Beautiful Bombshell (Beautiful Bastard 2.5)

“The night is young,” Bennett said, recovering with only a slight slur to his words. He glanced at Will’s empty glass. “Have another.”

“No. It’s too late to get me drunk and have your wicked way with me.”

“Gar?on!” I yelled, grinning. “A scotch for the curmudgeon. Bring the whole bottle if you would.”

“I told you, Max, I’m not drinking that.” Will turned his face away in mock anger. “It’s too damn late to pretend you love me.”

The waiter slid the glass of scotch in front of Will and, with a quiet clink, set the entire bottle beside it.

Will stared at me, at the bottle, and then shook his head. “No.”

“The thing is,” Will slurred, tossing a sloppy arm around my shoulders. “Women are tricky.” He waved the index finger of his free hand in front of my face. “How often do you meet one you can imagine just hanging out with like this?” He dragged the s out to about five seconds, and then lurched forward, reaching for his glass. It skittered away from his fingertips before he finally captured it with his palm.

“Just the one,” I admitted. “And even with Sara, it’s different than with you guys. I try to curb the swearing.” I rubbed my jaw, reconsidering. “Sort of.”

“You curbing the swearing is like me curbing the . . .” Will trailed off, thinking. “The something. I’m hungry.” He ran a hand over his face and looked at his watch. Likewise, I checked my phone. It was nearly five thirty in the morning. “Actually, I’m tired. Let’s meet for lunch at noon and start this f**king bachelor party thing over again tomorrow.”

The three of us stood, closed out our tab, and made our way toward the bank of elevators, each of us scrambling in our pockets to find our room key to show security.

We stood in silence as the doors opened. I was blissfully tipsy and ready for a good snog with my lady upstairs. I almost couldn’t wait to see what we could stir up tomorrow.

SEVEN

Bennett Ryan

Will’s voice broke the silence in the elevator. “Should we be even mildly concerned about Henry down there in the high rollers room?”

I reached into my jacket pocket, pulling out my brother’s credit card—the only one Mina let him leave home with. “I have no idea what he’s playing, but he’ll either keep winning or run out of money and the only card he’ll have in his wallet will be the one that opens his hotel room door.”

“Brilliant,” Max murmured, sleepily leaning into the wall of the elevator car. “I’m f**king knackered.”

Will sighed, watching the numbers climb on the digital display. “You know, for being a couple of neutered a**holes, you guys actually managed to make a pretty entertaining night out of it.”

“Nudie club, fake medical emergencies, fan-f**king-tastic dinner, grand theft auto, transvestite escort, Chloe wins a few grand, and we nearly get maimed by some goons,” Max said, standing up straighter. “Not so bad, eh?”

Will turned to stare at him. “Grand theft auto?”

Max rubbed his face, shaking his head. “A story for another—”

Will held up a hand, eyes wide as if he’d already moved on from his first question. “And how could you forget Mike Hawk? I think, especially for the two of you, Mike Hawk figured quite prominently in this evening’s activities.” Will hiccupped, weaving slightly as the doors to our floor opened. “I’d say you’re p**sy-whipped, but I think it’s even worse than that.”

I watched as Max’s smile went from self-satisfied to mocking. “Will. Darling.” He put a heavy hand on Will’s cheek and clucked his tongue. “I can’t wait for that one girl to come in and kick your feet out from under you. You think you have things organized, sorted. You think you’re content with your low-key bachelor apartment, with your triathlons and your work and your scheduled p**sy. When that one girl comes along, I’m going to say I told you so, and give you no bloody sympathy when you’ve turned into a lovesick strop.” With a light slap to Will’s cheek, he stepped away, laughing as he walked down the hall. “Can’t f**king wait for it, mate.”

Will watched Max’s heavy limbs and dragging feet, and then turned to me expectantly as if I would add to the lecture. I shrugged. “Pretty much what he said. When you find that girl, we’ll be happy for you, but mostly we’ll be happy to give you endless shit.”

“This is why you’re my people,” he mumbled, punching me weakly in the chest before turning the opposite way down the hall.

Bidding Will good night, I walked to my room, wishing I knew where Chloe was staying. Even as exhausted and half drunk as I was, I still would have gone downstairs and climbed in a cab to go anywhere to her.

Just inside my door, I stopped at my closet to hang up my blazer, and froze. Dangling from a wooden hanger was Chloe’s lingerie from the club, the jewel stones of the tiny bra and underwear winking green and white in the dim light coming in the bedroom window.

I moved farther into the room, wanting to confirm what my racing pulse had concluded: she was here, in my bed, waiting for me. Sure enough, a Chloe-shaped lump was sound asleep amid a mountain of blankets and pillows in the middle of the king mattress.

Stripping my clothes off and leaving them in a discarded pile on the floor, I climbed over her, braced on my arms and legs. Not touching her, not yet, just taking her in: a tangle of brown curls against the stark white bed linens, eyes closed but lids fluttering in her dreams, lips wet and red and begging to be kissed. Everything below her neck was covered by her cocoon of blankets, and when I stared down at the steady rhythm of her pulse beneath the delicate skin of her neck, I felt a little predatory. The thrill of being able to do this—kiss her, wake her up, f**k her—was still as fresh tonight as it was nearly two years ago when, for the first time, we finally had time alone in a hotel.

Lifting the covers, I slid in beside her and realized she was wearing nothing but my shirt. Beneath, her body was bare. It was one of my favorite iterations of Chloe: when her limbs were heavy and slow from sleep, her sounds similarly deeper, more wanton.

I inched down beneath the covers only as she began to be aware that I was in bed with her. She’d bathed; she no longer smelled of an unfamiliar woman but of her own soap now, blossom and citrus. I kissed the curve of her breast over the shirt, lifted the cotton to lick a line from her belly button to the sweetness of her hip.

Curious fingers ran through my hair; fingertips grazed along my jaw and moved up to trace the shape of my mouth. “I thought I was dreaming,” she whispered, rising into consciousness.

“Not dreaming.”

Her hands found my hair, her legs opened wide beneath the covers because she knew now that I was there, and that I was going to give her what she loved more than almost anything on the planet. Shifting so I was lying between her legs, I bent and blew a soft stream of air across her p**sy, teasing and relishing how she bowed off the bed for me, urging me closer, offering her little broken sounds of pleasure. It was a dance I loved: kissing her hips, her thighs, exhaling oh-so-close to that sweet, tiny slide of skin. The room was cool but her skin was already damp with perspiration, and with a single finger I easily slid through the heat of her sex. My Chloe cried out, in a tangle of relief and need.

She didn’t urge me faster because if she’d learned anything, it’s that I would just slow down. She was in my bed, in my room, already my wife for all intents and purposes, and no way was I rushing this when I’d been thinking of her all night, and had nowhere to be early tomorrow morning—this morning—except in bed with her.

I let her feel my breath and my fingers, kissed her stomach, tasted her skin. Fuck, she’s beautiful, I thought, with her arms stretched over her head, her hands searching for the anchor the rest of her didn’t seem to feel. Her h*ps rolled in front of me, searching, and finally I couldn’t take the seduction of her, the warmth and sweetness anymore. I kissed her gently just once, closing my eyes against the intensity of it.

I wanted more. I wanted, as always, to find a way to taste and f**k her simultaneously and the second my tongue slipped out to glide across the small rise of her cl*t I was f**king done, mouth open and sucking, devouring. With a cry, she dug her hands fully into my hair, h*ps sliding and rocking into me and it became a rhythm we fell into without effort, without stutter. She was silky and warm and her legs found their way over my shoulders, down my back, closing around me until the only thing I could hear was the muffled sound of her pleas, the rustle of sheets beneath her as she moved up into me.