29. Beau #2
“Yes, really,” I say. “Now…can we please stop thinking about Chad?”
“Easier said than done,” she huffs, shrugging out of my touch to start pacing again. Not as furious as last time, but she’s still going at a brisk pace. “I just…ah!”
I intercept her mid turn around the island, and before she can stop me, I pick her up and sit her on the counter.
“Breathe, Belle.”
“Is this like some form of time out?”
“It can be.” I step in closer to her, spreading her legs to let me get as close as I can. “I’m just saying, if you need a way to take your mind off Chad, I have a few ideas.”
“Of course you do,” she says sarcastically. “Mind out of the gutter, Devereaux.”
“Sorry, Belle. My mind is permanently there. Especially after this weekend…”
She might be holding strong with her eyes, which are currently giving me the “don’t even think about it” look, but the way I feel her body slightly relax…hmmm…maybe…she might not be as opposed to this as she thinks she is.
“I’m just saying…I bet I can take your mind off of everything.”
She shakes her head. “This isn’t golf related.”
“I’d argue that it’s golf adjacent.”
“You know what I mean.”
“I do,” I say as I lean in, letting my nose trace up the line of her neck, right to the spot under her ear I’ll be able to find on my deathbed. “I also know you need to relax.”
“You think you can do that?” she challenges in a whisper.
“Oh, Belle. I know I can.”
She shivers as I kiss her pulse point, and I can already tell she’s starting to decompress. As much as I’d love to tease her, nibble at her neck and kiss her until our lips are chapped, I have more important things to do.
Namely, making my wife come with my tongue. And maybe my dick. But I’m not going to press my luck.
I move my lips to her mouth, distracting her with my tongue as my hands head toward the waistband of her skirt.
“You never wear these,” I moan into her ear as I slide the thick fabric down, along with her underwear. “That’s why I kissed you right away this morning. You looked so fucking good, I couldn’t stop myself.”
“It was warm outside,” she says as she lifts her hips while throwing her head back, leaving me plenty of space if I so choose to kiss one of my favorite places on Shelby.
“Was it?” I ask, because I don’t remember it being an overly warm March day in Nashville. “Or did you wear it for me?”
She shakes her head, but the words don’t come out as her skirt and panties fall to the floor. “I didn’t.”
“Really, Belle?” I ask, my hand cupping her pussy, but not giving her a sliver of pleasure until she tells me the truth. “Look at me. Say the words. Say you didn’t wear that skirt for me? To tempt me? To drive me fucking crazy?”
She doesn’t answer the question, but instead, starts pressing her core into my hand, begging me silently for a small amount of relief. “Please, Beau.”
“Not yet. Say the words, Shelby. And then I’ll give you whatever you want.”
She tries to resist for another few seconds, her hips doing everything they can to give herself the pleasure she’s clearly craving.
“Come on, Belle. Just say the words. Let go. Let go for me.”
My stubborn girl tries to hold on for another second, but it’s no use. She wants this. She wants us. And damnit if I’m not going to make her realize it right here, right now.
“Yes,” she breathes out, like the one word has been held hostage in her mind for far too long. “I wore it for you. I wanted you to see me…maybe like you used to.”
I let out a groan as one finger starts toying at her entrance. “You mean those skirts you used to wear when we were teenagers? When I first realized you were a walking temptation I couldn’t have?”
“You could’ve had me,” she admits, a confession that earns her a second finger. “It was always you, Beau. It was always you.”
And there goes the last snap of resolve I’ve ever had when it comes to Shelby LeBlanc.
Two fingers drive into her, and she screams at the top of her lungs as my mouth latches onto hers, swallowing every noise she makes as I give her what she wants.
Because those words are all I’ve ever wanted to hear. Because it’s always been her for me too.
I might not have always known it. I’ve denied it more than probably healthy. But at the end of the day, as I look back at my life, the only thing I’ve ever been fully certain of was how much I wanted Shelby LeBlanc in it.
And now I have her, and like hell if I’m ever going to let her go.
I pull her shirt over her head and make quick work of her front-zip sports bra—God, I love those things—leaving her naked and perfect on top of my kitchen island.
Our mouths are hungry and searching, our tongues moving frantically as they find each other, blending together perfectly as we kiss with a meaning we’ve never had before.
“More please,” she moans against my mouth, her hands leaving my neck to work up my shirt. “Beau, I need more.”
I’ve had fantasies every day since she moved in of what it would be like to eat her out right here on this kitchen island, which was my original intention before she dropped the bomb of all bombs on me.
And while I still want to do that activity at some point, it can wait.
I’ll have plenty of days and nights to have my fun with her here.
Without warning, I pick her up off the counter, her legs instinctively wrapping around me.
“What are you doing?”
I give her ass a little slap as I make my way through the kitchen, and she gifts me with the best sound I’ve ever heard in my life—Shelby’s giggle.
“The first time I fuck you in our house—yes, our house—is not going to be on the kitchen island. It’s going to be in my bed. Our bed. Where you’re going to sleep every night for the rest of your life.”
I say a silent thank you that I decided to keep my bedroom on the first floor. In a matter of seconds, I’m kicking open the door, and in three long strides, I’m dropping her on the bed.
“Is that okay with you, Mrs. Devereaux?”
Her lips curl into the sexiest smirk I’ve ever seen as I take off my shirt and slide down my pants. “Sounds good to me, Mr. LeBlanc.”