Page 54
He backs me against the wall, his body caging mine, one broad hand sliding down to hitch my thigh up against his hip. I gasp into his mouth as the movement brings us flush together, the hard ridge of his growing erection pressing exactly where I need him.
“Beau,” I breathe, the word a sigh against his lips.
He pulls back just enough to look at me. “Tell me to stop.”
My fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt. “Don’t you dare.”
“Mmm…” He moans in my ear. “Such a needy little thing.”
Oh. Oh god.
My thighs clench. Suddenly, all that sass I’ve been stockpiling turns to syrup in my veins. All I can think about is sinking to my knees in the moonlight and showing him exactly how needy I am. How badly I want to worship every muscled inch of him.
He kisses me again. Deeper this time, slower. One hand stays tangled in my hair, the other slides down, gripping my ass like he owns it. And maybe he does. Maybe I want him to.
He lifts me, and I gasp against his lips as my legs wrap around his waist on instinct. The dress rides up between us, bunched and forgotten, because all that exists is him. The solid heat of his chest, the flex of his thighs beneath me.
He starts walking, his grip steady, his mouth still claiming mine like he can’t get enough.
We don’t make it to the bedroom.
He sets me down on the kitchen counter instead, stepping in between my thighs. His hands coast up my sides, thumbs brushing the sensitive underside of my ribs. Mapping me. Learning me by touch.
His lips trail down my neck. Each kiss, each gentle scrape of teeth sends shivers racing across my skin.
“Should I keep going?” he murmurs against my throat.
“Yes,” I breathe, tilting my head to give him better access.
He pulls back slightly, dark eyes studying my face. “Say it properly.”
My breath catches as I realize what he wants. “Yes, sir.”
His smile is lethal. Absolutely, unequivocally, lethal. “Good girl.”
The words send a jolt of heat straight to my core, making me whimper. His eyes narrow, catching the reaction immediately.
“Interesting,” he says. “You like that?”
Hell yeah, I do, but these feelings are new for me. I try to look away, suddenly feeling exposed, but his hand catches my chin, forcing my gaze back to his.
“Answer me, Red.”
“Yes,” I whisper, heat flooding my cheeks. “I like it.”
No one makes me blush. Literally no one. Except for Beau, apparently.
His thumb traces my bottom lip, his gaze dropping to follow the movement. “I’ve thought about this mouth of yours,” he says. “Thought about all the ways I could keep it busy.”
I part my lips, letting his thumb slip inside, my tongue darting out to taste the salt of his skin.
I close my lips around it, sucking lightly, watching his pupils dilate. His jaw goes tight, control visibly slipping. He pulls his thumb free with a soft pop, his eyes blazing.
His hands grip my waist, lifting me off the counter and setting me on my feet. Even as he creates distance between us, his presence dominates the space—shoulders broad, stance wide, eyes never leaving mine.
“Strip,” he commands, voice dropping to that devastating octave that makes me want to get on my knees and crawl.
Every fiber of my being is screaming for me to do exactly that. And I want to oh so badly. But…the idea of being a bit of a brat sounds a little more fun.
