17. Shelby
SHELBY
Oh this mother fucker…
He thinks he has me. He thinks he can look at me like that, with his brown eyes trying to snatch my soul, and that I’m just going to give in and kiss him.
I’m not.
I’m stronger than that.
I think.
Wait…have I kissed him before? I feel like I have. But I haven’t? Shit…did I kiss him last night? Do I want to do it again?
No! Focus Shelby! Just say no!
“I’m not going to kiss you.”
There. If I keep saying it, I’ll will it to life.
“Really? You’re not? Then why do you keep staring at my lips?”
All I can do is shake my head to break the stare. The only problem with that is, not focusing on his lips means I can let myself wonder what his beard will feel like against my palm.
Just as I try to pull my thoughts away from that, I realize that his fingers are tracing down the curve of my neck, across the bare skin of my shoulder.
Don’t get goosebumps…don’t fucking get goosebumps…
“It’s okay if you want to,” he says, stepping even closer to me.
I suck in a breath as our chests make contact, my body suddenly on fire in places that haven’t felt this alive in…ever.
“I don’t.”
Two words have never come out of my mouth more unsure in all my thirty-six years.
“Really?” he says, his hands now running down my arms. “You don’t want to kiss me?”
“No!”
I mean for it to sound harsh. Decisive. That’s how my brain—the logical part of me who remembers that I hate Beau Devereaux—says it. In reality, it comes out soft. Breathy. Like I’m just saying it on instinct, but it’s not what I want.
I don’t want it.
But I do.
And I hate that I do.
“You don’t sound so sure, Belle.” Beau wraps one of his arms around my waist, turning my back against his front. I slowly blink my eyes open, fighting off the urge to rest against his muscular chest, when I notice we’re standing in front of a full-length mirror.
“I’m sure.”
Except my eyes flutter closed as he takes his free hand and traces it up my side, my head falling back against one very-well defined pec.
“Eyes on me, Belle. Watch how much you don’t want me to do this to you.”
The last thing I want to do—ever—is obey an order from Beau.
It goes against everything I am as a person.
Except I can’t ignore the zing that runs through my body at his words.
Or the pulsing in my core as we lock eyes in the mirror, his brown depths not letting go of me for a single second.
Or how the only reason my legs aren’t giving out right now is Beau’s arm holding me up.
“I hate you.”
“Probably,” he says with a smirk before tilting his head down to the crook of my shoulder. “But we both know you don’t.”
Words die on my lips. The coarseness of his beard collides with my bare skin as his nose traces up and down the column of my neck, stealing every word and argument from my brain.
His lips have barely grazed me, let alone kissed me, but somehow I already feel him through every cell of my body.
His hands caress lightly over my stomach, cupping my breasts, twisting the nipples between his fingers as my body tries to embrace the sensation while also not wanting to completely give in to him.
“You’re not watching,” he rasps and my eyes flutter open. “How can you hate me if you don’t see how I’m making you feel?”
I want to scream. Punch him. Kick him in the dick.
But my body? My body is another story.
Because against every fiber of my being, and a screaming megaphone in my brain, I want more. More of his hands on me. My skin against his.
I’m going to kiss him.
And I’m going to hate every second.
Without warning, I spin around in his hold, pushing him against the mirrored wall. I catch him off guard, his feet stumbling before he hits the frame. It doesn’t take long for his hands to find my hips as he pulls me into him, our lips crashing in a way that could leave us bruised in the morning.
But neither of us care. We don’t care one damn bit.
My hands cling to the waistband of his shorts as our mouths tangle for dominance. It’s intense. Incendiary. Years of frustration and hate and whatever else has run between us finally coming to an ignition point.
And somehow…familiarity.
Despite hating most things about men, I’ve kissed, and unfortunately slept with, my fair share over the years. Many weren’t long term. Most were mediocre. But they scratched the itch at the time I needed them. None of them ever came close to what’s happening now.
None of them felt like their mouth was all over me at once.
None of them made me feel like my body was on fire from one kiss, their hands pulling me in at the small of my back.
None made me feel like if I don’t get more than this kiss and a little nipple play in the next five seconds, I’m going to actually combust. And surely none of them ever made me moan without anything penetrating me.
“Beau…”
His name slips out unconsciously. In my defense, his mouth is sucking a spot on my neck, right at my pulse point, and I feel like I’m about to have an orgasm from the neck G-spot I didn’t realize I had.
God I hate him. I hate him so much. Because this feels so fucking good.
I’m not thinking straight, clearly, which is the only excuse for how my hands are fumbling to pull up the hem of his light gray, long-sleeved T-shirt.
The one that’s been clinging to his arms since the second he stormed into my hotel room.
Showing off biceps he has no right having, and I have no business noticing.
“Oh now I really hate you…”
I’m stunned speechless at the sight of a shirtless Beau Devereaux in front of me. A vision hits me that I’ve seen him like this before, in this very spot, but I push it away, choosing to focus on the here and now.
I will admit, but only to myself, that I’ve wondered what he looks like underneath the always-put-together clothing ensembles. The last time I remember seeing him without a shirt was when he was thirteen, before puberty had fully taken hold of him.
And holy shit…Beau has grown up.
His chest isn’t smooth by any means, his dark hair perfectly covering his defined pecs. Broad shoulders tapering down to a trim waist, and abs that haven’t been ignored a day in the gym. If someone were to ask me what the perfect male form is, it’s this.
Beau.
“You always did like to stare.”
My eyes meet his again, that damn smirk peeking out of the corner of his lips.
“And you never have?”
He slowly starts walking me back toward the other wall, the smile on his face nothing short of devious. “I’ve stared more times than I’ll ever admit.”
Good to know it wasn’t just me.
“So what are you going to do then?” I ask in challenge. “Keep staring? Or finally make a move?”
My words are all the lighter fluid Beau needs.
He presses my back against the wall, my shirt quickly coming over my head as Beau tosses it to the side.
I grip onto the black strands at the nape of his neck, pressing him into my chest as he devours my breast, his free hand squeezing and kneading the other.
Never in my life have I gotten off from a man paying attention to my chest. I don’t deny them access—if they’re a fan then yay for them—but it’s never done anything to, or for, me. I just considered it their attempt at foreplay, and honestly, I appreciated the effort.
But Beau? He’s too good at this. His mouth is too skilled. His fingers too nimble.
“I hate you,” I moan out as arousal starts to coat my thighs. “I hate you so much.”
My words make him laugh as he pulls away from me. “Oh, then you’re going to absolutely hate this.”
He presses a hard, yet quick, kiss on my lips before he drops to his knees in front of me, pulling down my sleep shorts and panties with him.
I offer absolutely no resistance as he drapes one of my legs over his shoulder.
And the highest scream I’ve ever let out leaves my mouth as Beau runs his tongue across my center, once, twice, three times, before his mouth is fully on my pussy.
“Yes,” I moan out, gripping his hair again. “Please…don’t stop.”
I don’t even care that I can’t take those words back.
Because it’s the truth, and I repeat them again to make sure he knows just how much I mean it.
The one leg holding me upright is about to buckle, and my hand is pressed into his shoulder because I need all the grounding I can get as Beau eats me out like I’m his final meal.
Add this as another thing that goes into the hate column for Beau, because of course he can eat a pussy.
Can he not be bad at one thing? I need him to be bad at one thing.
Because when we’re back to reality, and it truly hits me what a horrible mistake this is, I need to at least know that sure, he can perfectly flick my clit with his tongue while also fingering me with two digits and hitting the spot that very few have been able to find, but maybe he’s bad in bed.
Yes. That’s it. He’s going to be a terrible lay.
Keep thinking that, Shelby…
“Oh…oh!” I scream out, both of my hands now digging claw marks into his shoulders. “I…hate…you!”
Beau’s free arm somehow wraps around me, holding me up as he guides me through the orgasm that hits me like a tidal wave.
My breathing is heavy and my body is limp as I come down from it, and for a second, I forget everything.
My name. Where I am. Who just made me come harder with his mouth than I’ve ever come before.
“Still hate me, huh?”
I narrow my eyes as Beau stands up, giving me a full view as he licks each of the fingers that were just inside me. That shouldn’t be hot, but damn if it isn’t. “Always.”
“Really, Belle? You hate a man who made you squirt?”
That gets my attention. “I did not!”
“You didn’t?” The boyish grin on his face makes him almost—almost—adorable. “Huh. Well then I’ll have to try again.”
Before I can protest, Beau is picking me up, carrying me the four short steps he needs to toss me onto the king-size bed.
“On all fours, Shelby.”
“Absolutely not,” I say, making it a point to situate myself on the edge of the bed, sitting perfectly straight. “Who do you think you are, telling me what to do?”
He doesn’t answer. He just stares at me as he takes out his wallet, grabs a condom, and pushes down his gym shorts, leaving him standing in nothing but a pair of black boxer briefs that look like they could’ve been painted on him.
Oh fuck me…
We’re both silent, but our eyes are locked on each other as he walks to the bed, leaning down so we’re eye level, his hands caging me in on either side.
“You know who I am, Shelby Lynn. And you know whose name you’re about to scream.”
“I didn’t know you had a degradation kink. You really want me screaming Asshole?”
He smiles coyly and kisses the tip of my nose. “I think we both know that’s a lie.”
I’m about to respond with a likely amazing retort, when he steps back and pushes his boxer briefs down, freeing a rock-hard cock that literally bounces free.
Bounces.
It fucking bounces.
“Holy. Shit.”
I’m in a dick trance as he stalks back over to me, his hand stroking his cock with every step. “On your hands and knees, Shelby. Because you might not know it yet, but you want to do everything I tell you to do.”
My comeback is cut off by a hard kiss, leaving me so stunned I don’t realize Beau has grabbed my hips to flip me over, putting me exactly in the position he wanted me in.
“Good girl,” he says as I hear the rip of the condom packet. “Now…about you squirting…”
I brace my arms and legs, fighting the demons in my head over what’s about to happen.
That I’m about to have sex with Beau.
That he’s going to make me orgasm again, and likely harder than the last one.
That I want this.
That I still hate him.
Yes, that’s what I need to remember. He—
“Ah!” I barely recognize the sound coming from me as my arms give out and he pounds into me, not easing me in whatsoever to the punishing rhythm he’s setting early.
But I don’t care. I won’t say this out loud, but he was right. He knows what I need.
And I know I’m going to scream.
His hips slap against me, a cadence so mesmerizing I get lost in it, along with how Beau is hitting the exact right spot. One hand is grasping my hip so hard he might leave a bruise. It’s fine. It’ll go nicely with the red mark that’s going to be on my ass from him slapping it.
“Fuck, Belle,” he moans as I feel his chest come down to rest against my back. “It’s too…”
His words trail off, but he doesn’t need to say them. Neither do I. It feels too good. Too right. Yet, so wrong.
I hate him. I hate everything about him. I hate that he’s never admitted to hurting me all those years ago. I hate his arrogance. I hate his stupid pink shirts. I hate that he always feels like he has to save the day.
And I hate, absolutely hate, that I’m about to come again.
“More, Beau. I need more. Please.”
I let out a yelp as he turns me over, somehow not losing our connection as he ranges over me, driving into me like his life depends on it. Closing my eyes, I let the feel of him run through me. If I don’t, I might lose myself altogether.
It’s the eye contact. It’s too much. I know it will be.
Because I might hate him, and everything about him, but he knows me. He always has. And now that he knows this side of me? My brain can’t handle it right now. I just need to revel in the feel of him as he pushes in and out of me, my body meeting his with every thrust.
“Look at me, Belle,” he commands, my eyes doubling down and squeezing shut.
“I hate you.” Those are the only words I can say as I feel myself about to come apart again.
“Shelby. Look at me.”
There’s a short circuit in my brain, because I do. I open my eyes to see him just inches from me. His brow covered in sweat. His breathing heavy. And…oh fuck…
“Beau!”
It’s the last word I yell as I come apart, him not far behind me, my name a whisper on his lips.
I shake from the eruption, my body feeling like it’s physically breaking apart from whatever just happened between us.
“Belle,” Beau whispers as he holds me through the after effects of the orgasm. “Shh…I’ve got you.”
And I hate that he does.