18. Beau
BEAU
Imight be in the minority by saying this, but I love a hotel bed. Maybe it’s because during the season I sleep on these more than I do my own, but somehow I always get more rest on the road than I do at home.
Except last night. And the night before. Both have to do with Shelby. Only this time, she’s tangled in me, gloriously naked, and adorably snoring.
But I’m not complaining. Not one damn bit.
I close my eyes again. Not to try and find a few more minutes of sleep, but to try and piece together how we went from screaming at each other one second to me pressing her against a wall the next.
It’s like a fuse finally snapped inside me when it came to her, and years of frustration, anger, and attraction came pouring out of me.
Twice.
It was a night I never dreamed would happen. A night I imagined was too ridiculous to even think about given our history. In fact, I believe I owe the members of the Poker Club a substantial amount of money. If they ever find out about this, that is.
And the crazy thing is, not once did I think about Shelby as the girl I’ve known since she was six. My sister’s best friend. I didn’t think for one second that she was the girl I once had to give a piggyback ride on the course because she twisted her ankle in a bunker.
No, last night she was just Shelby. The gorgeous, infuriating, addicting, maddening woman who’s been keeping me up at night for longer than I’d care to admit. Which leads me to a whole new problem:
I’ve had a taste. And I don’t think I want to stop.
“Why are you still here?”
I laugh as Shelby quickly rolls off me, purposefully turning her back to me. It’s like if she moves away, we can pretend she hasn’t been laying on top of me for the past hour.
“I don’t know? Why did you crawl on my dick at four a.m.?”
She snaps her head toward me, and her eyes might be tired, but there’s the fire I’ve come to crave. “I did no such thing.”
“Oh but you did, Belle.” I quickly roll on top of her, taking each of her wrists in my hands so she can’t hit me, which is always a risk when it comes to her. “I didn’t say I was mad about it. I’m just saying we can both have questions this morning.”
She doesn’t have a comeback—she’s vividly remembering waking me up with her mouth wrapped around my dick, which led to a sleepy, yet hot, fuck session.
Instead, she just stares at me like she’s trying to plot her next move.
I see the war raging in her deep blues. Part of her wants to go back to her default setting: angry Shelby who hates Beau and will go out of her way to make sure she’s opposing me.
But now there’s another part of Shelby, the one who knows I can make her body shake in point two seconds with multiple parts of my body, and sometimes two at once.
The question now is, which one is going to win out?
“I’m serious, Beau. You need to go.”
“Not yet,” I say, pressing my luck as I lean down and kiss at her neck.
Of all the parts I would assume I’d become quickly obsessed with when it comes to Shelby, her neck isn’t one I had on my bingo card.
But there’s just something about the perfect crook in it, how her floral scent somehow lingers there, that makes me want to set up residence and never leave.
It also helps that I feel her gorgeous tits pressed against me as I let my weight rest on her.
“I have to golf,” she says, starting to squirm a bit, but not in a way that makes me believe she wants me to let go. No, this squirm is because she’s getting wet again, and she hates that she is.
“Your tee time isn’t until this afternoon,” I remind her, letting my lips trail down across the top of her chest. “You’re going to tell me you don’t want one more?”
“I…” The one word is raspy, and if it wasn’t for her hips pressing up into me, I’d have no idea which way she was going to go. “I do…”
“Thatta girl.” I press a kiss just below her ear, ready to make my journey down her body. “One more isn’t going to hurt anything. In fact, I think it’s going to help.”
Shelby’s chest rises and falls with every nip and peck I give her. I feel her quiver under the touch of my fingers, my lips kissing their way down her chest as I make my way down to her waiting pussy.
Her legs spread without me asking, and I want to praise her for being a good girl. Instead, I show her how much I appreciate the action, licking all the way up her seam as I anchor my arms under her legs, opening her up for me in the most perfect way possible.
“Yes.” Her moan is breathy, her hands finding the top of my hair and gripping tight as I start licking and sucking, my tongue having already memorized what she likes and doesn’t.
She might not affirm it verbally—the only things she screamed last night were swear words and that she hated me—but she validates my every move with her actions.
I don’t even know if she knows she’s doing it.
But how she pulls my hair? How her hands claw into my skin?
How her body moves when I’ve found a pleasure point for her? It tells me everything I need to know.
And the main thing it’s telling me? That she doesn’t hate me as much as she says she does. Well, at least not when I’m making her come.
But the biggest secret she’s keeping, and one she’ll never admit, is that she thinks she wants to be in control, but she doesn’t. Not in the slightest.
I had a feeling about that the second I told her not to kiss me.
If I were a betting man—which I am on the sports it’s legal for me to do so—I’d say she’s never not been in control of every single sexual encounter she’s ever had.
She probably tells them how to lie, what to do, and I’m going to guess she’s always been on top.
Even in the bedroom, she’s always on the offensive.
But something happened in her the second I told her to kiss me.
It was a different kind of rapid blink. I can’t describe it, but from that moment, I had a feeling Shelby LeBlanc had a good girl/praise kink hidden in there somewhere.
And if I die trying, I’m going to help her realize that. One fuck at a time.
“Oh shit,” she moans, her hips starting to buck against my mouth. I rest one arm across her stomach as my other hand circles her clit. “God damn it, I hate you.”
“Sure you do,” I say against her pussy, my mouth now working overtime in tandem with my hand to make sure she comes all over my face.
I want to wear it. Feel it soaking into my beard.
I want to be able to taste her hours from now.
Because I don’t know if this is going to happen again, even if I want it to more than I’ve wanted anything in a long time, and I need the physical evidence of this memory to last as long as possible.
Just as her scream echoes off the walls of the hotel room, I hear a cell phone vibrating on the bedside table. A few seconds later, I hear another vibration, only this time it’s coming from the floor in front of the bed.
“Don’t answer,” I say, licking up the last drops of her orgasm. “I’m not done with you yet.”
But just as each phone stops ringing, the sounds start all over again not even a second later.
“I swear to God, someone better be dying.” Shelby rolls away from me as I slowly sit up, needing to get my bearings. She might be worried about her phone, but I couldn’t care less. “Fuck!”
“What?” I ask, suddenly very awake, and very worried. “Who is it?”
“Ethan.” Shelby’s face is turning white as she looks from her phone, to me, then back and forth again. “He’s probably calling you too.”
Well that wakes me up. I try to roll down the bed to reach and grab my shorts, except my depth perception is shit this early in the morning. Before I can catch myself, I fall out of her bed, landing on my ass with a loud thud.
“Smooth, Devereaux.”
“Don’t start,” I grumble as I stand up, completely naked, phone in hand. “Yeah. It’s him.”
Neither of us answer the calls—nor blink—waiting as each of our phones stop vibrating.
“He’s calling about yesterday.”
“No shit, Sherlock.”
“Don’t start. This is serious.”
She takes a semi-calming breath, bringing up the sheets to cover herself. I, on the other hand, decide that standing in the middle of her hotel room with my dick out is the best way to have an important conversation.
“I know it’s serious. Which is why you need to get the hell out of here.”
I start to agree with her, but at that moment, our phones start ringing again. “Too late.”
“What do you mean too late? Put on your shorts and get the hell out of here.”
“Get out?” I ask, though I do take that time to slip on my gym shorts. “How many times can we ignore his call before he freaks out on us. I’m not ignoring it again.”
“Well, you can’t be here,” she says. “Go back to your room.”
“That will take ten minutes, and he’s probably already pissed.”
She lets out a deep breath, knowing I’m right. “Fine. But you’re answering in the bathroom.”
“The bathroom? Why do I have to go in there?”
“Because this is my room and I say so. Now give me my T-shirt and hurry up.”
I don’t have time to fight with her anymore—though I must admit, fighting with her is much more fun now that I know sex could be at the end of it. Grabbing her shirt, and with my phone still buzzing in my hand, I walk over to the bed and lean down.
“What do you say?”
Her eyes narrow as I hold the shirt out of her reach. “Give me my fucking shirt.”
I shake my head and sneak in for a quick kiss. “The correct answer was ‘please.’”
She shoves me away, which just makes me laugh as I walk the few steps across the room, sliding the bathroom door closed and taking a seat on the bathtub ledge.
I forgot to grab a shirt, but hopefully me taking a shirtless, early morning call from my agent will be the last thing on his mind, as I’m sure we’re about to get our asses reamed.
“Beau. Shelby. Glad you could find the time to take my call today.”
Ethan’s words cut both of us as we visibly shrink back on the screen.