Eleven
Beau
Two days. Two days of brief texts and bullshit excuses and my woman pulling away from me inch by careful inch. Two days of sitting on my hands, staring at my phone, telling myself to give her space when every cell in my body was screaming to get in my truck and go get what’s mine.
I lasted forty-seven hours. That’s forty-six more than I wanted to.
When I pull up to her ranch and see the light on, my chest is so tight I can barely breathe. I kill the engine. Get out. Start walking. And then the front door opens.
Ina’s standing there in a sundress. Some flowy thing the color of rust that clings to her tits, cinches at her waist, and flares over thick, gorgeous hips. Gold earrings catching the porch light. Lip shit making her full mouth shine. Her braids are down, falling over her bare shoulders, and her dark skin glows warm against the fabric. She’s got keys in her hand. Like she was headed somewhere.
Like she was heading to me.
For me. And the sight of her …all soft curves and brown skin and big dark eyes locked on mine …hits me so hard in the chest I nearly stumble on the bottom step.
“I tried to give you space,” I say, and my voice comes out wrecked. Rough and raw and nothing like the calm, sure man I’ve been pretending to be for two days. “I lasted two days.”
She whispers, “I was just coming to you.”
And everything inside me fucking breaks.
I take the steps two at a time. Her keys hit the porch floor. My hands find her face …her smooth, warm cheeks filling my palms, her jaw so delicate under my rough fingers. Her hands press flat against my bare chest through my shirt. And we crash into each other so hard it knocks the air out of both of us.
This kiss isn’t like the others. It’s not slow. Not controlled. Not me leading her somewhere she’s afraid to go. This is both of us …starving, desperate, done pretending we can survive without this. Her fingers fist in my shirt, her knuckles grinding against my ribs. My hands grip her waist hard enough to bruise …I can feel the soft flesh of her hips under my fingers, the warmth of her skin through the thin fabric. Her tongue slides against mine and I groan so loud it echoes off the damn porch beams. She tastes like lemonade and lip gloss and home.
“Inside,” she pants against my mouth. “Now.”
I don’t need to be told twice.
I grab her thighs …thick, smooth, bare under the sundress …and lift her. She wraps around me, legs locking at my back, the sundress bunching up around her hips. Her mouth never leaves mine. I carry her through the doorway, kick the door shut, and pin her against the wall of the hallway. She gasps. Her head falls back …her braids swinging, her throat exposed, her chest heaving. I press my hips into hers and let her feel exactly how much these two days cost me.
“Feel that?” I growl against her neck. Her skin is hot under my lips. She smells like cocoa butter and that sugar scent that drives me insane. “That’s what space does. Two days without you and I’m fucking dying.”
“Beau…”
“Don’t.” I bite the spot below her ear …feel her pulse hammering under my teeth. She moans. “Don’t tell me to slow down. Don’t tell me you need time. I gave you time. Almost killed me.”
Her hands pull at my shirt. Yanking it up. Her small fingers dragging up my stomach, nails scraping my abs. I let go of her long enough to rip it over my head, then I’m back on her. Mouth on her neck. Her collarbone …I can taste the salt on her skin. The tops of her tits swelling over that sundress, her cleavage deep and warm and smelling like her lotion.
“Off,” I rasp, tugging at the fabric. “Get this off.”
She reaches behind her and pulls the zipper down. The dress falls between us, and she’s standing there in just panties. No bra. Her gorgeous tits, heavy and bare …full, round, the dark nipples already tight and puckered, her belly is soft. Her hips wide, her waist curving in. Every inch of her, lush and thick and mine.
“Fuck,” I breathe. “Missed you. Missed these.” I dip my head and suck her nipple into my mouth. Hard. Her tit is heavy in my hand …I feel the weight of it, the softness, the nipple stiffening against my tongue. She cries out and grabs my hair, her fingers twisting in it, pulling. I switch sides. Licking, biting, sucking until she’s squirming against the wall and her bare skin is flushed everywhere.
“Bedroom,” she gasps.
“Too far.”
“Beau, someone could…”
“Nobody’s here.” I looked. No other cars in the driveway. Lights off upstairs. Just her. Just us. “It’s just you and me, baby.”
Her dark eyes go black. Her hands drop to my belt. She yanks it open. Pops the button. Drags the zipper down over my cock …and the relief makes me groan. Then she reaches inside my jeans and wraps her hand around me.
I hiss through my teeth. Her hand is small and warm and soft, and she can barely get her fingers around the girth. My forehead drops against hers.
“You want this?” she asks. And there’s something in her voice I haven’t heard before, no surrender or hesitation. Certainty. My girl sounds sure. “Because I’m done running, Beau. I’m done.”
