Page 78
Something primal surges through me at those words. The thought of her giving herself over completely and trusting me with that power… It’s intoxicating and terrifying all at once.
“You remember what I told you about stopping?” I ask.
She nods. “One word and it’s over.”
“That’s my girl.”
twenty-three
. . .
Whitley
I’m proud of myself. I really am. I said what I needed to say. I stood my ground, held my chin high, and didn’t fold when he looked at me with those stormy eyes.
I meant every word. But now that it’s out there, I feel…floaty.
I just want to let go and let him take over. Let him wrap me up in that quiet, commanding presence and show me that I’m safe with him. That I don’t have to be the one propelling our relationship all the time.
I want to be vulnerable for him. I want to feel the weight of his hands on my hips, his voice in my ear telling me exactly how this is going to go.
Sure, I’ve got a big mouth and a bigger personality, but I’m exhausted from being strong all the time. From steering every conversation, cushioning every moment with humor, staying three steps ahead.
With him, I don’t have to juggle. I don’t have to perform or dull myself into something easier to swallow. I see it every time Beau looks at me, even when he’s trying like hell to hide it. Something in his expression makes me feel like I can finally stop. Like he’s saying, I’ve got you. You can put it down now.
Wanting to give him control isn’t about disappearing. It’s about choosing rest. His strong, capable hands will hold the weight I’m always carrying without making me feel small for handing it over.
I want him to take the reins for a minute, so I can breathe and feel.
“Tell me what you want,” he says, voice dropping to that register that makes my knees weak. His hand slides up to cup my face, thumb tracing my bottom lip.
“You,” I whisper. “Just you.”
“Be more specific, Red.”
I swallow hard. “I want you to tell me what to do. I want you to take whatever you want. I want to not think for a little while.”
His hand slides from my face to my throat, not squeezing, just resting there with enough pressure to make my pulse jump.
His thumb drags along the sensitive skin below my jaw. “You sure you want to give me that?”
I nod. “I want you to make me yours.”
His eyes search mine, and I let him look. Let him see past the bravado and the sass of the girl underneath who’s tired of holding everything together. The girl who wants to be held instead.
He studies me for a moment, eyes searching mine to make sure I mean it. Then his expression shifts, hardening into something commanding that makes my stomach flip. “Bedroom. Take the sweatshirt off first.”
I nod, and he removes his hand from my throat. I slip the hoodie over my head, the cool air immediately raising goose bumps on my arms. His eyes track the movement, darkening as the fabric falls away. My dress feels impossibly thin now and clings to every curve. I’m acutely aware of how much it reveals.
His hand finds my wrist, fingers circling my pulse point. He tugs gently, leading me through the living room and hallway. My bare feet pad across the dark hardwood floors until we reach a door at the very end.
Beau’s bedroom is clean, simple, masculine. Absolutely zero clutter. The walls are a deep charcoal, and it's almost uncanny how well it fits his personality. A single window overlooks the backyard, the curtains pulled open to let in the light. A sturdy oak bed dominates the space, dressed in dark gray linen that’s tucked in tight.
He releases my wrist, and I make my way to the foot of his bed, turning to face him. He leans on the doorframe, hands in his pockets, eyes locked on mine with an intensity that steals my breath.
“Strip,” he says, the single word rippling through me like a physical touch.
I don’t hesitate. I reach for the hem of my dress, pulling it up and over my head in one fell swoop. I drop it at my feet as I stand before him in a strapless bra and matching lace panties.
