Chapter 25 #2
“I won’t hurt you, you know,” I whisper. “If you want to use me to learn to trust someone again, I’m okay with that. And I realize that saying you can trust me is basically a red flag that means you probably shouldn’t, but?—”
“Begonia.”
“Yes?”
He doesn’t immediately answer, and his steps slow as we approach a line of trees near a hilltop. The lights of the house are distant enough to make this little section of the lawn feel private, and the moon is bright enough that we can see its light reflected in the river in the distance.
He sets me down, then relieves me of the picnic basket and lays out the blanket. “Sit. Have dinner with me and tell me all the good that I missed today.”
“You want to hear me talk.”
He settles onto the blanket, long legs bent, sheds his suit coat, pulls his tie the rest of the way off, then removes his shoes.
It’s the shoes that do me in.
I don’t know why.
I just know that watching him take his fancy shoes off, here on a picnic blanket under the moonlight, is some kind of catnip to my inner schoolgirl fantasies about saving Prince Charming.
It’s like he’s removing all of his armor and letting me see him.
All of him. The tender parts and the tired parts and the insecure parts. The simple parts, the basic man under all the billionaire luster who needs nothing more than to know that someone sees him for who he is and loves him for that with no ulterior motives.
Too soon , I tell myself. Too soon .
“Is this for you, or is it for me?” I ask as I settle back on my heels beside him, Marshmallow flopping to the ground on top of his shoes. I don’t need light to know that my dog is gazing at Hayes as though he invented cheese-filled hotdogs.
Hayes turns to look at me, that lock of unruly hair falling across his broad forehead, his eyes hooded and serious, lips barely parted. “For both of us, I had hoped. You seem to enjoy picnics, and I…I enjoy you.”
This man.
He makes me wish we’d met another year from now, when I’ve fully found myself again, shaken Chad all the way off, learned to stand up to my mother and taught her how to listen to me when I tell her what I want and need, even when she doesn’t understand it.
“Is someone listening?” I whisper. “Are there more camera people hiding in the woods?”
He flinches.
And I freeze. “Oh.”
“Begonia. No.” He grips my hand. “The photographers on Oysterberry Bay—I apologize. I don’t—you are correct. I don’t trust easily, and I thought it necessary. But here, we’re alone. You have my word. This is not for the world. This is for me . And, I hope, you.”
We’re alone . For me .
“I enjoy you too,” I whisper.
“You shouldn’t. I’m very disagreeable.”
I put a finger to his lips.
He captures that hand too, and he pulls it to his mouth, pressing soft kisses to my finger, turning my hand to kiss my knuckles, then turning it again to kiss my palm, my wrist, and up my forearm to the crook of my elbow, holding my gaze in the moonlight and making me feel not like the last woman in the world, but like the only woman in his world.
“Hayes,” I whisper.
“I would very much like to make love to you under the moonlight, Ms. Fairchild.”
My heart tumbles out of my chest and offers itself to him on a clay platter. It’s not fancy. Not diamond-encrusted. Not even very pretty sometimes.
But it’s what I have, and it’s his for the taking.
Even though I know better.
“With my eyes open,” he continues, still pressing soft kisses to the bare flesh on my arm, his eyes still holding me captive, “fully aware that I’m with you , with you fully aware that you’re with me .”
Butterflies swirl to life in my chest.
This could be a massive mistake. I know better than to get attached right now. And while my brain says this is temporary, my heart says too late .
But what’s life if not for living? “No fires tonight,” I whisper.
His eyes rake over me in the moonlight. “On the contrary, I hope to set you on fire.”
Well, then.
My panties won’t be in the way. They’ve self-ignited in a cloud of poof , floating away into the night. My breasts tingle. My vagina aches.
I want him . Naked or in a suit, though this tieless, shoeless, top two buttons of his dress shirt undone thing is exceptionally attractive.
He brushes his thumb over my jawline, shifting on the ground and making my dog grunt between us. “Move, Marshmallow.”
The poor pup grunts again.
“I’m going to do unspeakably filthy things to your mother,” Hayes informs him, his hand moving to stroke my thigh.
Marshmallow whimpers softly and slinks away, and now I’m laughing.
I’m so turned on I can’t think, and I’m laughing.
But only briefly, because the tiger formerly known as Hayes is pouncing, expertly sliding his hands under my shirt and pulling it over my head as he lowers me to the thick, plush blanket.
I part my legs, and he settles between them, the hard ridge of his erection pressing against my center through our clothes, his mouth capturing mine, his hands sliding beneath me while I blindly tackle the buttons on his dress shirt.
My bra suddenly goes loose, the cool air enveloping me a stark contrast to the heat in his gaze and his touch. He tugs one strap down my arm, his fingertips trailing over my skin and stirring my nerve endings like a sandy wind on a warm tropical morning.
I love being touched.
And kissed.
And adored.
I even love that I’m so clumsy right now that I can’t get Hayes’s shirt buttons undone.
The way he’s teasing and licking and nipping at my neck is driving me wild, and I finally give up and yank, sending his buttons flying.
He chuckles into the crook of my neck as his thick, heavy length pulses against me. “Just when I thought you couldn’t possibly get any more attractive, bluebell…”
“Want me to do the same to your pants?”
“Yes.”
“Are you adding this to my bill?”
“Payable in sexual favors. Where is that sweet nipple I found yesterday? I miss it. Ah. Here it is.”
He sucks on the tip of my breast, and the world explodes in song and rainbows around me.
I’m so wet I’ve soaked through my leggings. The cotton of his undershirt brushes my bare belly, heat radiating off his long, solid body, and I surrender.
There’s no history.
No complications.
No questions.
Just us .
With him worshipping my breasts while I tug his undershirt over his head and off one arm, then take shaky, over-zealous hands to his belt buckle.
He sucks in a short breath, his belly quivering beneath the backs of my hands. “Your fingers are exquisite.”
“Your body is extis—etiquette— oh my god , I can’t talk when I’m this horny.”
He chuckles again, his mouth and chest vibrating against me while the moon smiles down on us. “More practice, Begaaaaa aaaaaah …”
I smile and stroke his hard cock again, fisting it in one hand beneath his boxers. “You were saying?”
“D-don’t ss-stop.”
He has nothing to worry about.
His cock is exquisite . Thick and long, hot and silky-smooth, with a wide, blunt tip. “I want to taste you.”
He shoves one side of my leggings down. “I want to be inside you.”
“I’ll rock-paper-scissors you for who’s in charge.”
God , he has the best laugh. It’s like the hills and the river are singing, and it’s making me even wetter.
“No negotiations, Ms. Oh, fuck yes . Begonia. Fuck . No rock p-paper—keep your hands— yes .”
He buries his head in the crook of my neck, his breath coming short and fast, hips jerking, while I tease his length with my hands, pushing his pants out of the way and cradling his testicles too.
“I love how you feel,” I whisper.
He slaps the ground blindly until his hand connects with the picnic basket, and he sends it tumbling, food and all.
I pause. “Hayes?”
“Condom. Inside you. Now.”
I can’t remember the last time I felt so wanted. So needed .
So adored for being me.
Even if it’s not real, I intend to treasure tonight for the rest of my life.
I squirm beneath him. “Let me help.”
“Got it. You. Strip. For me.”
His commanding tone sets my skin on fire and makes my vagina throb. “You like me naked.”
“I need you naked. I’ve needed you naked with me all fucking day.”
I’m wriggling out of my leggings as fast as I can while he rips open a condom, kneeling back on his heels, his eyes trained on me and my desperate yanking.
“I love when you say fuck .” I’m breathless and wheezy. Totally not sexy, but his cock is bobbing in the moonlight as he steadies it and rolls the condom down, and the sight of him makes me so wet that my thighs are slick. “It’s so improper.”
“I intend to fuck you until you can’t walk.”
“ Yes .” I smell my own arousal as I finally yank my leggings off and reach for him, twisting until we’re both on our sides, facing each other on the plush blanket, his erection nudging my clit and making me moan.
Quiet, Begonia, the neighbors will hear .
No.
No .
I shove the old memories out as Hayes kisses me again, his tongue sliding into my mouth with a ragged groan from the back of his throat.
Is he this eager with everyone?
Or is it me?
Shut up, Begonia .
His fingers slip between my thighs, stroking my wet core and teasing my clit, and then I’m on my back, and that’s not his fingers anymore. “I want you now ,” he says against my lips.
I tilt my hips, offering all of me to him, my hands gripping his hair. “ Yes .”
“Slow next time.”
“ Yes .”
He slides inside me, filling and stretching me, and we both groan-sigh together.
“Heaven,” he breathes, thrusting into me again while I arch my hips to meet him.
“More,” I whimper.
“So tight.”
“So hard.”
“So fucking good .”
He hits that magic spot inside me, and I cry out. “ There , Hayes. Oh my god, there .”
“Louder, Begonia. Scream for me.”
“You… feel… so good .”
He’s a wild animal, completely unleashed, bucking his hips and slamming into me, hitting that sweet spot with every stroke, making my nerve endings tight and deliciously anxious as my release builds inside me, everything tightening and coiling inside me.
“Begonia,” Hayes gasps. “Bluebell, I’m so fucking close. Baby, I need you to come. Come all over my cock.”
And that’s all it takes.
I cry his name as my release washes over me, throbbing and pulsing and squeezing him while he stills, his neck straining, his eyes locked on mine, lips parted while he groans through his own orgasm.
“Begonia,” he pants.
I can’t speak.
I’m babbling incoherently, my words drifting away into the cool night air while I ride wave after wave of my climax.
It’s like my body has been saving up for this for years .
And it probably has.
Hayes collapses on top of me, his breath tickling my neck, before the last tremors of my orgasm have finished sending shivers through my body. I stretch my toes, let my legs fall more open, and my arms collapse to the ground too.
And then I giggle.
“Dear god, you’re going to murder me with sex, aren’t you?” Hayes murmurs.
“Can we do that again?”
“Correction: You would murder me with denying me sex. I would die of blue balls.”
I snort-laugh.
He sucks in a breath, his body going still, and I realize my vagina is squeezing his spent cock.
I love this moment.
I’m so very vulnerable. Physically. Mentally. Emotionally.
But also safe.
I know to the deepest parts of me that while this may only be a side benefit of our arrangement, Hayes won’t hurt me.
Not on purpose.
I trust him.
He lets me be me .
“Are you hungry?” I murmur into his hair as I find the strength to run my fingers through it once more.
He settles his head deeper onto my shoulder. “No,” he murmurs. “I’m too content to be hungry.” He kisses my collarbone. “Begonia?”
“Hmm?”
“Thank you for being you.”
My eyes go hot, and I blink the sensation away as quickly as I can.
This might not be permanent, but it’s good, if only to show me what I truly want in a relationship.
To show me what relationships can be.
And I will never settle for anything less again.