Chapter 2
Two
Ina
My heart knows before my brain does. I stand.
My lemonade sitting on the railing, forgotten.
My breath caught somewhere in my chest. The porch light throws Beau’s shadow across the steps as he approaches.
He’s even bigger in the low light. Broader.
His black tee stretches over his chest like it’s begging for mercy, jaw set, golden eyes burning.
He doesn’t say a word. Just climbs the stairs slowly, like this is his place. His eyes never leave mine. Not when he reaches the top step. Not when he takes the last two strides that close the distance between us.
He’s close enough now that his scent hits me. Leather. Cedar. Warm skin. It floods my senses, and my knees go soft before he even touches me.
“Beau, what are you…?” I don’t finish my sentence.
He lifts his hand and cups the back of my neck. Big palm. Rough fingers. No hesitation. His calloused skin is hot against my nape, his thick fingers threading into my hair, his thumb pressing into the soft spot below my ear. Then his mouth is on mine. Hot. Slow. Demanding.
I let out a sound that’s half gasp, half whimper and clutch his shirt because I’d hit the floor without it.
The cotton is warm and damp, and I can feel the hard wall of his chest under…
the ridges of muscle shifting as he pulls me closer.
He tastes addictive. His tongue slides inside my mouth, and I forget my own damn name.
I should pull back. Say something. Tell him I don’t do this. That he can’t just show up here and kiss me like he’s waited his whole life to do it.
But I don’t do any of that. My brain is long gone. I part my lips and let him take whatever the hell he wants.
He groans, low and rough…a sound I feel in my nipples, my belly, my clit…
and his other hand finds my hip and grips hard.
His fingers dig into my flesh like he’s holding back something wild deep inside him.
I can feel the size of his hand spanning my hip, his thumb pressing into the bone, his fingers curling around to my ass. So big. So sure.
I manage to break the kiss, just enough to breathe. My eyes focus on his face. His lips are wet from me, jaw clenched, eyes dark and heavy-lidded, pupils blown wide. He looks like a man barely holding on.
“Beau…”
“Want me to stop?” he asks in a voice so hoarse it scrapes against my skin.
“I… I don’t know what you think this is.”
He looks at me like I’m cute for trying. Then his hand slides under the hem of my tank top, and the feel of his rough palm on my bare stomach makes my entire body tremble.
“Beau…”
He doesn’t answer. Just brushes his fingers up, slowly, over my ribs.
His calloused skin dragging over mine, leaving heat in its wake.
Until he finds the underside of my breast. His thumb grazes the curve…
the pad of it rough and thick, circling slow…
making me shake even harder. I’m breathing hard.
Lips parted. Eyes wide. Heart beating a mile a minute.
No one has touched me like this in years. If ever… like they meant it, like they couldn’t help it.
Then Beau Redding circles my nipple through the soft fabric of my tank.
I suck in air. My nipples are already hard.
Desperate. His touch is so sure. No fumbling.
Just pure male confidence wrapped in calloused skin, heat, and that intoxicating scent that’s all around me now…
on my clothes, my skin, in every breath I take.
He leans in and nips at my neck. I feel his stubble scrape my throat…rough and hot…and his full lips press into the sensitive skin below my ear. His breath fans warm and damp over me.
“You gonna let me taste you?”
I fucking melt.
He pushes the neckline of my tank down with one hand, his mouth following. His lips drag down my chest…warm, soft, deliberate…until his tongue flicks my nipple. Then his lips close around it, hot, wet, and perfect. Then he sucks. Hard. I feel the pull all the way to my clit.
My head falls back. I grab the porch railing to keep from falling on my ass.
Beau just keeps going. He switches sides.
His mouth on one breast, his hand on the other squeezing, kneading, his rough thumb rolling my wet nipple while his tongue works the other.
I look down and nearly lose it. His dark head bent over my chest, square jaw flexing as he sucks.
His hands on my bare tits like they were made to hold them. The sight alone almost finishes me.
His hand slides lower. Over my belly. Between my thighs.
I part them without even thinking. Oh my God, what am I doing?
His fingers rub me through my shorts, firm and unhurried. I can feel the heat of his palm through the thin fabric, the thick press of his fingers right where I’m aching. I whimper. Actually whimper.
He pulls the waistband down just enough to get access. Then his fingers slip under. And, oh Lord. He finds me already soaked. Swollen. Ready. His calloused fingertips slide through my wetness, and his breath hitches against my neck in a rough exhale, like touching me undid something in him too.
“This all for me, sweetheart?” His voice is gravel and heat against my ear.
I can’t answer. My jaw is clenched too tight against a moan.
He strokes me deep with two fingers. Thick, rough-skinned. Knowing exactly where to press. Where to curl. My body’s pulsing around him like it’s been waiting for this forever. I grip his strong arms, hard, corded muscle under hot skin, my nails biting in. My legs shaking.
“Look at me,” Beau rumbles, and I have no choice but to obey.
His eyes are blown dark. Intense. Watching every twitch, every breath, every goddamn thing he’s pulling out of me. His full lips are parted. His jaw clenched. He looks wrecked. Like doing this to me is destroying him in the best way. He hooks his fingers just right, and my body snaps.
I come fast. Hard. Barely breathing. Unable to think. Just unraveling right there on the porch like a girl half my age. His golden eyes on me the entire time. Watching me fall apart on his hand like it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.
When I finally catch my breath, I’m flushed, shaking, eyes wide.
He pulls his fingers from me. Slowly. I feel every ridge of his knuckles as he withdraws.
Then he brings them to his mouth. And sucks them clean.
His full lips wrapping around his thick fingers, his eyes locked on mine, his jaw hollowing as he tastes me.
Looking at me the whole damn time. With that same heat in his gaze.
Then he says, “You taste even better than I imagined.”
And he turns. Walking down my steps. I watch his broad back, the way his shoulders move, the way his long legs carry him into the dark with that same unhurried stride. Like he didn’t just take me apart with his bare hands on my own front porch.