Chapter 17
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
SIERRA
Five. That’s the number of orgasms this man gave me last night and in the early hours of this morning. Two the first time we had sex, one in the shower, and two more when we made it back to the bed. I doubt I’ve ever had that many in one week, much less over the course of a few hours.
Beau’s arm is anchored around me like a steel vice. I gently try to scoot out from under it, but he tightens his grip and pulls me back to his chest, murmuring “You’re awake?” into my hair.
“Awake, and about to pee my pants,” I say, moving to get up.
“You’re not wearing pants,” he says, kissing the back of my head and holding me tight.
“Beau, you have to let me go or this is going to get ugly.”
“So I shouldn’t tickle you right now?” he laughs and I scramble up and off the bed so fast it’s like I’m running from a cluster of spiders who’ve invaded the sheets. He chuckles again as I stand there glaring down at him. “Go pee and then hurry back. I already miss you.”
I make it to the bathroom just in time, and after I’ve relieved myself, I brush out my hair, which is kind of crazy and tangled after the post-shower sex, then wind it into a bun on top of my head.
I’m naked as the day I was born, and looking at myself in the mirror, all soft curves where I wish I had flat, hard muscle, I wonder if I should grab a shirt to throw on or something.
“What’s taking so long?” Beau calls. “I need you.”
I smile to myself and head back into the bedroom.
I slide between the sheets next to him, worried for a moment that things will be awkward now that daylight is streaming in between the blackout curtains.
It was easy to be wild and free last night in the darkness, when I didn’t have to think about all the reasons this shouldn’t be happening.
“What is that face?” Beau asks, reaching over and smoothing out my furrowed brow with his thumb. He leaves his palm cupping my jaw, his fingers gently stroking my hairline.
“Nothing,” I say, reaching up and giving his wrist a squeeze.
“Don’t hide things from me, Sierra,” he says as he reaches behind me and pulls me closer so his entire body is flush with mine. He wedges his knee between mine so our bodies are literally entwined, the way he seems to like us best.
“I was just hoping things weren’t going to get awkward, and they’re not, so it’s nothing.”
“Things are not going to get awkward,” he says firmly, “because we’re adults. We can handle this, right?” He lifts an eyebrow, daring me to say that I can’t handle it.
Of course I can. Because the alternative—falling for this playboy who I know is leaving—is ridiculous.
But it’s exactly why I told Sydney I wouldn’t get involved with him in the first place, isn’t it?
I wish he was just a hot guy who was a provider of multiple orgasms per hour.
I wish he wasn’t also thoughtful, attentive, and in love with our dog.
No, Winston isn’t ours, I remind myself. He’ll be someone else’s soon.
“We can handle this.” I say the words I know he needs to hear. I need to hear them too. I need the reminder that what we have here, right now—this is all it can be. Really amazing sex.
“Good,” he says, as he rubs the length of his erection against my stomach.
He’s insatiable. He brings his hand to the back of my head and pulls my mouth to his.
He nibbles on my lips playfully, but when I lean my hips forward into his, he parts my lips with his tongue and delves in.
He claims my mouth, his tongue searching and tangling with mine, over and over in the same rhythm he’s now thrusting against me.
Beau doesn’t just kiss me, he fucks my mouth.
There’s no other way to explain the possessive, invasive experience that is kissing him.
He wraps his arm around me and rolls to his back with me on top of him. Instinctually, I spread my knees to either side of his hips, rubbing my already wet center along the length of him.
“How are you already so wet for me?” he asks as I rock my hips back and forth slowly, so he slides along my opening.
I push myself up so that I’m sitting over him, one hand on his shoulder and the other above him on the headboard.
“You are amazingly, impossibly sexy,” he tells me, and I can feel my insides melting for him.
“Tell me more,” I say, and I’m not sure about this low, throaty voice that comes out of my mouth, because it doesn’t even sound like me, and it’s not something I’d normally say.
“Do you have any idea what you do to me?” he asks.
I glance down at the hard length of him between my legs, watch how he glistens from my juices as I slide myself along him. Then I look back at him with a half smile and say, “Yeah, I think I do.”
“I don’t mean now, I mean in an ordinary day,” he says, his thumbs stroking my hip bones.
It’s a touch that’s possessive, not erotic, and I don’t know what to make of that.
“The way your hips sway when you walk down the hall toward your bedroom, how your ass calls to me when you bend over to pet Winston, that dress with the front zipper you wore on your date last weekend . . .”
“I wore that for you,” I say and give him a little wink.
“To drive me fucking crazy?” he asks, and I give him a sly nod.
“Well, it worked. I dreamed about you unzipping that dress and sharing your body with me. And the next morning, that cropped cami you wore lit my imagination on fire.” He reaches up and cups my breasts in his hands again.
He’s clearly a boob man, which is good, since I’m well-endowed in that area.
When he pinches my nipples gently between his fingers, I throw my head back and sigh.
Then with superhuman strength he sits up without using his arms for support, and his lips meet my breasts, kissing them both reverently before he takes one of my nipples in his mouth and does amazing things with his tongue that leave me panting and reaching down to stroke my clitoris with one hand and the head of his cock with the other.
He makes a sound in the back of his throat that’s an awful lot like a growl.
There is nothing more natural than sex, or at least the sex Beau and I are having.
It’s an intimate connection entirely unlike anything I’ve ever experienced.
“I want you inside me,” I tell him and he mumbles for me to grab a condom. I reach over for his sport coat, but the pocket is empty. He just laughs, telling me we’ve used both of those. “You only brought two?”
“If we’d used more than two while we were out at a bar last night, that would have been some sort of miracle.
There’re plenty more in my suitcase, hold on.
” He sets me on the bed and gets up, walking toward the closet.
Our room is so quiet all I can hear is him and me, breathing—the thick sound of anticipation.
And then, the silence is pierced by a ringing phone.
My phone, with the “Party in the USA” ringtone Sydney had set on it yesterday.
I glance over at Beau. “It’s Sydney.”
“You should answer it,” he says as he tears a condom off a long strip of them. Always so prepared.
I eye the condom in his hand. “I don’t want to talk wedding details. I want to finish what we started.”
“What if she needs you?” he asks. “What if something is wrong?”
“She’ll call Georgia?” My voice is weak. I already know I’ll answer the phone, begrudgingly, because she’s interrupted my time with Beau. She’s your sister, and it’s her wedding day.
I reach over and grab my phone off the bedside table. “Hey, Syd.”
Beau stands there watching me, his massive hard-on jutting out from his body and pointing right at me.
“It’s Joe,” the voice on the other end says.
I actually hold the phone away from my face and look at it for a second, then bring it back to my ear. “Joe? What’s wrong? Where’s Sydney?”
“She’s here. But she’s sick.”
“What do you mean, she’s sick?” I ask.
Beau reaches into his suitcase and grabs some clothes. He tosses a T-shirt to me and steps into a pair of boxer briefs. I put the phone on speaker and set it on the bed so I can pull the T-shirt over my head, hating that we’ve detoured so drastically from the direction we were headed.
“Last night we made it as far as our hotel, then Sydney and Georgia insisted on stopping at the bar and doing some celebratory shots.” Joe’s voice is grim, and I have the sense that he’s not feeling so hot either.
“You were supposed to bring her back to the room. You know, have wild and crazy ‘we’re getting married tomorrow’ sex with your fiancée. You weren’t supposed to let her get trashed.” I wish I could reach through the phone and choke him.
“I didn’t think she was trashed,” he says, and Beau and I just look at each other.
I glance at the phone laying on the bed. “You had one job, Joe,” I say, and Beau smirks.
“I know. I need your help, Sierra. She won’t come out of the bathroom. She says there’s no way she’s getting married today.”
My eyes flare and seek out Beau’s. I know he sees the panic, followed by the resolve. “Like hell she isn’t,” I spit out through gritted teeth. “I’ll be there in ten minutes.”
I end the call and look at Beau, then down at the phone, then back to Beau. “I am so sorry,” I whisper.
“There is absolutely nothing to be sorry about,” he says as he moves around the corner of the bed to wrap his arms around me. It’s a fortifying hug, which he somehow knows is exactly what I need right now. “You got this.”
“I don’t want to be the one to get this.
I did my part. I made sure she didn’t get trashed last night.
I was a responsible adult. I deserve to spend this morning with you.
” I feel some sympathy for toddlers who have temper tantrums when they don’t get what they want, as I could easily devolve into one right now.
He pulls back, holding me at arm’s length with his hands on my shoulders. “Are you done?”
I drop my head. “Yes. Now I’m going to go clean up Joe’s mess.”