She began to tremble lightly, alive with him so close to giving her what she’d been needing since the strip club—or longer. He circled her with two fingers and eased them in.
She bowed her head to meet the floor, then gasped when he went deeper. He murmured her name, moving in and out. Searching. At least the tile would’ve been cool against her face.
“Look at me.”
She lifted her head.
“Make yourself wet,” he said as he removed his hand and put two fingers to her lips. She opened, sucking him into her mouth and tasting herself on someone else’s fingers for the first time.
He replaced them between her legs and leaned in to kiss her while rubbing her slippery clit from behind. When she convulsed and moaned, he took his hand away.
“Why are you stopping?” she demanded through the ringing in her ears.
“There’s someone at the door. Would you mind?”
“What?” she asked.
“Answer the door.”
She got up from her aching knees and wrists. Her dress fell around her legs. The heat in her chest and face pulsed with every punch of her heart.
It was room service. A young man wheeled a food cart into the living room, glancing at Lola from the corner of his eye. He positioned the cart and waited.
“One minute,” she said.
She went to the bedroom. Beau was standing in the same spot, one sleeve rolled up and his hand splayed. “Yes?” he asked.
“It’s room service. He brought food.”
“And?”
“And…he needs his tip.”
“So give it to him.”
“You took my purse.” She crossed her arms. “I have no money.”
“Ah.” He smiled and pulled his wallet from his pants. “Have him bring it in here.”
“Bring it in here,” she called without uncrossing her arms or looking away from Beau.
Beau blew out a laugh, shaking his head. “I suppose I could’ve done that.”
When the cart was where Beau wanted it, the attendant took his tip, ducked his head and left.
Beau picked up a bowl. Before he could ask, she went to him. “Strawberries,” she said. “Not very original.”
“I’m not very original.”
She picked one out of the bowl. He caught her wrist on the way to her mouth. She raised her eyes to him.
“Aren’t you going to share?” he asked.
She lifted it to him. His teeth bit down just before her fingertips. He had a sexy mouth made for eating strawberries—and other things. She also took a bite and dropped the stem in the bowl. They had two more this way—him holding her, feeding him, feeding her.
He let go of her arm to pour them each some champagne.
“We’re around the halfway point,” Lola said, her mouth fizzing as she took a sip. “You’re running out of time.”
“We’ll get to that.” He took the champagne glass from her and set it down. “Hold your hands behind you.”
She laced her fingers at the small of her back, jutting her breasts forward. Beau scooped whipped cream from the bowl with two fingers. He touched them to her closed lips. “How’s it taste?”
She tested it with her tongue. “Light. Sweet.”
“Have more,” he suggested throatily.
She closed her mouth around his fingers and sucked him clean. “It’s good,” she said. There was grit in both their voices. “You should try it.”
“I think I will.” He smeared some whipped cream on the skin above her neckline. He took his time cleaning it off with his tongue, no matter how fast her breasts rose and fell.
He slipped one strap off her shoulder. “Keep your hands there,” he said when she moved. He released the dress to her waist, trapping her arms with the straps. He took both breasts in his hands through her corset. She gasped up at the ceiling when he squeezed them.
“You like it a little rough,” he said.
“I don’t know.”
“You’ll know after tonight.”
She swallowed, still looking up. “You said you wouldn’t hurt me.”
“I’ll fuck you within an inch of your life, but it won’t hurt. It will calm you. Your only job is to do what I say. And, of course, enjoy yourself.”
He still had her breasts in a firm grip. It wasn’t enough without his skin on hers, and she arched into his hands. “What if I don’t like it rough?”
He let go. “Tell me now. I can do it in a way that you think we’re making love.”
Her face fell. “I don’t want to make love.”
“How does Johnny do it?”
For a second, she thought she’d misheard him. “I’m not talking to you about—”
“Don’t protect him,” Beau said. “He didn’t protect you.”
Her heart panged sharply. With her body in Beau’s control and her mind out of focus, she was in no shape to dig in to that statement. “He’s never been anything but Johnny with me,” she said. “It’s nice.”
“Then I don’t want to be nice.” He pinched her nipple unexpectedly, and she inhaled sharply. He massaged it. “But I won’t be mean, either.”
“Thank you,” she said.