Chapter 22
Beau
Our bodies come together, flesh meeting flesh in a violent dance of passion and maybe some rage.
At least, on my end.
I’m so angry with him for trying to trick me. So angry with him for going out tonight and letting me think he was actually going on a date. But mostly, I’m so angry that it is working.
That his sneaky little plan to get under my skin and make me fall for him is absolutely working.
Because it is.
Because I am absolutely falling for this man.
I’m falling for sea glass-green eyes. I’m falling for blond curls. I’m falling for thousand-watt smiles.
I’m falling for him.
Because all of this rage, all of this anger, simply melts away as our tongues dance together. It melts away, and all I feel is soft. Soft for this man in my arms. Soft for him. Soft for his kisses, for his touch, for him.
“You thought you could tease me tonight, huh?” I ask, my nails digging into Milo’s flesh, into his back, and into his ass. “You thought you could trick me.” I chuckle into his kiss. He has the courtesy to at least look ashamed of his little ploy.
“Beau…”
But I cut him off.
My fingers dig into his ass, hauling him up and against me. He gasps, but obeys. He jumps into my arms, powerful thighs wrapping around my waist and holding onto me tightly. His achingly hard cock presses against my abdomen.
My own throbbing dick presses against his ass.
“Do you feel that, baby?” I ask him, thrusting my hips and pressing my dick against him. I obviously am pushing blindly, but in my head, I’m hitting that tight little hole dead on. “Is this okay, sweetheart?” I ask gently, my head bent in close as I whisper in his ear.
Milo throws his head back and moans, the loveliest sound drawn from those pretty, pink lips. Rolling his neck, he moves back in close. His arms are circled around my neck, holding me close to him. Our noses press together, and our lips are just millimeters apart.
I pull his face back to mine and devour his kiss. He tastes so honey-sweet, a hint of mocktail on his tongue maybe. It’s my chance to toy with him.
“Ah.” I chuckle again. “You indulged a little tonight?” He looks at me through those thick lashes, his freckles popping against his rosy cheeks. “Needed something sweet to get you through your little deception?” I ask him, a teasing lilt to my voice.
He buries his face into my neck as I carry him to the bedroom, licking and kissing along the column. His tongue, the wicked little muscle, traces a line down my throat to my shoulder, moaning against my skin. Fuck, it feels so good.
He bites into the muscle, and I groan, stopping as my cock twitches in response.
“Naughty, naughty,” I croon before I begin walking again.
I whisper praises to him as we stumble into his room. “Right there, baby” and “yes” and “good boy”. The lights are dimmed because I planned for this. I didn't plan for the lie, and I do feel like I should punish him for it, but all in all, I planned to get this man into bed again.
If he wants me, I am going to give myself to him. I am going to give him everything.
When he left earlier in the evening, I was in a state of absolute distress, pacing the floor with my fingers buried in my hair, thinking of some nameless and faceless man running his fingers through Milo’s blond curls.
I grip those curls now and shudder, knowing how close I was to losing it. How I thought I was so close to losing him. The Grindr setup was one thing. The bartender was one thing. A real and fleshed-out date? I was convinced I was too late to figure out my feelings.
And why would he wait for me? I certainly wouldn’t.
I throw him on the bed and toss myself on top of him, crawling up his sexy, long body, peppering him with kisses as I go.
“My naughty boy,” I whisper when I finally reach his ear, and I can feel him shivering under me. I begin pulling at his clothes to get him naked as fast as possible. His shirt, a nice button-down, rips a little as I yank it over his head.
“I’ll buy you a new one,” I whisper against his skin as I continue to bite and lick at his exposed flesh.
“I don’t care,” he groans. “Not even a little.” His voice is breathy, and he stares down at me. His hair is a shiny golden halo around his head, curls wild. His freshly kissed lips are pink and plump. His skin is covered in a sheen of sweat, making him glow, a heated pink flush spreading across it.
Fuck, he looks so sexy like this, just laid out for me and desperate to be devoured.
His hands stretch up over his head, and he raises his hips—unspoken permission to continue with unbuttoning and tearing off his pants.
Still, when I grip either side of the denim, I look at him and raise my brow.
He nods fervently. I slide his jeans off, and his erection presses against his briefs obscenely.
My face is already there, so I do the logical thing and mouth at him over the fabric, the wet of my tongue drawing out the wet of his precome.
I can taste him through his briefs, and it’s so filthy.
He’s whining and moaning, squirming beneath me.
I stand up slowly, enjoying the imbalance of being completely clothed and messing with his almost naked body.
He stares up at me and watches, enraptured, as I slowly pull off my clothes, peeling off my sweater and sliding down my pants.
I don’t have to look down. I know my erection is pointed directly at Milo.
It wants him just as badly as I do.
Now naked, exposed, I crawl up his body once more.
I kiss up his legs, his calves, his thighs, right to the crease of his groin, where I lick him fervently.
He practically purrs for me. I lick and suck and lave at the skin surrounding his cock, refusing to pull down his briefs and give it the attention it desires.
“Please, please, please, please,” he begs me, the sweetest sound I’ve ever heard.
The head of his cock is poking out the top of his briefs now, needy and angry and red, and I smile at it lasciviously. Bending over, I give it a pointed lick, dragging my tongue over his slit.
He howls, his whole body bowing in response.
I love eliciting these sounds from him—the moans, the groans, the whimpers. They’re a balm to my aching chest, where my heart is beating too hard and too fast.
I slip my fingers into his briefs, admiring the vision of him all laid out and flushed once more, before unceremoniously tearing them off. I apparently use a little too much force because there’s a ripping sound as I pull them down his meaty thighs.
“I’ll—”
“I know, I know,” he laments, rolling his eyes. “Buy me a new pair. Please hurry.” His voice is so breathy and desperate.
“Roll over.” I help push him onto his belly and pull his hips back toward me. With a hand on each cheek, I pull him open so I can admire that pink hole. It winks at me, and he whines in response. Using my pointer finger, I gently probe at his hole, just to see what noise he’ll make.
Fuck, he keens at the pressure and his hole has a little give.
“Oh baby, this hole is so desperate to be filled, huh?” My finger runs lazy circles around the ring of muscle.
It quivers under my touch. “Look at it dance for me, just needy for attention.” His face is buried in the comforter, but I can imagine it all flushed and sweaty.
I nod toward the bedside table, even though he can’t see me. “Lube.”
The bottle is in my hand, and I stare down at him again. He’s laid out before me, on his stomach, his ass in the air. He looks like such a slut like this.
Such a slutty little feast.
It would be ludicrous to pass up such a delicious opportunity.
I lean in and begin licking at his hole, my hands firmly gripping his hips to keep him exactly where I need him. He cries, his voice hoarse, and I work him open with my tongue.
Fuck, his hole is pink, wet, and sloppy.
Exactly how I want him.
I work on him carefully, opening him up with lube-slicked fingers. He moans and whines, pushing back onto my fingers, fucking himself on them.
“Naughty boy.” I tsk at him, and he whimpers in response, but he doesn’t stop. I let my fingers stay where they are while he continues to fuck himself, edging closer and closer.
I can tell he’s about to come, his balls drawing up and his back tightening as the tension builds. I pull my fingers out before he can get too close and topple over.
He sobs real tears when I pull my fingers from his ass, making sure to give his prostate a generous rub. His hole winks up at me, sad and empty.
“Please, please, please!” he begs so prettily.
I lube up my cock and press the head at his entrance. He keeps trying to fuck himself back onto me, but I hold his hips steady, groaning.
This man, this powerful machine of a man, is broken down and desperate for me.
I slide into him, and once again, it feels like I am coming home.
I look down at him, the lust fading into something deeper, something more tangible. I feel connected to him beyond just where our bodies are joined.
He feels like home.
This doesn’t feel like fucking anymore. As I hold his face in my hands and kiss him gently, it feels like making love.
I’m holding him close, my face buried deep in his nape, inhaling his citrus scent and the smell of sex. My arms are wrapped around the curves of his muscles, and I squeeze him as close as humanly possible.
What is this feeling? What is it that I feel so deeply for him?
I know I’m falling for him; I know that. But have I already fallen?
Am I really already there?
I don’t know if I’m ready to face that yet.
It took me a year to say those three words to Bianca, and we still ended up falling apart. Maybe I should give Milo and myself more time to really cook, to be together and grow together, before I potentially ruin it.
What are the chances he feels what I feel? I mean, he felt like he had to trick me to get me into bed. He can’t feel all that attached to me. What if I say it too soon and he decides I’m not worth it?
Wave after wave of doubt crashes through my head, my grip loosening on Milo’s chest. My nose is still buried in his hair when he finally speaks up.
“Beau, what’s—”
But we’re interrupted by a knock at the door.
A knock at almost midnight on a Wednesday.
What the fuck?
“I’ve got it,” I answer hurriedly, rolling away from him and heading out the door. I pull on my sweatpants but don’t bother with a shirt. Why the fuck would I need one?
The knocking continues, a vigorous pounding as if they know it’s an ungodly hour and we should be asleep.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m coming.” I chuckle at my little innuendo and reach for the front door. I can hear Milo shuffling behind me.
I swing open the door, and there’s an older couple standing on the other side. The tall, pale-haired man has his hand raised, ready to pound on the door again. His partner, a shorter, more golden-haired woman, is standing just behind his shoulder. They look painfully familiar.
“Can we help you?” I ask, unsure if Milo has made it to the entryway yet. They’re both staring at me hard, and the woman’s eyes narrow into a glare.
“Who are you?” she asks with a sneer. I sneer right back, but before I can ask her who the fuck she is, I’m interrupted.
“Mom? Dad?”