Beautiful Player (Beautiful Bastard 3)

She nodded, pushing up, unconsciously telling me with her body that she needed me to move.

I pulled back, starting an easy rhythm, getting lost in the feel of her warmth. I would pick up my pace, sucking savagely on her neck, growing wild and heated and then slow, and eventually stop, kissing her deeply, relishing the way her hands explored my back, my ass, my arms, my face.

“You okay?” I asked, moving—but slowly—again. “Not too sore?”

“I’m good,” she whispered, turning into my hand when I swept some damp hair off her forehead.

“You look so f**king perfect under me.”

I wanted to build the need in her, make her go off like a bomb when she finally came with me inside her like this. She started to shake when I sped up, but growled in tight frustration when I slowed again. But I knew she trusted me, and I wanted to show her how f**king good it could be if there was no rush, no need to do anything but this for hours, and hours.

I kissed her, sucked on her tongue, stole every one of her sounds into my mouth, swallowing them like a greedy f**king bastard. I loved her hoarse noises, how often she said please, how much she let me drive what we were doing. The reality of her, sweaty and pliable beneath me, ate away at my calm, and I shifted from lazy pushing into quicker, hungrier thrusts. She answered with mirrored movements of her hips, arching into me, and I knew this time she was close and I couldn’t stop or slow.

“Feel good?” I ground out, pressing my face to her neck.

She nodded, unable to answer, hands gripping my ass and fingernails digging sharply in my flesh. I pulled her leg up, pushing her knee to her shoulder and let go, f**king her as fast and hard and close to her body as I could.

It was wild, unreal, explosive the way her orgasm built beneath her skin first as a flush, and then a tightening of her muscles until she was shaking, and sweaty and begging unintelligible words beneath me, preparing to come.

“That’s it,” I whispered, struggling to hold back my own release even as it itched low in my belly. “Fuck, Plum, you’re right there . . .”

I watched her eyes squeeze closed, her mouth open, and her body bow off the bed as she screamed in cli**x. I moved through it, giving her every single second of pleasure I could possible wring from her body.

Her arms fell away, leaden, and I propped myself up on my hands, looking down at where I moved in her, feeling her eyes on my face.

“Will,” she exhaled, and I heard the languid glee in her voice. “My God.”

“Fuck, it’s so good. You’re so wet.”

She reached up, slid her finger into my mouth so I could taste her sweetness. I moved one hand between us, rubbing her clit, knowing she was going to be sore soon, but needing to feel her come around me one more time.

After only a few minutes she arched, h*ps rocking faster with me. “Will . . . I . . .”

“Shh,” I whispered, watching my hand move over her, my c*ck slide in and out. “Give me one more.”

I closed my eyes, my mind diving down into pure sensation: her quivering thighs all around me, the rhythmic tightening of her p**sy as she came again with a hoarse, surprised cry. I cut the last chain of my self-control, hitting deeper and harder, prolonging her release with my thumb pressed to her clit. Hanna’s head was thrown back into the pillow, hands on my ass, pulling me forward while she rocked up into me. Her eyes were squeezed shut, lips parted, and all around her head, her hair was a wild mess on her pillow. I’d never seen anything more beautiful in my life.

She dragged her nails up my back, watching my face, fascinated. The sensation was too much: her rough touch, soft body beneath, and her wide-eyed, fascinated study.

“Tell me it feels good,” she whispered, lips swollen and wet, cheeks flushed, hair matted with sweat.

“So good,” I hissed in a rush. “I can’t . . . I can’t f**king think straight.”

Her nails pushed down, in a rough pinch and in a flash I knew with the pain of her nails and sweet pleasure of her body wet and squeezing me, I wasn’t going to last. Pleasure flooded my veins, hot and frantic.

“Harder,” I begged.

She curled into me, biting down my shoulder to my chest. “Come,” she gasped, dragging her nails possessively down my back. “I want to feel you come.”

It was as if I’d been plugged into an outlet, every inch of my skin alive and buzzing with heat. I stared down at her: br**sts moving with the force of my thrusts, skin sweaty and perfect, angry red bite marks from my teeth all over her neck, shoulders, and jaw. But when I looked up and met her eyes, I lost it. She was staring at me and it was her—Hanna, this girl I saw every morning and fell in love with a little bit more every single time she opened her mouth.

It was so f**king real. With a loud shout, I collapsed on her, bucking wildly and flooded with a pleasure so intense I barely registered the warmth of her arms around my shoulders, the press of her kiss to my neck when I stilled on top of her, or the way she whispered, “Stay on top of me like this forever.”

“Don’t ever stop being so f**king open,” I murmured, pulling my gaze to her face. “Don’t stop asking for what you want.”

“I won’t,” she whispered. “I got you tonight, didn’t I?”

And just that simply, I was claimed.

Chapter Eleven

I woke to the shifting of the mattress, the sound of springs as Will climbed out of bed.

Dim, blue light seeped through the window and I blinked into the darkness, trying to make out the shape of objects nearby—the doorway, my dresser, his silhouette disappearing through the bathroom door.

Without switching on a light, I heard the water start, the shower door opening and closing again. I considered joining him but seemed unable to move: my muscles felt like rubber, my body heavy and sinking into the mattress. There was a deep, unfamiliar ache between my legs and I stretched, squeezing my thighs together to feel it again. To remember. Now my room smelled of sex and Will and I could feel myself grow dizzy from it, from his proximity and the thought of so much of his nak*d skin just on the other side of the wall. Arms, legs, a stomach like granite. What exactly was the protocol here? Was I lucky enough that he’d come back and we’d do it all over again? Is that how this worked?

My thoughts drifted to Kitty and Kristy and I wondered whether last night was just like all the other nights he’d spent with numerous other women. If he held them the same way, made the same sounds, offered the same promises of how good he’d make them feel. Will didn’t spend every night with me, but we did spend a lot of them together. When did he see them? A part of me wanted to ask, so I could know the specifics of how he slotted all of us into his life. But a bigger part of me didn’t, not really.

I ran my hand through my tangled hair and thought of last night: of Dylan and our disastrous date, of Will, and how it felt to realize he’d been just outside my apartment. Worrying. Waiting. Wanting. Of the things we’d done and how he’d made me feel. I’d never known sex could be like that: both hard and soft and alternating between the two for what felt like forever. It was wild; his hands and teeth left me deliciously bruised, and there were moments I thought I might break into a million pieces if I couldn’t get him even deeper into me.

The familiar squeak of the faucet sounded above the pounding spray and I turned my head toward the door. The water slowed before the shower fell silent, and I listened as he stepped out, pulled a towel from the rack on the wall, and dried himself off.

I couldn’t pull my eyes away as he walked out, his nak*d body moving through a slice of moonlight. Sitting up, I crawled to the edge of the bed. He stopped just in front of me, his c*ck lengthening as I stared.

Will reached up, running his fingers carefully through my tangled hair before drawing a line down the side of my face and, finally, tracing my lips with his fingertip. He didn’t duck down to look me in the eye. It was as if he knew I was studying him. As if he wanted me just to look.

I swear I could hear my heart hammering in my ears. I wanted to touch him. I wanted, more than that, to taste him.

“You look like you want to put your mouth on me,” he said, his voice thick and hoarse.

Swallowing heavily, I nodded. “I want to see how you taste.”

He slid his hand down his length and he took another step closer, sweeping the head of his c*ck across my lips, painting me with the bead of moisture there. When my tongue darted out to taste it—and him—he let out a low groan, letting his hand slide up and down the base as I slipped my mouth around the tip, licking a little.

“Yeah,” he whispered. “That’s so . . . so good.”

I don’t know what I was expecting but it wasn’t this, to be so turned on by the actual act, or how empowering it was to be the person who made this gorgeous man unravel. His hands moved to my hair and I closed my eyes. His breaths were ragged as I moved my mouth farther and farther onto him. Finally, I heard him swallow and then gasp with a shaky inhale.

“Stop, stop,” he said, and took a step back. He sounded like he’d been running a marathon. “You have no idea how much I’d love to let you play with me like this, your tongue and fuck, those lips, Hanna.” His thumb brushed over my chin. “But I want to be careful with you the first time you take me in your mouth, and right now I feel too wild, and too f**king greedy.”

I knew exactly how he felt. My body hummed, my pulse hammered in my neck, and I squeezed my thighs together again, feeling the sweet, impatient ache grow with every second.

He leaned down, kissed me, and whispered, “Roll over, Plum. I want to f**k you facedown.”

I could only nod, moving to lie on my stomach, my mind too hazy to even come up with a response. The bed dipped and I felt him behind me, settling between my parted legs. His hand moved along the back of my thighs, over my ass. He gripped my hips, fingerprints burning into my skin as he pulled me to my knees and farther down the bed, closer to where he wanted. I could feel how wet I was, feel it on his fingers as he moved them against me, on my thighs. My heart hammered in my chest and I tried to shut out everything but the heat of his skin, the brush of his lips and hair along my back.

I’d always understood why women wanted Will in the first place. He wasn’t beautiful in the same way Bennett was, and he wasn’t tender like Max. He was visceral and imperfect, dark and knowing. He gave the sense that he looked at a woman and in an instant read every need she had.

But now I knew why women truly lost their mind over him. Because in the end, he did actually know every need a woman had, that I had. He’d ruined me for any other man, even before the first touch. And when he leaned in behind me, dragging his lips across the shell of my ear—not a kiss, not exactly—and asked, “You think you’ll scream when you come this time, too?”—I was lost.

He reached across me, pulling a condom from the pile. I heard the foil tear, the sound of it as he rolled it over himself. I could still remember what it looked like, that thin piece of rubber stretched impossibly tight around the length of him. I wanted him to hurry. Needed him to hurry and f**k me, make this ache go away.

“I can go deeper this way,” he said, bending to kiss my back again. “But tell me if I hurt you, okay?”

Nodding frantically, I pushed back into his hands, wanting him to quell the frantic hunger inside me.

His palm was surprisingly cool and I gasped in surprise when he pressed it to my lower back, steadying me. Was I shaking? In the darkness I could see my hand against the stark white of the sheet, see the fabric twisted in my grasp, wound tight just like every part of me. “You just feel,” he said as if reading my thoughts, his voice so deep it was more vibration than sound. “I just want to take right now, okay?”

I felt the solid muscle of his legs moving between mine, the tip of his c*ck as he positioned himself. With every slide of our skin across each other, I arched back, lifting my ass to change the angle and hoping that this time, this time he might slip inside.

I felt his mouth along my shoulder, down my back and around my ribs. It was still early, still cold in my room, and I shivered as the air landed on skin he’d just kissed, tasted, scraped with his teeth.

And when he whispered against the shell of my ear how amazing I looked from his vantage, how badly he needed me, it seemed like my heart might burst through my ribs. It was so different like this, when he was behind me, out of sight. I couldn’t rely on his overwhelmed expressions and the reassurance of his steady gaze on my face. I had to close my eyes and pay attention to his hands, how they shook, how rigid he felt when he slid forward across my clit. I listened to his choppy breathing and tiny grunts, pressed back into him and felt my chest twist in pleasure when the contact between his thighs and my ass made him moan.

He was so thick, so stiff, and my breath caught as he shifted back so he could position himself against my tender skin, and—finally—slowly inch inside.

“Oh,” I said, a sound that felt like it must have been torn from my throat because it was the only word I could think.

Oh I didn’t know it would feel like this.

Oh it hurts but in the most delicious way.

Oh please don’t ever stop. More, more.

As if I’d said those words aloud, Will nodded against my skin, moving slower, deeper. We’d only just started but it was already too good, too perfect. I felt the drag of him deep inside, so close to that place that brought me to the edge of a tiny explosion.

“Okay?” he asked, and I nodded, overwhelmed. He started to move, small stabs of his h*ps that pushed me farther up the mattress, pushed me closer to that point where everything inside me threatened to shatter. “Fuck, look at you.”

I felt his hand on my shoulder and then in my hair, fingers wrapping in the strands to brace me, keep me just where he wanted. “Spread your legs wider,” he grunted. “Drop to your elbows.”