Bound to the Bachelor (16 page)

He was still trying to work out what was going on when she turned the overhead light off.

“Sit,” she said, indicating the chair with a dip of her head.

He narrowed his eyes as she pulled her phone from her pocket and started scrolling through screens looking for something. After a few seconds she glanced up at him.

“You need a second invitation?” One eyebrow arched high over challenging dark eyes.

Wordless, he crossed to the chair and sat.

‡

B
eau watched as
Lily allowed herself a small, satisfied smile. Then she turned and set her phone on the chest of drawers next to the door. She tapped the screen, and music started playing. It only took a couple of notes for him to recognize Nine Inch Nails’
‘Closer’
.

Lily walked until she was standing in front of him, just out of reach. She widened her stance slightly more than usual, then dropped her head back and ran a hand up the side of her body, gliding over the side of her breast, up her chest, her neck and finally into her hair. It could have been mundane, but the way she did it, the look in her eyes when she lifted her head again, the way her hips undulated in time to the music… this was going to kill him. In the best possible way.

Eyes locked with his, Lily smoothed her hands down her thighs before sliding them back up again, hips bucking as her hands covered her mons. She surprised him then by crossing her legs and spinning on her toes, a perfectly executed move that left her ass at perfect eye level. She bent forward, wiggling her hips, and all he could think about was how good this would look if she was naked, and how much he wanted her to be that way.

The heavy bass beat of the music vibrated around them as she straightened, scooping her sweater up over her torso and whipping it over her head in one smooth motion. She spun back around, and he had to grip the sides of the chair as he took in the creamy fullness of her breasts barely contained by black lace embroidered with bold red flowers.

She stepped it up a notch then, caressing and cupping herself before turning her back again and easing her cords down her legs. His mouth went dry when he saw she was wearing lacy panties that were cut so high on the cheek they left very little to his imagination. She stepped out of her cords gracefully, kicking them to one side, leaving her in nothing but her bra, panties and high-heeled ankle boots.

Dipping one finger into her mouth, she trailed it slowly down her chest and belly as she strut-walked toward him. He was already reaching for her as she lifted a leg and straddled him. His hands closed over her hips as she snugged herself up nice and tight against his hard-on, then she covered his hands with her own and slowly lifted them away from her body, returning them to the sides of the chair.

“No touching,” she said in a low, husky voice.

“Are you kidding me?”

She circled her hips and he gave a small groan.

“No touching,” she repeated.

Her eyes were heavy lidded, her hair tousled around her face, her cheeks flushed. The need to touch her, to taste her was a tattoo drum in his blood, and he tightened his grip on the chair as Lily proceeded to torture him, pressing her breasts close to his face, rubbing herself against him, circling her hips against his cock. She slid off him, only to reverse her position, straddling him and pressing her gorgeous backside against him while facing front. Her hands found the back of her bra clasp, and she slipped it free. When she turned to face him again, her breasts were bare, her dark pink nipples hard and ready.

“Fuck this,” he muttered, releasing his grip on the chair and reaching for her.

She came willingly, her breath catching as he pulled her left nipple into his mouth, his hands splayed across her back to hold her in place. He pulled and bit and sucked at her, getting harder and harder as he registered the minute shivers racing through her body. Wholly focused on her, he slid a hand over her hip, down her belly and between her thighs. The lacy satin of her panties was damp and hot with need, and he rubbed her through the fabric, loving the way her thighs tightened around his hips, the way she pressed forward into his touch.

He slipped a finger beneath the elastic, sliding into slick heat.

“
Oh, God,”
she whispered, her voice broken, lost.

He loved that he could do this to her, that he could turn her on as much as she turned him on, but he wanted more. Wanted to make her scream and beg.

Gripping her ass, he held her close as he pushed to his feet, then turned and dropped her on the bed.

“Hey,” she protested.

He simply placed a hand in the center of her chest and pushed her back onto the mattress.

“Shut up and take what’s coming to you,” he said.

He hooked his fingers into the waist of her panties and pulled them down her legs. Then he nudged her thighs open with his knee. He knew the exact moment she realized where he was going and what he was about to do – her mouth opened, and her breathing accelerated, her hips lifting instinctively in welcome.

“I’m going to make you scream, Lily,” he promised her.

Then he set out to prove it.

*

Lily fisted her
hands in Beau’s quilt cover, holding on for dear life as he went to work between her thighs. She couldn’t believe how good his hands and mouth felt, how skilled he was at discerning exactly what drove her wild. He was by turns gentle and fierce, coaxing and demanding, and when she started to move, unable to stay still, he clamped his hands to her thighs and held her in place as he tortured her some more.

Sensation spiraled tighter and tighter inside her, but somehow Beau managed to keep her hovering, not quite pushing her over the brink. She moaned and sighed, awash with pleasure, fully aware he intended to make her beg for what she wanted but refusing to capitulate just yet.

Then he slid a finger inside her and found a spot that felt so good, so intense that she couldn’t stop herself.

“Please.
Yes
. Please, Beau.
Please
.”

He opened his mouth over her sex, kissing her passionately, and all the tension that had been building inside her shattered in a voluptuous series of spasms, tightening her inner muscles and rippling through her body, the pleasure so intense it was almost painful. She couldn’t hold back the high pitched keen that rose in her throat, a purely animal sound, and she felt Beau smile against her intimate flesh as she gave him everything he’d asked for.

She collapsed back against the bed, utterly wrecked, her body hot and liquid and sated. She tried to find the energy to speak, to move, but she was too busy floating on a sea of contentment. Vaguely, she was aware of the clink of a belt buckle, the rustle of clothes being shed. Then Beau’s hands were on her, rolling her onto her belly, lifting her hips to tuck a pillow beneath them. She murmured encouragement, well aware he must be aching for release, but not sure how active a participant she was going to be after he’d pleasured her so completely.

There was the crinkle of a foil packet, then his body came over hers, the weight of him bearing her down into the mattress. She felt his breath on the back of her neck seconds before he kissed her shoulder, then her nape. One big hand smoothed up and down her side, mapping her curves possessively.

“You are so fucking beautiful, Lily. You drive me crazy. I could do this all night long.”

She could feel him, hard and urgent, against her backside, and she lifted her hips in invitation. He slid a hand between her thighs, and she widened her legs so he had better access. Then his cock, big and thick and blunt, was probing her entrance. And then he was inside her, filling her, and all her sated lethargy was burned away by a fresh rush of sensation.

“Oh, that feels so good,” she whispered.

“I know, baby.”

He stroked himself inside her, powerful and controlled, and after a few minutes, she was desperate to push back. Sensing her need, he lifted his weight enough for her to rise up onto her knees. Things got a little crazy after that, the tempo building between them until they were both panting urgently, their bodies slamming together. She hovered on the edge of climax until he gripped her hips in his hands and encouraged her to change the angle, allowing him to deepen his penetration. And that was it, she was gone, her body tightening around his as pleasure wracked her.

Her climax spurred his, and seconds later he was buried deep inside her, his lips pressed to the back of her neck as he shuddered out his release.

He let his full weight rest on her for a few seconds afterward, one of his big hands reaching up to brush her hair out of the way so he could kiss the sensitive spot beneath her ear. She smiled, her chest expanding with warmth. Beau was such a mass of contradictions – big and strong, but so gentle and tender when he chose to be. Endlessly patient. Generous. Fiercely protective. And how could she forget his over-developed sense of responsibility?

After a minute or so, he rolled away from her. She mourned the loss, but the night was still young. She knew she’d have him again before dawn.

She felt a dip as he left the bed, and she guessed he was getting rid of the condom. When he returned, she allowed him to coax her beneath the covers. Lying beside him, staring at his ceiling, she marveled they’d come so far in so short a time. Two weeks ago, Beau was hating on her because she’d talked him into participating in the auction. One week ago, she’d been dreading their ski date. And now…

She turned her head on the pillow, only to discover Beau was watching her, an unreadable expression on his face.

“What’s wrong?”

“Thanks for the dance.”

“I’m a little rusty.” She pulled the quilt higher around her shoulders. “I haven’t danced for a long time.”

The truth was she’d never danced for a lover, even though many had asked her to over the years. She’d always been very, very strict about quarantining stripping from her private life. She’d wanted to do it for Beau, though, wanted to drive him crazy and have the experience, just once, of genuinely dancing for herself, turning herself on as well as her partner.

“I guess that’s technically called a lap dance, right?” he asked.

She gave him a look. “Like you don’t know.”

He’d been in the Marines. She knew what those guys were like.

“I never really did the strip bar thing.”

“Not even once?”

“I had a beer in one, once. Stayed about five minutes, then left. More than long enough to know it wasn’t my scene.” He paused for a minute, his gaze unfocussed as he thought about it. “Maybe it was just me, but the women seemed angry. Not my idea of a good time.”

She smiled faintly. “Some strippers
are
angry. They hate men. I’ve seen women absolutely humiliate customers – spill drinks on their crotches ‘accidentally’, ruin suits, that sort of thing. It’s their way of taking some power back, I guess.”

“Did you ever do that?”

“I didn’t do it long enough to get that angry. I worked my ass off – literally – and I saved every penny I had. Then I got out.”

“Well, I appreciate you coming out of retirement tonight.”

“My pleasure. And I mean that.” She threw a glance toward the open doorway to the right of the bed. “Is the bathroom through there?”

“Help yourself.”

She slipped out of bed and walked into the en suite, conscious of Beau’s avid gaze on her body every step of the way. She liked that he liked looking at her. She liked looking at him, too. He had a beautiful body, hard in all the places she was soft, with the most delicious scattering of dark blonde hair across his pecs.

She glanced at herself briefly in the bathroom mirror, taking in her flushed cheeks and shiny eyes, then quickly took care of business. On her way back to the bed, her gaze got caught on the single photo frame on top of Beau’s chest of drawers, and she detoured to look at it.

It was a childhood happy snap of three kids fooling around in an above-ground swimming pool. She recognized Andie, her long blonde hair streaming down her back, body as skinny as a string bean. Beside her was Beau, his blue eyes bright even in the faded photograph. Based on his height, she guessed he was twelve, maybe thirteen, which meant Andie must be around nine or ten. She turned her attention to the third boy in the photograph, sadness tugging at her as she studied his face. Ben Bennett had the same eyes as his older brother, the same cockiness in his smile and the way he held his body. It must have been a devastating loss for the Bennett family when he drowned in the Yellowstone River when he was just thirteen years old.