WE’RE STANDING ON the third-floor landing. The hallway is dark and quiet. The carpet runner is soft beneath my feet, but I forget about the details as soon as Beau works the knot free. It doesn’t take him nearly long enough—I should have done some intricate, convoluted sailor’s knot. The two sides of the robe spread apart, and cold air hits my skin between the corset and my panties.
This feels extreme. I feel like I’m a gift being unwrapped slowly. We need to be in a bedroom with the doors closed. I need it to be pitch black, and there should be music playing so I can’t hear every one of my pained breaths. His finger brushes across my bare collarbone and I sigh. It’s so embarrassing I want to clamp my hand over my mouth.
“I’m smoky,” I protest. “I want a shower.”
“After,” he says, his voice husky and raw.
He’s on me, standing only a few inches away so when my robe parts a little more, his suit pants brush across my bare legs. I reach up and touch his chest. His skin burns me through his dress shirt.
“Don’t,” he says, taking my wrists and forcing my hands back to my sides. “Let me touch you.”
I fidget on my feet. I resist the urge to squirm. I’m not being tied down, but I might as well be. If he’s not going to let me touch him then I have nothing to distract me from his touch. His fingers skim my collarbone again and then he gently pushes the robe aside. The terrycloth drags across my hypersensitive skin, and my nipples press against the satin bodice.
“Please hurry up,” I cry.
He chuckles and bends down to drop a kiss right above his hand. “You think after all this time, I’m going to rush this?”
Why wouldn’t he? Every other man I’ve slept with went straight to the main attraction. Foreplay consisted of a few grunts, a grope, and a squeeze. Nothing has prepared me for this.
One hand stays on my waist, gripping me against him. The other does the exploring, dragging down and opening the robe even more. I’m covered in white terrycloth and then a breath later, the robe slips down my shoulders and Beau has a perfect view of my chest from my neck to my waist. I can’t look down. I can’t see what he’s seeing. His expression tells me everything I need to know.
His hold on my waist tightens.
He exhales slowly. “Fuck.”
I squeeze my eyes closed and he presses a kiss to my cheek, another to the edge of my mouth. He tells me I’m beautiful, but I can’t process the words. I’m so close to saying mercy.
He chuckles, and I realize I said it out loud.
“You want to stop?” he asks, dropping a kiss to my chin then to the middle of my neck. He reaches the small dip at the top of my collarbone and adds a hint of tongue, and I didn’t know I could be kissed like that anywhere but my mouth.
My hands shake at my sides. I want to grip a fistful of his hair and hold him there against me.
“Again,” I beg.
Lips press against my heated skin and I feel feverish. I press onto my tiptoes and bring my chest closer to him. I’m an offering, a human sacrifice. Here, take it, all of it. It’s yours if you want it.
There’s a method to his madness. The same attention to detail I spent on the tour of his house, he’s now spending on me. His hand blazes the way down my body and his lips follow behind. His hand traces along the top of my corset, and I think I’m starting to sweat. My panties are wet. He takes the lace between his teeth and I breath deep.
Our food arrives. We both hear the doorbell ringing.
The delivery man shouts through the door, “Leavin’ it on the doorstep if nobody answers!”
We don’t say a word about it. They say the average human can go three days without water and three weeks without food. If Beau keeps doing what he’s doing, with the occasional trip to the tap, I figure I can last a month.
But I’m done standing still. His hand drops to my chest and he rolls his palm across my nipple, hardening it even more. With a bloodthirsty groan, I jerk my hand up and dig my fingers into his hair.
His mouth drops and his lips circle my breast. I’m being kissed through lace, and there’s never been a sensation so exquisite. I tell him so and he groans, dragging his tongue across my nipple. My hips are against his hips. Terrycloth and the fine wool of his pants separate us, but I still roll against the impressive hardness I feel there. It’s tit for tat, a hip roll for every kiss. I can tell I’m driving him wild too, but then my robe slips to the ground and I’m wearing what feels like nothing while he’s still in his suit pants and dress shirt.
I push him off me and take two steps back.
I drag in breaths like a boxer between rounds. I need to splash water on my face. I need a corner man to slap my cheek and tell me to keep my head in the game.
His shirt sits askew on his chest. Random buttons have been pulled free. I see a smattering of dark hair and tan abs.
“Take your shirt off.”
He drags his hand across his lips and smiles. “A minute ago you wanted to see my attic.”
His joke falls on deaf ears. I’m going to rip his clothes off him like a rabid animal if he doesn’t start to strip, and quick.
I take another step back. It’s a taunt and he responds, lifting his hands to his shirt. One button is unfastened. Then another. His body is the stuff of legends—coiled muscle, lean lines. All that time he spends in the gym has really paid off. I’m going to send the owner a fruit basket in the morning.
He yanks his arms out of the sleeves and the garment drops to the floor. I hate that we’re in a dim hallway now. I want to look at him under a magnifying glass surrounded by bright fluorescent lights.
His hands touch his belt and I’m on him in three quick steps. My hands aren’t dexterous. I haven’t tugged a man’s belt free in years, maybe never, but he doesn’t reach down to take over. He grows harder as I finally succeed. His suit pants slip a little on his hips and there are two sharp lines forming a V, leading down, down, down.
I fall to my knees.
He tries to convince me to get back up.
The soft carpet digs into my skin.
“Lauren…”
If he’s trying to convince me to stand up, he shouldn’t sound so damned turned on by the sight of me kneeling in front of him. I look up from beneath my lashes as I tug down his zipper.
His jaw is locked tight. His eyes are searing into me. I smirk, and he exhales a shaky breath.
I haven’t even touched him yet.
I lean closer and press a chaste kiss to the base of his abs.
I’ve never been into this. Blowjobs haven’t interested me in the past and I haven’t really had much practice, but it sort of feels innate. I have a soft, wet mouth and Beau has something he’d very much like to put inside of it. Easy peasy. I’ve never felt more in control in my life. I’m shorter than Beau, weaker, younger. He’s probably so used to stomping around life in perfect control—yet at this moment, I’m on my knees before him, resting on a throne.
“I like this,” I tell him as my fingers skim past the elastic band of his briefs.
I could tug his pants down and free him completely, but this feels sexier. I push my hand farther inside, grip his hard length in my hand, and lick my lips.
His head tips back and his eyes flutter closed. I drag my hand back and forth along his hardness.
I think he’s close to professing his love for me.
“Beau?”
He groans in response.
“You can’t come if I do this to you. I want you to wait until later, when we’re…y’know.”
He nods hungrily.
I’m stroking him while I talk, and his hips buck against my hand. I think I could ask him to sign his house and business over to me and he’d do it, no questions asked.
His hand is in my hair. He’s tugging me closer and I pull his briefs down just enough to kiss the very tip then part my lips and slide my tongue across him. He’s silky soft, big enough to fill my mouth and then some. I pull off him and then slide him back into my mouth. I do it once more, and I think I could find a delicious rhythm, but I’m being tugged up and off the floor. My mouth is still in a perfect O shape. Maybe it’s not as intuitive as I thought?
“Not good?”
He laughs and hauls me up over his shoulder. It’s the second time today that a man has carried me like a sack of potatoes. The progressive feminist in me is protesting, but not very loudly. His hand grips my ass as he carries me down the stairs. I’m swaying from side to side, my hands outstretched like I’m on an upside-down rollercoaster.
“Too good,” he clarifies faintly.
He couldn’t handle my mouth on him.
My cheeks are flushed. “Oh. Oh.”
Once we’re in his room, he drops me down onto his bed and I sit dutifully on the edge as he bends down in front of me. Now our roles are reversed. I like him on his knees; we’re the same height. Our lips are perfectly aligned. I lean forward and kiss him just like that, because I want to and there’s nothing stopping me. It’s our first kiss of the day, and it feels long overdue. My mouth and hands and tongue speak for themselves: Finally. Yes. I’ve waited so long for this. Minutes pass in a dreamlike state. We’re learning everything we need to know. He’s showing me the ropes. Tilt your head and open your lips. Yes, let me lick and bite and suck. His hands find the back of the bodice and I have no clue how I got myself into this thing, but he manages to get me out of it. It falls to my lap and his hands replace the silk. Hard, warm, calloused hands, rough as they drag across my sensitive skin. Every little nerve in his path is put on notice when his fingertip brushes across them. The neglected ones mount a protest. The only solution is to have him touching every part of me. I need him to push me back and press me down onto the bed, let me feel his full weight.
I break our kiss and inhale. His eyes drop and he indulges in every bare inch of me—my modest breasts, my stomach, which is quivering and shaky no matter how hard I try to contain my body’s reaction to him.
“It’s not polite to stare,” I tease, playfully pushing his shoulder.
He catches my wrist and presses his mouth to my pulse before turning back and smiling. He looks devilish, cunning and dangerous with those bright eyes and tan skin. I think I used to dream about him like this when I was a teenager. I used to wonder what it would be like to have him stare at me just the way he is right now. How did we get here?
“You have a freckle right here,” he says, skimming his hand along the top of my ribcage.
I have to resist the urge to flutter my eyes closed.
“I’ve had it since I was young.”
“It’s not how I imagined.” My face must show my confusion because he shakes his head, his eyes filled with wonder. “You’re not how I imagined.”
Disappointment doesn’t have time to grip hold of my mood because he’s pushing me farther up the bed and whispering into my ear, telling me I’m even better. He sounds hoarse with it, the longing. I feel it too, and I tell him as he lays me back against the pillows.
“I can’t believe this is happening.”
He drops down on his elbows and cages me in against the bed. His mouth drops to mine and my lips part. His weight pins my hips down and I’m so wet, it’s embarrassing. A soft breeze could push me over the edge of climax.
I try to squeeze my thighs together but it only makes it worse. He rolls against me and I feel the first waves start to hit me. I clamp down against it, fighting it off. There is no way I’m coming so easily, so I change tactics.
“I think you should take your pants off and put it in.”
What a way with words I have.
He laughs and shakes his head. “We’re not having sex.”
I make a noise like I’m dying on a battlefield.
No. No. No. He’s not doing this to me. I squirm underneath him. “Beau, yes we are. I am not leaving this bedroom until I’ve felt you inside me.”
He chuckles and kisses my nose. He won’t give me room to get up. If I could, I’d roll over and sit on him like a cowgirl. I’d use every dirty position I researched over the last few weeks. Some of them would inevitably lead to a short stay in the hospital, but I think that’s a risk we’re willing to take.
I brush my hips against his and he groans.
It’s the only move I have at the moment, so I do it again. He retaliates by dropping more of his weight onto me. I’m squashed against the bed and it’s heaven.
“If we have sex, you can’t freak out and pull away again. I’m not going back to shaking your hand.”
I shake my head. “Of course I won’t!”
“We kissed at my office and then you wouldn’t let me touch you for two weeks.”
“That was different—the opposite. I’m ready now.”
He narrows his eyes like he knows I’d say anything to convince him.
“I think we should wait.”
WAIT?
“Until what, marriage? I feel you, Beau. You’re rock hard.” His hardness is pressing into my stomach and I’m having to use all my energy to keep my eyes from rolling into the back of my head. “You’re so close to slipping inside me and putting us both out of our misery.”
I arch my back and brush my breasts against his naked chest. It’s underhanded and it makes us both shiver. Goose bumps ripple down my body.
“I don’t want this to be a one-time thing.”
His words tickle my cheek and emotions fly at me so fast I can’t decide which I’m supposed to cling to: hope, fear, elation.
“Let’s just make it through tonight and then we’ll talk,” I say with a promise. “We can talk and talk and talk, but right now, I just—”
He cuts off the end of my sentence with a kiss. It’s like he’s had it. He’s done being the responsible one. Whatever decorum there was before this kiss, there is none after. Our skin is slick with sweat. Our mouths are tangled. Tongues skimming. Lips crushing. He grips my breast in his hand and I think I’ll bruise. I want to bruise; I want reminders of this. His hand skims lower and my panties are brushed aside. He takes my hand and has me hold them against my thigh so he can dip a finger into me. My legs part and he slowly adds a second, pushing past his knuckles and curling up, sending little tingles spreading through me.
He uses his thumb to rub me, and I last for two gentle circles before my orgasm is so close, I can hear its footsteps.
“HOLY—”
“Fuck.”
“I’m so close,” I say anxiously. “But st-stop—I want to feel it when you’re inside me.”
This time, he doesn’t protest. He reaches for a condom in his bedside table and rolls it on while I lie useless on the bed, watching his body in all its close-up HD glory. It’s insane, all of this—the way I feel as he bends down and tells me to part my legs even more, my thighs brushing against the cool sheets. I shiver. He positions himself, teasing a little. Up and down, he strokes himself against me, and it feels like I’m on fire. I’ll scream if he doesn’t push into me, and then he does.
One excruciating inch at a time. I take him, and then I take some more. He sinks into me with a luxurious groan and I wrap my legs around him, securing my ankles like a twist-tie just in case he gets any ideas about pulling back out. He’s squashing me against the bed, and I’m keeping him there. I’ve never been filled quite this way before. I feel more emotions bubbling up inside of me, but then Beau starts to move and I can’t focus on a single thing outside of what we’re doing.
He props himself up on his elbows and looks down at me. His eyes, through the magic of sex, have somehow gotten bluer than blue. Sweat glistens on his brow as he pumps his hips over me. He’s building the pace, rolling and thrusting faster and faster.
“This is…I could…please…”
I can build thoughts like bubbles as he drags back out of me, but then he thrusts and they vanish as if pricked by a pin.
I clench around him and he curses. It’s the sexiest, most guttural sound—this giant of a man losing himself on top of me. I do it again and he starts pumping faster. I think he’s as lost as I am.
His fingers lace with mine and he drags them up over my head. My stomach pulls taut. My breasts arch up toward him. He bends and licks one of them.
“Oh my god.”
I don’t know who’s speaking. My voice has never sounded so strained, so lust-filled and crazy. I think there are tears slipping down my cheeks, but I’m too consumed to care.
He takes my breast in his mouth and his hips are pumping so fast. So powerful. The combined sensations are too much for me to stave off release any longer. I’m shaking. I’m finally, finally coming undone and he knows it. He’s relentless, rolling his hips smooth and deep and so fast that I wouldn’t be surprised if the friction tore all the way through the sheets and the mattress and the box spring. When we’re done, we’ll be lying on the floor.
“Lauren,” he says breathlessly, and he’s groaning and shaking. His head is buried against my neck as he releases inside me. I’m kissing and spurring him on. His hands grip mine so tightly above my head that my fingers groan in protest, but it’s all so delicious, I’ll happily accept the damage done. Who needs fingers when there’s a man like Beau filling you up?
We lie there for a short eternity, catching our breaths and floating back down to Earth. I don’t let him pull out of me right away. I like the feeling too much. If he could, I’d make him go again right away. We could live here. This room could be ours. He eventually heaves out a heavy groan and pushes off me, pulling out and standing up.
I stretch luxuriously like I’m a little cat waking up for the day.
He laughs and shakes his head, heading to the bathroom to dispose of the condom. I stare at his backside without a care in the world. There are glorious little dimples on his butt cheeks. I want to eat cereal out of them with a tiny spoon.
“You are the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen.”
“Same goes for you.”
I laugh. “I’m the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen?”
He peeks his head back through the doorway and drags his gaze down my naked body. “Easily.”
I shiver. “Is it weird that I already want to have sex again? Did you slip me some Viagra when I wasn’t looking?”
He laughs and disappears again. “Give a man time to regroup.”
I tilt my head toward the window and am surprised to see how dark it is outside. We’ve been at it for a while. “What are we looking at? 10 minutes? 20? We should have stopped and picked up some of those energy packs runners use for marathons!”
“Boost, maybe some Ensure.”
“Sexy CamelBaks.”
The shower kicks on and I scurry out of his bed as quickly as possible so I don’t miss a second of the show. His shower is glass on all but one side, spacious enough for an NFL football team. He’s standing under the hot water as steam rises and billows over the top. His head is bent. His hand is braced against the tiled wall. His broad shoulders are relaxed. He’s a hero, off duty, Batman without the suit and mask.
I imagine him in that shower, thinking about me.
So you’ve imagined our first time?
Every day for the last few weeks.
I WAS ON a plane once, headed toward LaGuardia. The pilot announced that we were about to hit some turbulence, but I didn’t think much of it. I’d felt those subtle dips and bumps before, no big deal, but all of a sudden, our plane dropped like a tether had been cut. Everyone gasped. A brief silence followed, and then all at once the cabin filled with tears and prayers as we careened toward the ground. I gripped the hands of the two women on either side of me even though we hadn’t spoken a word to one another the entire flight. Later on—after we’d landed and medical personnel had tended to the bumps and bruises—I learned we’d flown straight into a microburst. It’s the opposite of a tornado, though the scale and suddenness make them just as dangerous.
That day, I learned what it felt like to hold on for dear life, to experience sheer panic: stomach bottoming out, heart thumping in my ears, throat raw with unshed tears.
It’s the exact way I feel when I realize I’m in love with Beau Fortier.