Chapter Nineteen
We’re spread out on the seat cushions, which are the only things separating us from cool, hard concrete. That and the dubious protection of my jacket as a blanket, but I’ve never been warmer. The residual heat between us simmers in the air. Bea rests her head on my arm, looking up at the stars. They’re beautiful, I know. Luminous and ever expanding, but I can’t take my eyes off her profile. The faint constellations of her freckles glow a thousand times more.
Without the physical sensation the dread rushes back, gnawing and fierce. The realization that we have very little time left. Maybe only tonight. My hands tighten instinctively around Bea before I can catch myself. I release her right away, pretending to run my hands down her arms, but she looks back at me with too much awareness.
“Is it difficult?” she asks, so soft I almost don’t hear. “Doing this?”
My standard answer would be something charming and glib. Of course I do not mind having sex. It’s the easiest job in the world. Something keeps me from giving her pretend, because it’s not always easy. The sex is good, but the facade… it wears on me. Having to be someone else.
I don’t want to do that with her. “Sometimes.”
Her fingers draw lazy circles on my chest. “If you aren’t attracted to a woman?”
“That’s rarely a problem. I love women. Their bodies. Their hearts. Their minds. The way they’re so wrapped up in saving the world that it almost hurts them to focus on their own pleasure.”
She looks skeptical. “There’s never a woman you don’t want to…”
“There’s not much honor in my profession,” I try to explain. “But if there’s one part… a woman who doesn’t feel beautiful. One who isn’t attractive, according to what society tells her. Showing her that she deserves to be cherished is something worth doing.”
“Is that what I am to you?” she asks. “A charity case?”
There’s a wild thump in my heart. Surprise. “Non.”
“What am I then?”
“You’re a gift.”
Bea rests her chin on my shoulder, watching me with too much knowledge. “What about you?”
“I do feel beautiful,” I say blandly, a small attempt at humor.
She gives me a shy smile. “You deserve to be cherished.”
My stomach clenches, hard enough that I’m afraid the baguette and brie will make a swift return. It’s no secret that women want me for the way I look, for the way I make them feel. No one wants what’s inside. There’s nothing here. A hollow space where a person might be.
I look up at the stars, counting them, distracting myself from the earnest woman, warm and willing in my arms. As if I won’t dream of this later.
The tickle of her hair is my only warning. Her lips are warm and lush against my chest. Every muscle in my body tenses as she places another kiss, this one an inch lower. My cock does not mind that it has just been spent; by the third kiss it’s already hard again.
Her lips are heaven alone, but the brush of skin as she moves over me drives me insane. The whisper of hair over my body makes me mad. “God,” I groan. “What are you doing?”
“Can’t you tell?”
She’s halfway down the plane of my stomach, working across the ridges of my abs with clear appreciation. My cock flexes as if anticipating where she’ll go next.
Down, down, down.
“You can’t—” I’m panting now, almost incoherent. “You don’t have to—”
Her smile is devilish, almost enough to make me come from the inherent feminine power within. “What did you tell me? It’s rather embarrassing how much I want to.”
My breath hitches. “Bea.”
“But only with your permission.”
This will be more than a blowjob. That much I know, because I want her more than air. I’m already moved by her belief in me. Humbled that she would give me her virginity, in every way. There won’t be any recovering from her after this. “Please.”
Before I’ve finished speaking the word, her lips touch me. She tastes me with an innocence that makes me harder, the peach blush of her lips impossibly pale against the dark red arousal at my crown. First there is only a kiss, far too quick, the way you would buss someone on the cheek. Friendly but impersonal. She comes in again for a longer press, this one testing, unsure.
Only then does her tongue dart out, a small swipe that makes my hips jerk.
“Like that?” she asks, but she already knows. Her eyes sparkle with mischief.
“Devil woman,” I say, cursing her in every language until her mouth returns. Her lips circle the head, and I lose all sense of words. There’s only sensation—hot, wet, deep. An ocean so wide and dark that I would drown here. I never want to leave.
She is clumsy at first, which only serves to emphasize the gift she gives me. The way her tongue explores me, darting and quick. The way she takes too much inside, her eyes going wide. I push her back gently, stroking her hair. “Go slow, mon ami. Be careful.”
Someone must be careful with her, because I cannot. I’m reckless with her, this fragile flower, made of sunshine in a bottle. I’m spilling her everywhere.
It does not matter that she has no practiced moves to make me come. I’m close, from seeing her taste me, from feeling her mouth and her passion.
Except… there.
She touches her tongue against a certain spot, and my eyes roll back. God, that was close. I almost came in her mouth, without warning, like the most crude sort of man. It must have been an accident.
And then she does it again.
My hips thrust into her mouth without permission from me. “Mon Dieu,” I mutter, panting, unable to see anything except stars.
When my eyes focus again, I see her watching me. That’s how she’s doing this. Because she’s watching me, gauging every reaction, weighing every touch. Figuring out what I like best, because she thinks I deserve to be cherished.
Desperation fills my chest, because eventually she’ll find out the truth. I’m not worthy of her mouth, her body. I’m not worthy of anything.
She touches that place beneath my cock for a third time, and I lose control. Her hair is grasping me, or I’m grasping her hair, pulling her close. Pressure bursts from the base of my spine, turning every muscle in my body to pulsing stone. My mouth opens on a silent cry, the only sound a guttural surrender as my cock empties down her throat.
There’s no reason for her to stay within my grasp, to let me pull at her and thrust into her mouth two more times, wringing out the most intense orgasm of my life. This is a base act, almost cruel the way I use her. I can’t hate myself for it, because I would do it again.
She sits up, wiping her thumb across her bottom lip, looking both pleased with herself and self-conscious. “Was that okay?”
At this exact second I’m struggling to move my limbs or form words. It feels like a Herculean effort, putting together a complete sentence. “That was incredible. Come here.”
I don’t wait for her to snuggle in but instead pull her down, rolling on top of her with a burst of gratitude. My hand slides down her body, reveling in the way she twists and turns into my touch. Her body is wet and swollen, made ready for me.
The blowjob turned her on. That knowledge sits inside me, too powerful to resist. I slip my fingers inside, my thumb rough on her clit. I stroke her once, twice, three times. She comes with a soft exhalation, her body turning pliant, eyelids heavy as she sinks into sleep.