Chapter 37 – Beau #3
My hand slides lower again, fingers tracing the waistband of her shorts. The pad of my thumb dips just under, feeling the bare skin there and the faintest edge of lace. She lets out another sharp inhale, her grip on my shirt tightening like she’s bracing herself.
“I could make you come right here,” I murmur, my lips ghosting over hers without kissing. “Have you shaking against the wall while they’re sitting twenty feet away.”
Her eyes flutter closed, and that’s when I slip my hand deeper under the waistband, finding warm, silken heat. Her knees give a little, and my other arm wraps around her waist to keep her steady as my fingers start a slow, deliberate rhythm that has nothing to do with patience.
Her knees nearly buckle when my fingers find her, and I tighten my hold around her waist, pressing her deeper into the siding. I want her pinned. I want her to have nowhere to go but to me.
The hum of voices from the yard is still there, faint, but my world’s gone narrow.
All heat and the slick glide of her under my touch.
Alise is already trembling, her breath catching on every exhale.
I know I should slow down, drag it out, and make her beg, but I can’t.
Not when I’ve been starving for this. For her.
“You don’t know,” I rasp, my forehead pressing to hers, “how many nights I’ve thought about you like this. My hand between your thighs and you melting for me.” I kiss her hard, almost punishing, swallowing the soft, broken sound she makes. “And now you’re in my arms, in my fucking backyard—”
Her head tips back against the wall when my thumb circles her clit, and the sight wrecks me. Lips parted, lashes fluttering, her throat working as she swallows a gasp. I push my free hand under her shirt, palm splayed over the heat of her bare skin, feeling the rapid rise and fall of her breathing.
“Mine,” I growl, the word breaking loose from somewhere low in my chest. “I don’t care if they hear you. I don’t care if they walk out here and see us. Let them know exactly who you belong to.”
Her fingers grip my shoulders, nails biting through the fabric. Her hips roll, chasing my touch, and my restraint shreds. I work her faster, deeper, coaxing every sound I can out of her while my mouth finds her neck again, tasting salt and heat and the faint sweetness of her lotion.
“Beau—” My name breaks on a breath, and it’s all I can do not to lose it right then.
“That’s it, baby,” I murmur against her skin, my voice wrecked and low. “Say my name when you come. I want everyone to hear who’s making you feel like this.”
She’s close. So close that I can feel it in the way she clings to me, the tremor in her thighs and the desperate little catches of her breath. I press harder, curling my fingers just right so my thumb works her over until she shatters.
Her cry is muffled against my shoulder, her whole body tensing before breaking apart in my arms. I hold her through it, fingers still working her gently until she’s sagging against me, trembling and completely undone.
For a long moment, all I can do is breathe her in.
The scent of her hair, the sweat-slick heat of her skin, and the wild drum of her heartbeat matches mine.
My need is a live wire under my skin, almost painful, but I don’t care about that right now. The only thing that matters is her.
I ease my hand free, tugging her shorts back into place, and cradle her face in my palms. Her eyes are glassy, cheeks flushed, lips kiss-swollen, and fuck, she’s beautiful like this.
“You have no idea,” I murmur, brushing my thumbs over her cheekbones, “how hard it is not to take you inside, head right to my room, and lock the door.”
“Pretty sure I do.” She gives a shaky laugh, still catching her breath.
I lean in, kissing her slowly this time, letting the heat settle into something deeper. “Next time, baby, there won’t be anyone around to stop me.”
The way she looks at me—all flushed, wrecked, and wanting—makes me think she’s already counting down the minutes until we can be alone again.
We don’t head right back into the house, choosing to linger in the shadows a little longer. Her breathing is unsteady, but I step back just enough to straighten her clothes, my palm gliding briefly over the soft edge of her afro, fingers itching to sink in again.
“Ready?” I murmur, even though I’m not.
She nods, smoothing her shirt and fluffing her hair, but the faint flush on her cheeks gives her away. I curl my hand around hers, not bothering to hide the way I keep it there as we round the corner. The moment we step into view, the table goes quiet for half a beat, and then the ribbing starts.
“Well, well. Look who finally rejoined the group.” Cole smirks and throws a wink in my direction.
“Took you long enough. I thought maybe you’d thrown your diet out the window and eaten all the desserts.” Kyle leans back, one arm slung over the back of his chair, grinning like the devil.
“Nah,” Cooper says, shaking his head. “They were probably thinking more about burning calories than consuming them.”
“Can we not talk about this right now? I’m trying to eat,” Darius grumbles.
“You can take your plate into the living room, baby. They won’t stop now that they’ve gotten started.” Momma pats his hand slightly as he huffs loudly, crossing his arms in annoyance.
“Sorry, little man. We just can’t help it,” Mackenzie chimes in from the other end, eyebrow cocked. “Look at him. His face is flushed, and his hair is messed up. The guy looks like he just played another three periods.”
“Three?” Jace grins. “Try overtime.”
Michele’s smirk is pure trouble as she leans an elbow on the table. “Somebody’s acting like they’re still twenty-five.”
“The keyword is acting,” Crosby adds, earning a laugh from half the table.
“Better keep an eye on your brother. At his age, that kind of extracurricular activity might need a doctor’s note.” Ramona snickers, reaching across to nudge Cooper.
I open my mouth to respond, but Momma jumps in and puts a halt to all our antics.
“Children,” she says mildly, her lips twitching slightly as her eyes lock with mine.
“You’re all hilarious,” I say dryly, dropping into my seat like nothing’s wrong and snagging my glass of lemonade. “Truly top-shelf material.”
“Hey, I’m just saying—” Kyle starts, and I cut him off with a look that has him grinning wider.
Alise slides into her seat beside me, cheeks pink but chin tipped up like she’s daring anyone to call her out.
The table’s already buzzing, teasing ricocheting between Crosby and Bower.
Kyle chimes in, and Michele tosses in her own chirps.
I add a couple of sarcastic retorts to the mix and grin when the group laughs.
I feel good, better than I have in weeks.
My energy is up, my head is clear, and yesterday’s game was one of the best of my career.
It was the perfect send-off for Cooper. Everything is fine, and I feel like I’m on top of the world—until it isn’t.
It starts small. A faint pressure in my chest, like I’ve been wearing gear that’s a size too small.
I roll my shoulders, keeping my smile easy.
It’s probably nothing. Maybe a flare-up is working its way in after the last few days of pushing my limits.
This is nothing to worry about, nothing I can’t shake.
Then my heart skips one beat and then another.
A stutter-step. Quick to right itself, but enough to make my skin prickle with nerves.
I force my gaze back to the table, smiling when Crosby roasts Kyle.
I manage to keep my voice and everything else steady.
I hope I can keep it together just enough that no one will notice, except, as usual, she does.
Alise’s fingers ghost against my forearm under the table, light but grounding. Her gaze cuts to mine. There’s no teasing in her eyes now, just a small furrow between her brows, searching like she’s reading me cell by cell.
“Hey,” she murmurs quietly enough that no one else hears. “You okay?”
“I’m fine,” I say, because I believe it for half a second.
Then the buzz starts. Low at first, like a hive of bees waking in my ears.
It swells, a hum at first, before the sound drowns out everything around us.
The air thickens as I take a sip of lemonade, but it moves down like syrup, my chest hitching against it.
My vision wavers, and my breath feels like it’s moving through molasses.
Michele’s voice cuts in from across the table, playful but with an edge. “You look like you just ran stairs in full pads. Don’t tell me you’re already winded from one little stroll.”
I try to smirk, to volley something back, but the words don’t come. My chest cinches tighter, and my heart kicks into a faster, uneven rhythm that makes my throat close.
“Beau, are you good?” Cole’s laugh dies mid-breath, concern written all over his face.
“Yeah,” I manage, though my voice is rougher than it should be. I push back from the table, aiming for the cooler. “Just need more lemonade.”
I make it a few steps before the floor tilts. My hand shoots to the back of my chair to steady myself, but it doesn’t stop the world from pitching.
“Beau.” Alise’s voice slices through the noise and is on her feet instantly, her chair scraping back hard enough to jolt the table.
I open my mouth, but the sound around me folds, warped like I’m hearing it underwater.
Cole’s moving fast from the other side of the table, his voice cutting sharper now. “Hey. Sit down. You don’t look—”
The air feels heavier, like someone siphoned the oxygen out of the room and replaced it with heat.
My heart’s slamming against my ribs in a rhythm I can’t predict.
Each beat lands sharp and wrong, like it’s trying to break free.
Breath rasps in, jagged and thin, every inhale dragging through me like wet cement.
My throat tastes of metal, sharp and sour, the tang of adrenaline flooding my mouth.
Somewhere in the distance, too far away for how close it must be, someone’s fork clinks against a plate.
The smell of fried food turns oily and oppressive, coating the back of my tongue until I want to gag.
My vision collapses inward, the edges blurring first and then the colors bleeding into shadow.
Black seeps in from the corners like spilled ink, creeping toward the center until I’m staring down a tunnel that’s shrinking by the second.
Alise’s fingers clamp around my arm, her grip firm and urgent, nails biting just enough to cut through the haze.
The warmth of her skin sears against mine, an anchor in a body that feels like it’s slipping away.
Michele’s palm presses into the center of my back, her touch the only thing keeping me upright as the floor tilts again.
My ears ring high and sharp, drowning out voices until it’s just a whistle in my skull.
The pressure in my chest grows until it’s almost unbearable, and the rest of the world falls away.
The last thing I know is the shape of them, two points of heat in a world gone cold, holding me when I can’t hold myself.
And then nothing.