Chapter 38 It’s You Beau
It's You
Beau
I need it. I need this moment to take it all in.
The weight of her in my arms, the heat from her body seeping in to warm me to my core.
But I want more too. I want to see and feel every inch of her, so I know it’s real.
I’m not dreaming. Because part of me still thinks I must be.
There’s no way she’s still choosing me, after everything. All my fuckups and fears.
Apparently, she does too. She squirms in my arms until she can stretch her head up. Her lips brush the edge of my jaw in a soft kiss, and that’s it. I shift my hold, letting her slide down the length of my body, and need pulses through me.
She pushes up on her toes the minute her feet hit the ground, and I bend to meet her halfway.
This kiss is different from all the others.
It feels like the promise of spring. A new beginning for us.
Sweet, and deep, embedding itself in my heart.
Because I know this is it. This is the only thing I’ve ever been one hundred percent sure of in my life. She’s the one for me.
Impatient, she breaks off the kiss to grab my hands. She walks backward, taking me with her, then spinning and pushing my chest until my knees hit the edge of my bed. Her tongue slips between my lips when she leans in for a kiss, fingers tangling in my shirt. My knees give out, and I let myself go.
Luna follows me, straddling my hips, her hands sliding to the hem of my shirt. She’s smiling now, hair wild, eyes lit with something bright and wicked.
“I’m supposed to be the golden boy,” I say, voice rough. “Why do I feel like I’m the one being devoured?”
“Because you are.”
And I’m okay with it. She deserves to take the lead. I’m happy to concede the power to her because she owns me now. I’m hers.
She pulls my shirt off over my head, then leans in and presses her mouth to the hollow of my throat. Her tongue grazes the sharp edge of my collarbone. My breath stutters.
“You good?” she asks, lips ghosting my skin.
“I’m hanging on by a thread.”
She grins. “You’ll survive.”
Her shirt goes next. No bra. Slick need surges through me. My hands tremble as I reach out to feel the soft skin of her waist. I huff out a laugh, and she bites my lower lip in response. Then I dip down to land a kiss on each breast. She gasps when my mouth closes over each nipple in turn.
She reluctantly stands up to shimmy out of her track pants.
Now there’s only a tiny slip of black satin and lace covering her smooth skin.
A faded purple bruise on the side of her thigh catches my attention, and I reach out, tracing the ragged edges of it.
A soft, tender touch. She tenses and shivers.
“Does it hurt?” I ask, instantly sober.
“No,” she says softly. “Not anymore.”
She guides my hand up to her ribs, then lower. Her pupils are blown wide, her breathing ragged. My hand brushes over the last piece of fabric between us, and I find it damp. She’s ready for me. I stroke the soft mound, and she tilts her head back. She moans.
“This okay?” I whisper.
Her answer is immediate. “Yes.”
And then quieter, as she brushes her mouth against my jaw: “Beau, it’s you. It’s more than okay. It’s amazing.”
As if to prove it, she grips the side of my pants, fingers slipping beneath the waistband, and she drags them down with my boxers in one swift move. I lift my hips to release them, my cock springing free. She dips her head down to kiss the tip as she goes, and the pressure builds in my lower back.
When you’re on the ice, there’s this moment right before you fall, that feels like floating.
You can see the hit coming before it lands, and you know you’re going to take it because that’s your job.
Time slows down. The hit lands, and the ice slips out from under your skates, but you don’t care. That’s what it feels like with her.
Her mouth is on my shoulder now, slow and reverent, like she’s memorizing it. Feather-light kisses trace a shivery line across my collarbone, my neck, the line of my jaw. Her hands trace my sides, not rushed, not fumbling, just patient. Like she’s relearning the dips and curves of my muscles.
I lean back and let her explore until I can’t take it anymore. I need to touch her. To feel her under my palms, under my mouth.
“Wild Thing,” I murmur, not sure if it’s a question, a plea, or a statement.
“You going to make it?” she asks between kisses.
I nod, lips brushing the curve of her breast. “Trying not to combust.”
She curls her fingers in my hair, tugging. “Well don’t combust until I’ve had my fun.”
I groan, my grip tightening around her arms. All impulses and reflexes. “Are you trying to kill me?”
“Not kill. Just disarm.”
She finally slides off the tiny panties, tossing them behind her as she settles her thighs beside mine again. It leaves her open, exposed. Hovering over me in a tease. Not quite there. I tug at her hips, desperate to feel her around me.
“God, Luna.”
“Still with me, Golden Boy?”
“I’m hanging on by a thread here, Wild Thing. Is this my punishment?”
Her laugh is dark and velvety. “No way. This is your reward.”
She dips down, letting me feel her heat for a tantalizing moment, then folds at the waist, reaching past me. When she comes back, she’s conjured a small foil packet from out of nowhere. Thank fuck.
She tears the condom open with her teeth. Lust rips through me as she grips my cock, and rolls it down in a slow, aching slide.
“Fuck.” I hiss through my teeth so hard it’s painful.
She’s ready for me, slick and warm as she finally gives me the relief I’ve been craving. She’s still in control, lowering herself down in aching inches.
Her heat surrounds me, and a connection snaps into place. Every time we’ve had sex, it’s been incredible, but this time is beyond. I’m wrecked for any other woman.
She sets the pace, rocking her hips in a slow, steady dance. And this is the Luna I fell in love with. The one who’s not afraid to take control. She can be everything all at once. Soft and vulnerable, but still powerful and in charge.
I want her to come with me, so I reach between us to circle her clit.
She moans. “A little softer.”
I adjust the pressure, and her breath comes faster, matching the rhythm of her hips. I switch back and forth, lavishing each breast with licks and nibbles.
“Yes, yes. Right there.”
The pressure builds, igniting a spark at the base of my spine, and I increase the tempo of my circles trying to bring her along with me because I’m not going to last.
“Yes, holy shit. Right there.” She’s keening, pleading as my dick hardens, and the pressure builds.
Sparks fly, and the world falls away as I come undone. She screams, and the hit of pain intensifies the pleasure as her teeth sink into my shoulder. My cock shudders as her muscles squeeze it in rhythmic pulses.
“I love you,” I say, voice in tatters.
We sit there frozen for a moment, gasping and shuddering before my loose muscles give out and I collapse onto the bed, taking her with me.
Her head rests against my chest. One of her legs is slung over mine. The sheet’s twisted somewhere near the foot of the bed, but neither of us moves to fix it.
My heart’s still trying to recalibrate. Because what just happened doesn’t feel like something that can be filed under just sex. It wasn’t even just connection.
It was everything.
Her fingers trace lazy patterns along the dip beneath my collarbone. She repeats the pattern over and over, like she’s doodling across my chest without realizing.
“I meant what I said,” I murmur, voice rough from overuse.
“That you love me?” she asks, lifting her head, lips tugging into a grin. “Yeah, I caught that part.”
I shift, tightening my arm around her waist. “That, and the part where I’d humiliate myself in public again if you ever ask me to.”
She arches a brow. “You offering to do the worm at the next charity event?”
“Please don’t put that idea in JJ’s head.”
She snorts. Then falls quiet.
Her eyes find mine again, and something inside them softens. “You okay?” she asks.
I nod. “I’m okay.”
And I am.
For the first time in months, maybe longer, the ache in my chest has eased.
The static in my brain has quieted. Not disappeared, but muted, edged out by the weight of her in my arms and the way she’s looking at me like I’m not broken.
Like I’m perfect. Even though we both know that’s far from the truth.
But I’m working on it. I’m working on myself.
She tucks her chin into the crook of my neck. “You’re mine now, Golden Boy.”
I smile into her hair, inhaling. “You’ve had me from the moment you laughed at me while you made me clean Freddy’s cage.”
She lets out a soft, pleased noise and shifts closer, practically curled into my ribcage. And then thump. Something lands on the bed with the subtlety of a wrecking ball.
“What the…?” I flinch hard enough to jostle us both.
A furry blur leaps over my thighs and plants itself squarely between us as if this bed belongs to him. Tail flicking. Judging.
Luna dissolves into laughter. “Bluebeard!”
The cat sits, smug, like he’s reclaiming his territory. Luna.
“Not now, dude,” I mutter, glaring at him.
Bluebeard responds by kneading the blanket beside Luna, laying his head on her chest and purring like a diesel engine. I sneeze when he flicks his tail in my face. Traitorous little jerk. But I still reach out to stroke a hand down his sleek back.
A sigh slips through my lips as I fall back on the pillow. “You weren’t kidding about the whole house full of cats thing, huh?”
She beams. “Get used to it.”
And for once, that doesn’t sound terrifying.
It sounds like home.