“Hannah,” Beau barked.
When my eyes snapped up, his features were even more wild, his body practically vibrating.
“You look at my cock for a second more, your mouth is gonna be wrapped around it, and you’ll feel it in your throat.”
My toes curled in my socks, picturing the image in my mind. “Is that meant to be a threat?” I whispered.
“It’s a fucking dream.” His jaw clenched. “I have no self-control with you. And I need to. Because I want you. It’s clear. I’m done hiding it. But I won’t take you. Because I’ll fuck it up?—”
I opened my mouth to argue, but he silenced me with a glare.
“I’ll fuck it up, Hannah,” he said with finality. “Because I’m a grumpy old bastard. You’re a gorgeous young woman who buys flowers, who makes friends with my elderly neighbor, who lights up my daughter’s life with color and love. You only just got divorced. And I will not tear that down. I will not ruin that. I will not even risk it.”
He sounded resolute. Like the decision was set in stone.
I wanted to argue with him. But I couldn’t. How could I argue with a father who chose his daughter’s needs over his own?
And as much as I wanted him, wanted this, I wanted Clara happy more. I would not risk hurting her. But I couldn’t let this go, not yet. Not when Beau had shown me that he wanted me.
“You won’t fuck it up, Beau,” I whispered. “And if you do, I can handle it. I’m a big girl.”
As Beau stepped forward, I held my breath. Even with everything he just said, the finality to it, part of me still hoped for him to change his mind. For him to make good on all the carnal things he said he wanted to do to me.
His hand lifted, then he delicately, with exquisite tenderness, tucked my hair behind my ear. His eyes searched my face with an expression that took all the oxygen from the room.
Hunger still lingered in his icy eyes, but there was something else too. Reverence, like he found me beautiful. Precious. Special. Somehow, that was more world-bending than his wild desire.
“I don’t want to turn into something you have to ‘handle,’ Hannah,” he murmured. “Something you have to survive. I will not be something that causes you pain, not any more than I already have.”
His eyes kept mine hostage for a handful of seconds, his body teasing mine with its proximity before he stepped back and left the room.
I stayed there, glued to the wall for longer than I cared to admit.
I tossed and turned the entire night, second-guessing my words to Beau. Was I too forward? Not forward enough?
If I had pushed him further, I might’ve got what I wanted. His lips on mine. His body on mine, a memory tangible and real to hold on to as evidence that Beau liked me. Wanted me. As if his words weren’t enough. Oh, they were plenty to give me proof. But it turned out I was a greedy bitch. I wanted more.
I lay, staring at the ceiling, intensely aware that Beau was in bed just down the hall.
The brazen, sex-starved temptress inside of me urged me to get out of bed and walk the short distance to his bedroom now that I knew he wanted me. I no longer had just a collection of half-imagined looks that could be explained away. No, I hadwords. I had the image of him tearing his hands through his hair, as if he were holding himself together by a thread.
I had the inferno in his eyes, the heavy rise and fall of his chest as he stared at my lips as if he were going to kiss me. I had those sensual words that repeated over and over again in my head.
If I crept into his room, there was a high probability I would get what I wanted. Beau wasn’t a monk; he was trying to do the right thing, but he wasn’t an entirely good man. That’s what I liked about him. He made good decisions that trumped his baser impulses.
But I couldn’t.
Not after he mentioned Clara. The possibility of hurting her.
If I went into Beau’s room, I’d most definitely get the best sex of my life. But he’d regret it. Because he’d made the decision not to kiss me out of some misguided attempt to preserve my innocence. I was more than willing to override that.
What I couldn’t override was his belief that kissing me, fucking me—covering me in his cum—would somehow hurt Clara.
And I wouldn’t be party to that.
So I stayed in bed. Frustrated. Confused. Elated. Tortured.
I eventually fell into a fitful sleep.
