Chapter 22 – LISA
LISA
The look on Beau Lennox's face when he opens the door is worth every mile of the drive here.
He's shirtless—of course he's shirtless— wearing nothing but a pair of low-slung shorts, and the sight of his bare chest and a trail of dark hair descending beneath the waistband has my eyes following before I can stop them.
I've licked that path. My fingers remember how soft that hair is. And that knowledge appears to short circuit my brain because the next words that tumble from my mouth are not the ones I'd planned in my head.
"Any chance I can sleep with you?"
Beau's expression cycles through shock, confusion, and a heat that makes my pulse jump. The constant tension headache I’ve had for the last couple of weeks vanishes, and suddenly, I’m not feeling so tired.
"What are you doing here?" His voice is low and rough, and his eyes are doing that thing they do sometimes, catching the light at an angle that makes them look almost amber as he scans the car park behind me.
"I told you. No vacancies." Lifting my backpack higher on my shoulder, I note that he hasn't invited me in yet. Sighing, I meet his eye and shrug, unrepentant. "I followed you, well, your friends, really."
He groans loudly and drops his chin to his chest.
"You left me no choice. And I'm not leaving, so you may as well let me in and tell me what's going on."
Beau's hand grips the door frame hard enough that his knuckles have gone white. For a long second he just stares at the ground, jaw working and weighing up his options, deciding whether to slam the door in my face or drag me inside.
"I'll sleep in my car if I have to. I'm a cop, remember? I'm no stranger to a stake out."
When he finally looks at me, he looks tortured rather than pissed off like I'd expected. "You can't be here, Lisa."
His fingers drum against the wood as he resists admitting the inevitable: he's not getting rid of me.
"And yet." Spreading my arms wide, I smile. "Here I am."
He exhales through his nose, a sound caught between a growl and a sigh, and steps back from the doorway in defeat. It's not an invitation exactly, more a reluctant surrender, so I seize the opportunity before he can change his mind, ducking under his arm and into the room.
It's basic. The bathroom door hits the bed when you open it, and the TV is bolted to the dresser. His duffel is on the floor, clothes folded neatly on top, and the air smells like him. That woodsy scent I've been dreaming of for months.
"You can't stay." He closes the door but doesn't move from it, arms folded, filling the frame.
"You've said that already, but where else am I going to go? Not home, if that's what you're thinking. This is my case." Dropping my backpack on the only chair in the room, I turn to face him. "Or do you mean I should crash with your two friends next door?"
The look that crosses his face at that suggestion tells me everything I need to know about how that option sits with him.
"No," he growls. "That's not what I fucking mean, and you know it." He curses and takes a step toward me, sending my pulse racing. "One night." He holds up a finger.
I smile, victorious, then relaxing a little now that I know he's not going to bundle me back out the door, I allow my eyes to wander over his exquisite physique.
We're standing mere feet apart, the atmosphere between us weighed down with everything that's happened, including his hand being under my dress last night.
Beau drags a pillow off the bed and tosses it onto the floor, then grabs the blanket from the foot of the mattress. "Take the bed."
Picking up his sad little pillow, I throw it back where it was. "We're a bit beyond that, don't you think?"
He retrieves it without looking at me, muscles in his tanned back rippling as he stoops, muttering something about me being sent here to test him. When he drops it back on the floor, I almost roll my eyes.
If anyone's patience is being tested right now, it's mine.
"Do I annoy you that much? You seemed to like me yesterday."
Then he straightens up and turns, and my gaze drops before my brain can intervene.
He's hard. Not fully, but enough that his shorts aren't hiding anything, and the rush of heat between my thighs is so sudden, my breathing stutters.
His nostrils flare, and a deep rumble starts to emanate from his chest. His eyes darken as they lock onto mine, and his whole frame goes rigid, every impressive muscle coiled tight.
"Just get in bed, Lisa." His voice is barely recognisable. "Please."
My feet remain rooted to the ground.
"Why won't you just listen to me?" Hands curled into fists, he takes a step toward me, mouth set in a firm line, his frustration written all over his rugged features.
But intimidating as he is, with his sheer size, serious expression and his dominant demeanour, I don't feel even the slightest bit afraid.
In fact, he makes me feel brave.
"Why won't you let me do my job?" Hands on my hips, I glare at him, pretending to be mad, but as my chest rises and falls, breathing getting faster as he nears, his mere proximity is enough to send my libido haywire.
I force my eyes to stay above the waistband.
Do not look at the growing bulge in the front of his shorts.
Do not lick your lips.
"I'm trying to look out for you." He growls through gritted teeth, exasperated, his brown eyes boring into me. "These men are… and you're..." He clamps his jaw shut and drags a hand back through that messy dark hair.
"I'm what?" I press, my temper rising. "A girl? Weak?" I get into his face until we're chest to chest, practically touching. "No good at my job? If that's what you think, then go on and say it."
He moves so fast I don't register him until my back hits the wall and both of my wrists are pinned above my head. His body presses against mine, every hard inch of him, and his face is so close that his breath warms my lips.
"Because you are mine," he shouts, right before his lips crash down on mine, and I lose myself in him. Beau's grip on my wrists tightens, pressing them harder into the wall above my head, as his hips roll against mine and an embarrassingly needy whimper tumbles from my lips. "Fuck, this isn't…"
When he goes to pull away, panic flares inside me. I don't want him to take that back, or to stop.
With my hands still pinned above me, my options are limited, but when I hook one ankle around the back of his thigh, keeping us locked tight before biting his lower lip, a growl rolls through his chest that I feel all the way to my toes.
"If I'm yours, show me," I whisper, my lips brushing his with each softly spoken word. "Unless you're scared…"
Beau's free hand grabs my jaw, tilting my face where he wants it, and his tongue strokes against mine until I'm whimpering into his mouth, straining against his hold. He releases my wrists only to grab the hem of my shirt and drag it over my head.
That mouth is on my collarbone before the fabric even hits the floor, teeth scraping along bone, and when he reaches my breast, he bites down hard enough to make me yelp. That's going to leave a mark.
"You're such a brat," he mutters, but his full mouth curls up at one side in a smirk as he admires his handiwork, running a thumb over where he bit me before kissing it gently.
My bra is gone in seconds, his mouth closing over my nipple, sucking hard, teeth grazing the peak until I'm arching off the wall with both hands in his hair.
His fingers are already working my jeans open, shoving them down my hips along with my underwear, then I kick the tangle free while his mouth drags down my stomach.
He drops to his knees, hooks my leg over his shoulder, and looks up at me, eyes glowing in the dim light.
"I remember how you taste. Been wanting more ever since that night."
The first stroke of his tongue makes my head slam back against the wall.
He goes straight for my clit, flat and firm, and my hands scramble against the faded wallpaper, searching for anything to hold onto.
When my thigh clenches around his head, he groans in delight against me, the vibration nearly finishing me right there.
"This fucking pussy. It's been in my dreams for months. Tastes like fucking honey."
Blushing at his words but too delirious with pleasure to care, I grind into him, needing more pressure, a firmer touch. But each time I do, he eases back, forcing me to let him work at his own pace.
"Beau, please."
He smiles against me, enjoying the torture he's inflicting far too much, when a flash of irritation has me burying my hands into his hair and tightening my grip on the strands. My hips buck, but his hands clamp down, pinning me still while his tongue works in tight, relentless circles.
"Yes. Beau, I'm going to—"
But he pulls away abruptly and stands, his mouth glistening with my slick and eyes burning amber. He holds my gaze while licking me from his lips, having me thumping the wall behind me in frustration.
"Not yet."
"That's not–" I don't get to finish that thought.
Beau grabs my waist and lifts me off my feet before throwing me face down on the bed.
The mattress bounces, and I yelp, scrambling to get up to my knees, but before I can turn over, he's over me, his hand flat on the small of my back, pressing me down.
His shorts hit the floor beside me, and every nerve ending in my body lights up with anticipation.
"Hands on the headboard."
Instantly, my obedient fingers find the wooden slats and grip. His hand slides up my spine, slowly, one finger trailing up the middle, then he fists my hair, wrapping it once around his knuckles and pulling until my back arches, my chin lifted. Throat exposed.
He presses one finger inside my dripping wet core and hums his approval.
"I want to hear everything." His chest is hot against my back, his mouth at my ear, as he nudges my knees wider and settles between them, his thick cock pressing against my entrance. "Don't you dare hold back. Each and every one of those sounds is mine."
He pushes inside me in one long stroke, and I cry out, loud enough that the men next door definitely hear it.
But right now, it's hard to care about anything other than what Beau Lennox is doing to me. He's thick and deep from this angle, stretching me right to the edge, and he stills, buried completely, his breath shuddering against my neck.
"I like it here. When you're officially mine, we're going to sleep like this every night, with me buried deep inside you."
What the fuck?
His filthy words bounce around my brain as my pussy quivers, clenching down hard around him. There's so much to unpack in that one sentence, but when he starts to move, I forget my own name let alone wonder how serious he is about anything he’s just said.
"Hold on."
Hard and deep, he pounds into me, every thrust shoving me into the headboard.
The wood slams against the wall, and I grip the slats until my knuckles ache.
His fist stays in my hair, keeping my back arched, and his other hand grips my hip so hard, I know the bruises will last a week… but it will be totally worth it.
"So fucking tight," he snarls, snapping his hips so hard, each drive rocks me forward and my arms ache from bracing myself. "Like you were made for me."
He twists my head so I can see him, watching how he slams into me, in total control of my body, but there's a question in his eyes: Can I take it? Is it too much?
It's not.
It's everything.
"More," I cry out. "Please, more."
With a loud growl, he gives me exactly what I ask for, the force of it making the bed frame protest. His hand leaves my hip, slides around and between my legs, fingers finding my clit before dragging my copious juices higher to coat the swollen bundle of nerves.
"Touch yourself." He guides my hand down between my thighs, using his to drag my fingers over my clit, again and again, until I no longer need convincing to stroke myself. "I want to feel you come around me. I need to hear you come again as I fill you up."
My fingers are soaked and shaking as I start to rub harder, and the combination of my hand and his cock driving into me makes me moan into the pillow.
He kisses my shoulder then slides his hand over my backside, his thumb tracing lower, pressing against my ass. I stiffen.
"Okay?"
Am I?
"Yes. I'm mean, I've never…"
He nods against my back, his scruff scratching me as he kisses my heated skin. "I've got you."
He pushes in, just the tip, and the fullness that's everywhere, him inside me, his thumb, my own fingers, is so damn much that I can't even draw a full breath. My legs are trembling, my arms are barely holding me up, and whatever is building inside me feels like it might just tear me apart.
"Beau, please."
I'm not sure what I'm asking him, but he seems to know.
He leans forward, covering my back with his body, as his weight presses me flat.
Instead of feeling claustrophobic I feel small and protected, cocooned by his massive body as he continues to slide in and out.
When his teeth find the curve of my neck and he bites down, not gently but hard and possessive, and sharp enough that the sting blooms hot across my skin, I clench around him so violently that we both groan.
"Tell me you're mine." His hips snap forward, driving deeper. "Say it."
I hesitate, then whimper, "I'm yours."
But it's unconvincing because even though I want to be, maybe this is nothing more than some wild dirty talk.
"Again. Like you mean it."
Gasping, I bite down on the pillow and force myself to allow the idea to settle somewhere deep inside me. Maybe I could be his?
"Say it. Say my name," he demands, loudly.
"I'm yours, Beau," I cry out, finally admitting, both to him and to myself, that I am completely and utterly owned by this man, body and soul.
"Fucking right, you are." His fist tightens in my hair, and I wince, crying out in a mixture of pleasure and pain that I never knew would be so intoxicating as he drives into me with everything he has, satisfying this craving we've both been denying for far too long.
The orgasm rips through me so hard, my vision goes dark.
My whole body seizes around him, and the sound that comes out of me sounds barely human.
Like an animalistic release of months of pent-up desire and need.
He slams deep one final time, one hand going to the headboard, before he comes with a roar that rattles through both of us.
When we collapse, his weight settles on me, heavy and hot. For a while, the only sound is our laboured breathing and the tick of the cheap alarm clock on the nightstand.
He rolls onto his side and pulls me with him, so my back is against his chest, and his arm is locked around my waist. His nose buries in my hair, and he breathes me in, deep and slow, a low rumble vibrating through his chest that even my addled brain decides isn't quite normal.
"I hope you meant it, Red, cos I'm never letting you go."