Chapter 20 #2
I was barely able to hold myself up. Barely able to breathe with his hands on me.
In my wildest dreams, I never thought I’d be here, pinned to the wall by Beau.
My wanton advance had been a Hail Mary—a moment of madness.
I hadn’t thought that it would result in this, in Beau showing me he wanted me.
Wanted me a lot more than even I had dared to dream.
I’d only let myself think he wanted me because he was a man, one who had denied himself pleasures of the flesh in the wake of his daughter’s terrible illness.
And he wanted me because I was just … female, not hideous, and the closest, despite his dislike for me.
But his gaze, his energy, his reverent touch, the way the column of his neck tensed, veins protruding in restraint as he stared at me…
all of that denoted a heck of a lot more than biological want.
No, he’d been hiding this under glares, cruel words, and dismissals.
The weight of his need for me almost brought me to my knees.
My head was buzzing from the rapid change in our dynamic, at the rush of feelings I’d been denying myself because I was embarrassed to want someone who treated me so badly. A magnetism toward Beau, his presence, his size, his brooding, hurt gaze. All of it had been catnip to me.
My lips parted, and my tongue darted out to lick them. But we were so close that my tongue brushed his lips too. The contact was a shock to my system. It was ecstasy, it was the promise of a kiss that would blow my mind.
As if it weren’t already fucking blown.
The act of running my tongue along the seam of Beau’s lips while we were both panting, tearing away the facade that we had both apparently built with each other, was mind-blowing.
Everything was so exciting, forbidden, and perfect all at once. My body hummed as heat licked up my thighs.
I leaned forward to press my lips to his, to explore his mouth, to set off the absolute nuclear bomb that would lay waste to me if Beau kissed me.
But he stepped back, abruptly, stealing the warmth of his body, the electricity of his presence.
He backed up three strides then began to pace around the room, tearing his fingers through his hair. I watched him, still plastered to the wall, trying to catch my breath and decide if I was going to erupt in flames or dissolve into a puddle on the floor.
Beau stopped pacing to stare at me, his intense gaze pinning me to the spot. His eyes slowly ran over me, displaying a yearning that I didn’t know existed.
“I’m old enough to be your father,” he barked out as if I’d said something. I hadn’t. I’d just been panting like a wild animal.
I didn’t flinch at his tone because I saw the heavy rise and fall of his chest, the flare of his eyes, the change in his posture. He was turned on. His lasciviousness tortured him. I had that power over Beau Shaw.
“If you impregnated someone in middle school,” I challenged him, still breathing heavily, still looking at him through some very rose-tinted glasses.
I was more than aware of our age gap. More than aware of the daddy issues that probably made it more appealing to me. I didn’t care much about either. I wanted him.
Now.
On the floor. On the couch. In his bed. Against the wall. I wasn’t picky. I just needed relief from the tension that was making my skin feel impossibly tight, had my insides clenching with the need for … Beau.
As if I communicated all of this with just my hooded gaze, Beau crossed the distance between us even quicker than he created it. His hands caged me against the wall again, this time careful not to touch me.
When he leaned forward, I felt his breath on my face, the heat emanating from the wall of his solid, large body. I was trapped in his orbit, and I never wanted to escape.
The world stopped spinning. Gravity ceased to exist.
I almost whined when Beau stepped back again, shutters falling over his expression. He pinched the bridge of his nose, looking down for a beat before gazing back up at me.
Heat still burned in his eyes for me, but his mouth was a thin line.
“I can’t.” The words were weights, heavy, torn out of him with effort. And I felt them crash to the bottom of my stomach.
“You want to,” I argued, more brazen than I’d ever been in my life. More confident. Because of Beau. He’d made me feel that way. Powerful. Womanly. His eyes told me that he wanted me. Wholeheartedly and indisputably. There was no room in his gaze for anything else.
“I want to,” he sighed. “I want to more than I want to fucking breathe, Hannah.” His voice dripped with hunger.
My body electrified at his admission. He wanted me. He wanted me more than he wanted to breathe.
“But I won’t do that to Clara,” he declared adamantly, face clearing of that feral longing.
I startled at the mention of his daughter, confused at what she had to do with the moment. “You’re not doing anything to Clara,” I replied.
He shook his head. “If I take you like I want…” His eyes lazily trailed over me. Possessively. I could barely hold myself up. “I wouldn’t be able to stop, Hannah. I want to fucking ruin you. Want you to scream my name at the top of your lungs. Want your body coated in my cum.”
Holy. Fuck.
Did he just say that?
Yeah, he just said that.
Did I just have a mini, tiny orgasm? Yeah. I definitely did. Never in my wildest dreams could I imagine that Beau, a man of few words, was exceptionally amazing at dirty talk. And we hadn’t even fucked yet. Hadn’t even kissed.
Beau looked up at the ceiling, kneading the back of his neck.
I took in his taut body, appreciating the way his biceps stretched his shirt.
Looking farther downward, I had to bite on the inside of my cheek when I saw he was as hard as a rock.
I could see the outline in his jeans. He was big.
My mouth moistened at the prospect of seeing it, tasting it, it being … inside me.
“Hannah,” Beau barked.
When my eyes snapped up, his features were even more wild, his body practically vibrating.
“You look at my cock for a second more, your mouth is gonna be wrapped around it, and you’ll feel it in your throat.”
My toes curled in my socks, picturing the image in my mind. “Is that meant to be a threat?” I whispered.
“It’s a fucking dream.” His jaw clenched. “I have no self-control with you. And I need to. Because I want you. It’s clear. I’m done hiding it. But I won’t take you. Because I’ll fuck it up—”
I opened my mouth to argue, but he silenced me with a glare.
“I’ll fuck it up, Hannah,” he said with finality.
“Because I’m a grumpy old bastard. You’re a gorgeous young woman who buys flowers, who makes friends with my elderly neighbor, who lights up my daughter’s life with color and love.
You only just got divorced. And I will not tear that down.
I will not ruin that. I will not even risk it. ”
He sounded resolute. Like the decision was set in stone.
I wanted to argue with him. But I couldn’t. How could I argue with a father who chose his daughter’s needs over his own?
And as much as I wanted him, wanted this, I wanted Clara happy more. I would not risk hurting her. But I couldn’t let this go, not yet. Not when Beau had shown me that he wanted me.
“You won’t fuck it up, Beau,” I whispered. “And if you do, I can handle it. I’m a big girl.”
As Beau stepped forward, I held my breath. Even with everything he just said, the finality to it, part of me still hoped for him to change his mind. For him to make good on all the carnal things he said he wanted to do to me.
His hand lifted, then he delicately, with exquisite tenderness, tucked my hair behind my ear. His eyes searched my face with an expression that took all the oxygen from the room.
Hunger still lingered in his icy eyes, but there was something else too. Reverence, like he found me beautiful. Precious. Special. Somehow, that was more world-bending than his wild desire.
“I don’t want to turn into something you have to ‘handle,’ Hannah,” he murmured. “Something you have to survive. I will not be something that causes you pain, not any more than I already have.”
His eyes kept mine hostage for a handful of seconds, his body teasing mine with its proximity before he stepped back and left the room.
I stayed there, glued to the wall for longer than I cared to admit.
I tossed and turned the entire night, second-guessing my words to Beau. Was I too forward? Not forward enough?
If I had pushed him further, I might’ve got what I wanted.
His lips on mine. His body on mine, a memory tangible and real to hold on to as evidence that Beau liked me.
Wanted me. As if his words weren’t enough.
Oh, they were plenty to give me proof. But it turned out I was a greedy bitch. I wanted more.
I lay, staring at the ceiling, intensely aware that Beau was in bed just down the hall.
The brazen, sex-starved temptress inside of me urged me to get out of bed and walk the short distance to his bedroom now that I knew he wanted me.
I no longer had just a collection of half-imagined looks that could be explained away.
No, I had words. I had the image of him tearing his hands through his hair, as if he were holding himself together by a thread.
I had the inferno in his eyes, the heavy rise and fall of his chest as he stared at my lips as if he were going to kiss me. I had those sensual words that repeated over and over again in my head.
If I crept into his room, there was a high probability I would get what I wanted. Beau wasn’t a monk; he was trying to do the right thing, but he wasn’t an entirely good man. That’s what I liked about him. He made good decisions that trumped his baser impulses.
But I couldn’t.
Not after he mentioned Clara. The possibility of hurting her.
If I went into Beau’s room, I’d most definitely get the best sex of my life. But he’d regret it. Because he’d made the decision not to kiss me out of some misguided attempt to preserve my innocence. I was more than willing to override that.
What I couldn’t override was his belief that kissing me, fucking me—covering me in his cum—would somehow hurt Clara.
And I wouldn’t be party to that.
So I stayed in bed. Frustrated. Confused. Elated. Tortured.
I eventually fell into a fitful sleep.
And dreamed of Beau.