Big City Little Rebel

ChapterEight

Beau

He left his pants on because taking them off would transfer him straight to the bullet train, and he didn’t want to speed his way to the finish. Nope, he tried to slow it down and enjoy the scenery.

He crawled up her body, leaving a trail of kisses wherever her skin was bare. When he got to her breasts, he spent a long time nipping and pulling at the perfect pink buds.

She raked her nails down his back and eased the burn with the fluttering feel of her soft fingertips. It was the perfect mix of pain and pleasure and drove him mad with desire. When she repeated the mantra of “more, more.” He pulled at the button of her shorts and peeled the denim from her body.

“You want more, sweetheart?” He didn’t wait for an answer. Instead, he ran his tongue from her ankle to the soft skin between her thighs. She came up off the bed when the heat of his mouth covered her tender flesh.

“Mmm.” Her hands gripped his hair and held him in place. He loved a woman who knew what she wanted. He reveled in her moans of desire.

Her hands fell from his head to grab handfuls of the new comforter as he pleasured her with long, heated strokes and soft sucks. When she tensed, he debated on whether to pull away and extend her pleasure or rip the climax straight from her body. When her thighs shook, he pulled the hot bundle of nerves into his mouth and dragged a scream from her lips. Between her legs was where he stayed until the last shudder left her body. Her skin glowed with the sated look of spent passion while his body ached with desire.

Thank God his New York buddies had set him up for success. He hadn’t thought he would need supplies immediately, but they had packed a care package containing a box of condoms, a bottle of painkillers, and a six-pack of beer. He reached into the nightstand, pulled out a condom, and held it in the air, silently asking the question that had only one answer he wanted to hear—yes.

She looked at him with heavy lids and reached forward to tug at his pants. That move meant it was all systems go. He practically tore his pants off, then slipped the condom on before kneeling between her legs. Rather than dive straight in, he pressed his body against hers and relished the feel of her skin against his, the touch of her breasts against his chest, and the thrill of her fingers as they brushed down his back. He pressed his lips to hers and melted into her. He made love to her mouth with slow precision while his aching hardness pressed against her sharp hip.

“You’re so damn sexy.” He ran kisses across her face to her ear. “How did I get so lucky?” He dropped his lips to her jaw and ran his tongue down her neck. Her skin prickled with goosebumps. He’d given pleasure to this woman, and his chest filled with primal, male pride. If he had been a gorilla, he would have pounded his chest.

“Stop talking.” She grabbed his hips and rose to meet him. “I want to feel you, really feel you.”

He lined up and pressed himself slowly inside her. She impatiently grabbed at his hips, but he had to control the pace. Or it would be over before it began. So, with slow, measured strokes, he loved her, and when her head fell to the side and her moans blended into one another, he knew he was where he’d always want to be.

She wrapped her legs around his waist when he picked up the pace. “More,” she begged.

“You’re a greedy little thing.” Pushing her thighs to her chest, he gave her everything she asked for, everything she needed, and when he reached between their bodies and rubbed that little nub that controlled all, she came undone. Her muscles squeezed and pulsed around him, tearing the climax from his body. He collapsed on top of her, exhausted and yet exhilarated. Sex had never been so intense, so satisfying, and so confusing.

After rolling to his side, he stared at her. The other day when he had seen her and thought she had a blushed, just-had-sex look, he had been wrong. Nothing compared to her beauty now.

“I think I might be a little in love,” he confessed. He traced her facial features, then pressed his lips to hers. His heart rattled like weak scaffolding. He’d never said the L word to anyone, even jokingly. What was he thinking?

When she turned to face him, what he saw nearly undid him: he saw warmth, love, but also fear. They needed each other in ways too frightening to imagine and to admit.

“You’re letting your body run roughshod over your brain,” she said roughly.

“Tell me you don’t feel a connection.” He leaned on one elbow and watched her squirm. “We’re like two ends of the same string. We’re tangled together. The challenge will be to figure out how to keep us whole without needing to cut us apart.” He rose from the bed to dispose of the condom. When he returned with the wine and cheese moments later, she appeared deep in silent contemplation.

“If we have a chance at anything beyond amazing sex, we need to communicate.”

He was confused by her words. Hadn’t they communicated everything they needed to say without words? If they were smart, they’d let their bodies do the talking.

He settled in next to her, but she took the cheese tray and placed it between them. She was setting up barriers he’d need to knock down.

“I want to remain in the neutral zone, but I want to know about you. Your life, your dreams, your hurts.” She leaned against the headboard and sipped her wine.

He wanted to know her, but bringing up the past brought out the worst in them. She’d just given him her body. The least he could do was give her information. “Ask anything.”

“Tell me about your mom.” Her eyes glossed over as a tear slipped down her cheek. She’d lost hers. Was she trying to live vicariously through him? Good luck with that.

“Her name is Rachel. She’s sixty-three now. I’m working on getting a place in Florida so she can be close to her sister.”

“She never recovered after your dad’s death, did she?” She plucked a piece of cheese and plopped it into her mouth.

He imagined she already knew the answer. Death was brutal, but senseless deaths were impossible to recover from. He remembered that morning like it was yesterday. His mother made pancakes and kissed his dad goodbye. How could she possibly know it would be the last time?

“No, she had a nervous breakdown, and I became a thirteen-year-old adult. She drowned herself in alcohol and sorrow, and I raised both of us.” That was the truth. At a time in his life when he should have been thinking about girls, he pulled his mom’s hair back while she puked up the fifth of vodka she’d downed.