Chapter 25 #2
However, it had been only one day, nerves fluttering in my stomach as the hour grew later.
We’d smashed every routine, dynamic and typical interaction we’d established the past few months and forged them anew.
As exciting and exhilarating as it felt, it also didn’t feel new. It felt … right. Natural, if a little jarring. Exactly as I’d told Clara—like I’d ventured into a dream I had designed.
Too good to be true came to mind.
We’d been together for one day, and in that short time, he’d spoken about pregnancy, uttered an I love you. That was only hours after our first kiss.
Alarm bells should’ve been blaring.
And they were, somewhere deep inside me. I was doing my best to ignore them.
I did that by keeping myself busy until Beau came home. Cleaning. Brushing my teeth, slathering on body lotion. Changing my outfit and corresponding underwear three times.
I started off in a dress that was not appropriate for the weather, the same one I’d worn to Clara’s birthday party. I felt pretty, feminine, and I had not forgotten the way Beau had looked at me when I wore it.
But that seemed like I was trying too hard.
Then I’d gone for the nightgown that Cole had gifted me.
It felt like absolute butter on my skin.
It skimmed down to my ankles, clinging to my every curve.
There were triangles of lace over my boobs that showcased my nipples.
I’d stared at myself in the mirror, not recognizing myself.
We’d been together just one day. Maybe I was getting a little ahead of myself, waiting for him to come home in lingerie.
What if Clara woke? It had only happened a handful of times since I’d started, but it wasn’t out of the realm of possibilities. I couldn’t very well tend to her while wearing a nightgown that showcased my nipples.
So I settled on the pink pajama set that had caused Beau to spill pancake ingredients all over his kitchen floor and bark at me cruelly. A nod to our past. How far we’ve come. Was it to torture him, punish him, remind him of how he used to treat me?
I didn’t think so.
I just didn’t have that vast of a wardrobe.
I decided to wear the lingerie set Cole bought me underneath. The fabric felt so different on my skin than the cheap underwear I’d worn in the past. I felt grown up. Like a new woman.
But maybe that was due to the lingering touches from Beau on my skin, the red scrapes on my inner thighs, the twinge in my pelvis and hips, reminding me of just how big he was.
Remnants of the sexual awakening I’d undergone last night.
It was the first time I’d had sex in years.
The first truly pleasurable sex I’d had.
The first time I felt like I mattered to a man.
So maybe it wasn’t the lingerie at all.
After brushing my teeth, tying up my hair, braiding it, taking it out, wiping down the counters, and putting the champagne on ice, it was late.
I’d only just decided to sit on the sofa and attempt to read when headlights hit the living room.
My stomach bottomed out, and my heart rate doubled.
I got up, standing in the middle of the room, staring at the front door.
Then I realized that was psychotic, making it clear that I’d been standing there, waiting for him.
I couldn’t shape my whole life around a man.
Certainly not after slightly less than twenty-four hours of being said man’s girlfriend.
Even if he loved me.
Even if I loved him with my whole being.
Even if the only other person I might love more was his daughter.
I took a deep breath. Then another.
A buzzing sound interrupted my deep breathing. I thought it was something I’d created in my anxious state. Auditory hallucinations. It was only after a few seconds that I realized it was my phone buzzing on the coffee table.
Beau’s name was on the screen.
I rushed to pick it up, walking to the window to ensure it was his truck that had pulled up, fear clutching my stomach that someone else was in the driveway so late at night.
Waylon had not been pushed completely out of my mind. I was still on guard, waiting for him to strike.
But it wasn’t Waylon. Beau’s truck sat in the driveway.
It was dark, except for the dim light showing that he was on his phone in the cab.
“What are you doing sitting out there?” I asked. “Come inside.”
“Need to know something before I come in.” His hoarse voice sent shivers down my spine.
I gripped my phone as fear wrapped around my lungs. Was this already it? Him calling to end things on the phone? Him breaking my heart?
When my heavy breathing was my only response, he spoke again. “I need to know if you’re in the mood for romance or for me to fuck you into oblivion without much romance, knowing I love you with my whole fucking being.”
Holy. Shit.
What version of Beau Shaw had I unlocked?
Though I’d longed for romance, thought myself to be a hopeless romantic, my response was instant.
“I would like to be fucked into oblivion.” Saying the words out loud was a match to the desire that’d been kindling in me.
Beau’s harsh intake of breath cut me to the core. “There was no wrong answer there, baby, but … fuck.” The curse word was a groan, a growl, a thank you all in one. “Go into our bedroom. Now.”
Then he hung up.
Our bedroom. I couldn’t escape the thrill of him calling it that, in that hungry tone.
I watched the door of his truck open and shut, his large, dark form cut from the porch light. Already, my body was tense with need, nerves crawling up my throat, mixing with the excitement flooding my bloodstream.
Quickly, I moved through the house, my knees barely holding me as I made it to Beau’s bedroom. Our bedroom.
I’d always imagined Beau would be a fierce lover, but never in one thousand years could I have imagined that he’d desire me this much.
My heart galloped at the sound of the front door opening and closing.
There was a clatter of boots, keys. A shuffling sound of his coat being taken off and hung up.
My fingers bit into my palms as I stood in the middle of the room, staring, waiting. I didn’t know where to go. Whether I should lie on the bed, sit on it, or undress. He hadn’t told me to do any of that, so I didn’t; I just stood there.
The temperature in the room seemed to spike when Beau appeared in the doorway, eyes instantly on me.
As he softly closed the door behind him, he didn’t look like himself. His eyes were nearly feral with desire. Hunger was etched into his jaw, neck, the brackets around his mouth.
“On your knees.”
The words, the command, the rough tone in which they were uttered, had my breath coming out in choppy bursts. I didn’t know what I’d expected—I’d had less than a minute to create expectations after the phone call—but it wasn’t that.
The rug hit my knees before I fully registered that I’d complied with his command.
Beau stared at me on my knees, the slight upturn of his lips and the fire in his eyes showing me he was pleased with me obeying his order.
A flush of pleasure swept through my body in response to his approval.
I wanted to please him. Desperately. Outside this situation, that might’ve been a problematic want, but not here.
I felt safe. All I had to worry about was Beau’s instructions.
He’d take care of me. I trusted that implicitly.
I did not have to worry. Did not have to search for danger.
Beau slowly walked across the room, eyes never leaving mine. My breathing was shallow by the time he made it to me.
His hands tangled gently in my hair.
His crotch was at my eye level, and he was rock-hard.
“Get my cock out,” he demanded.
Hearing him speak so crudely scandalized me. Beau, the grumpy man of few words, could talk dirty.
Although I was beyond eager, my hands shook as I lifted them. He let out a hiss when I undid his pants, pulling them down to free his cock. I grasped it by the base, tightly.
Another grunt of pleasure.
“Put it in your mouth,” he ground out.
Again, without hesitation, I did as instructed. His grip on my hair was no longer gentle as I took in as much as I could. My nipples hardened, toes curling. Right away, my jaw ached from being stretched, my eyes were watering, and my pussy clenching, soaked and ready.
“Good girl.” His hips bucked forward, almost hitting the back of my throat. Tears escaped my eyes, and they ran down my cheeks. Yet I didn’t stop. I couldn’t.
Lust coiled in the base of my spine even. The pain in my jaw and mouth only served to intensify my need as Beau let out grunts of pleasure.
“Baby,” he clipped out. “I’m going to come. You don’t want it in your mouth, you stop right now.”
I paused for a split second, grinning around his cock at the way his words were strangled. I did that. I was on my knees, but he was under my control.
I’d never swallowed before. It was a boundary I’d managed to hold with Waylon, the one time I’d been strict with him. He’d disrespected me in so many ways, broke me, yet I refused to let him commit that act.
Here, with Beau, it wasn’t something that felt belittling to me. I was hungry for it. For him.
So I didn’t stop. I kept going.
His powerful quads trembled. From me. I made him tremble. “Fuck, Hannah,” was all he growled before he was finishing.
I could barely keep up with the power of his climax; it spilled down the sides of my mouth, mixing with my tears. I swallowed relentlessly, my own body desperate for release. I rode on his waves, over and over, until he was done.
After I’d taken down all of him, reality slowly crept back in. My knees protested from the harsh floor, my jaw throbbed, and my breathing was labored. I’d never felt better.
Slowly, Beau removed himself from my mouth, then somehow, I was in his arms. In two of his long strides, he carried me to his bed, eyes roving over my face, my mouth. I could only imagine what a mess I looked like. I didn’t have the energy to try to wipe my mouth.