something unspoken and heavy passes between us.
Understanding.
I swallow. “From someone who had more power than you and took advantage of it?”
His eyes lift to mine. “Yeah.”
We hold each other’s gaze, the world narrowing to this small, quiet second suspended between the heat of the moment and the coldness of our past.
I don’t pull my hand away.
And neither does he.
Instead, he moves his thumb along my wrist as I move mine along his scar, feeling the beat of his heart beneath my palm. Sitting up straight, I bring my lips to his chest and say softly, “I’m really glad you’re here.”
Beau places a long and gentle kiss on the top of my head. “Me too.”
I look up at him, and his blue eyes dance between mine as the beat of his heart picks up in cadence. It only takes one more second for the heat between us to snap back into place like a live wire.
His mouth finds mine again. Hot and hungry, but somehow still reverent. Our lips move together, and I melt into it as my hands slip up his bare torso.
I trail my fingers over the planes of his chest, down his ribs, feeling the way he tenses under my touch. Beau groans quietly into my mouth as I kiss him back just as fiercely, biting gently at his lower lip before letting my mouth wander.
My mouth traces along his jaw, slow and unhurried, feeling the rough scrape of his stubble against my lips as I move down his neck. Beau sucks in a sharp breath, head tipping back instinctively to give me better access.
“Abigail,” he moans, his voice laced with need.
I kiss beneath his ear, lingering there long enough to feel the way his body reacts—every muscle coiled and ready. Still sitting on the desk, I reach out once more—not tentative this time, but intentional—and let my fingers slide down his stomach, slow enough to make his breath hitch.
His eyes never leave mine. Not even when I reach the waistband of his jeans.
“Still with me?” I ask softly, my thumb hooking beneath the button.
Beau swallows, a crooked smile tugging at his mouth, making me even more desperate to see the rest of him. “Darlin’,” he says hoarsely, placing his hand over mine, silently urging me for more. “I’ve been with you since the second you walked into my life.”