Beau quickly gets into the nightstand and grabs a condom. After he has it on, he climbs on top of me. His large body towers over mine, and I wrap around him as he pushes into me. I moan as he fills me more and more with every inch.
He leans down to kiss me while he starts to increase his tempo. My hands run along his shoulders and back, loving all of him.
Leaning back to look at me, he whispers, “You are so fucking beautiful.”
I’ve been called a lot of things. Cute. Pretty. Sexy. Beautiful isn’t ever one of them.
I like hearing Beau say it.
He trails kisses down my neck and chest before taking time to give each nipple his attention. My fingers grip his hair while his tongue plays with my nipple piercings.
“God, Beau, that feels so good,” I cry. “Fuck me harder!”
I want to see what all he’s got.
He gets a sexy look in his eye and sits up a little before grabbing my hands and pinning them above my head. He lets go of any restraint and starts fucking into me hard and fast.
I’m usually the one who prefers being in control, but I’m loving this.
I never thought that Beau would be so amazing in bed–or so dominant. Hell, I’d never thought I’d be finding outwhathe was like in bed.
But now that I’m here, I never want to leave.
Chapter thirty-two
Piercings, Tats, and Trauma
Beau
“You know, we can put that on a plate and warm it up,” I say to Jo who is digging a fork into the now-cold ziti.
“I don’t need either of those things,” she replies while grabbing another forkful.
I take a look at her. She sits on my kitchen counter, wearing nothing but my t-shirt. Her hair is pulled into a messy bun, and she is quietly humming and dancing to whatever song is stuck in her head.
It’s like this is the best dream, and I never want to wake up. Never did I think I’d have any type of relationship with Jo, let alone seeing her wearing my t-shirt after we fucked.
How is this even real?
Jo notices me staring. “What? Do I have something on my face?”
“No,” I laugh. “I just like looking at you. You’re gorgeous.”
She looks almost as though the compliment makes her uncomfortable, but she smiles anyway. “You’re not so bad yourself.”
Before I can say anything else, she adds, “Now, shut up and grab a fork, Stephenson.”
I do and grab a bite of ziti.
After another bite of her own, “Damn, Beau. When you said you could cook, I kind of thought you were bullshitting me, but this is actually really good.”
“I’m glad you like it. I have to tell you, though, it’s way better heated up.”
“Eh, better to keep my expectations low to begin with,” she jokes. “I’m afraid that now that you’ve started feeding me, you’re going to have to keep doing it. I’m like a stray cat.”
I smile. “Challenge accepted.”
“Ten years later, and you’re still taking care of me.” There’s a hint of sadness behind her words.
