10. Beau

Chapter ten

Beau

I gnacia basically instinctively climbs me like a spider monkey. It’s hot. She has nice legs, and they feel even better when they’re wrapped over my hips. She wants to top me, and I’m the kind of guy people probably think won’t be topped, but I don’t mind it.

I mean, seriously?

The views from here when I flip us around and let her get comfortable on top of me are incredible.

The curve of her breasts, jiggling in that lovely feminine way whenever she moves, the curves of her waist and hips defined by how she’s sitting back, and her core, hot and wet straight through those cotton pajama shorts? Fuck. Me.

I know she’s going to. And despite everything screaming at me not to do it, several contracts and a lawsuit looming that’s roughly the size of this entire country, I’m going out of my mind here. I’m losing reasons to resist. Maybe we can just do it with clothes on. Dry humping or whatever nasty thing it’s called. Although, it’s too hot to be called dry, and I don’t think there’s a single dry spot on either of us right now.

Nope, it’s official.

When her lips meet mine again, and her breasts slam into my chest, and she grinds down on my dick through my sweats and those pajamas that are apparently made of thin fucking nothingness, it’s not dry. I’m leaking through my boxers and probably through these sweats, too. I can smell how wet she is, and it’s so hot. She smells delicious and womanly, and I want to shove her up onto my face, tear those shorts off, and put my tongue inside her until she’s wetter than a lake.

Umm…

Wow.

I’m sorry.

Or not.

“Are you not obsessed with asses, even right now?” she pants, practically nipping my lips with every word.

I grasp her hips, and she pulls my hands around to the round curve of her bottom. Then, she puts her fingers on mine and digs them in. Not to hurt, but just so I have a firm grip. I think I might be changing my mind about not being a butt guy. Actually, I’m not really a boobs guy, either. I think it’s gross to reduce a person to just a piece of themselves. I’m a whole package type of person, and whenever I’ve done this in the past, it’s been with professional, like-minded women. We don’t mention asses or breasts. Instead, we have very neat and tidy, itch scratching relations, and the best part is the part where both of us go our separate ways, satisfied with the unemotional attachment.

I am not unemotionally attached right now.

Right now, I’m an everything man when it comes to this woman.

I am playing with all sorts of fire here. The most dangerous kind, the kind that can explode in my face, is the kind that can sue me and wreck my reputation as a professional.

Not that Ignacia would do that.

It’s worse than that.

She’s the kind of woman who has the power to do something to me that I can’t undo. She’s already under my skin, grating on every one of my last nerves like a goddamn carrot peeler—wait. I can’t even get my metaphors right because my brain is so scrambled.

“Eat my pussy, Beau. Please,” she pleads.

Look at me, setting a world record for how fast I flip Ignacia onto her back. She’s facing the wrong direction, her head at the foot of the bed, but I don’t care. I’m tearing off her shorts and taking in the gorgeous bareness of her because she’s not wearing panties. She doesn’t wear panties to bed. At least she didn’t tonight. Christ. That literally scrambles my brain.

I slip my hands underneath her. She’s so soft. Her skin is literally the world’s softest skin. It’s a thing. Her scent is a thing. I love that she’s all-natural, her soft blonde curls framing her perfection. One taste of her, and I know I’m fucked. I’m pretty sure she was created precisely for me to lick like this, to part her and feast on her. I’m also almost a hundred percent certain my hair was meant for her hands to tug on, especially when I find her clit and trace it with my tongue. She’s delicious. Perfection incarnate. I have to taste inside her, and she rides my face when I do, clenching around my damn tongue.

I usually don’t do this, not because I think oral sex is gross. I don’t do this because it’s a level of intimacy I’m not okay with. That goes for the giving and the receiving.

But with Ignacia?

Not only should I not be doing this with my tongue or my fingers, or this in fucking general, but I can’t stop. I need it. I need her. I need to be inside her with every part of my damn body. For the love of…of…all things. Just all things. Hmm, I didn’t mean it in that way. I meant…yeah. You know what I meant.

I slip my finger inside her and let her tight walls clench all over it while I circle her clit with gentle passes of my tongue. “More,” she pants.

I lick her clit again. More. Harder.

“More fingers,” she clarifies breathily.

My dick nearly punches through two layers of fabric, and my balls aren’t doing so shit hot on the not-exploding scene. This woman? She’s going to kill me. She thought it would happen by feeding me two cookies. No, wrong. It’s by asking for more of my fingers.

I give her one more, and fuck, she’s so tight now. She rides against them, her hips pumping. She’s given up on my hair, putting her hands on her breasts and circling her nipples through her T-shirt.

It’s official.

I’m dead.

Her breasts are pert but not small. They’re perfectly round, a handful to her own hands. And her nipples are hard through her T-shirt. Hard and obvious and so damn irresistible.

“More,” she whimper-moans. “More fingers.”

“Okay, fuck that. I’m not giving you more fingers.”

She tears her eyes open, and her whole body goes rigid. “You will do as I say!” And then, she breaks into laughter. And whimpers because the laughter tightens all her muscles, and I still have my fingers inside her, and I’m panting all over her clit. “What if I say please?” she asks.

She’s insane. And…it’s hot and irresistible. I like that she asks for what she wants, and when it’s not enough, she demands it. “Still no.”

“Oh. Maybe I’ve been a bad girl. Maybe you should punish me .”

What the shit?

“I—don’t punish people in bed.”

“Oh.” She blinks at me. “How sad for me.” Then, she blinks again, turning serious this time. “Oh, you really mean it.”

“What kind of punishment?” Why am I even asking this?

“I don’t know. Spankings? You could spank me for being bad and trying to take charge, for demanding more fingers. Then you could kiss it better after. I’d be extra wet, and you could punish me for that too, but the more spankings you give me, the wetter I’m going to get.”

I don’t want a history disclosure here, but I do want to know if this is her thing. If she…if…okay, I want to know how much experience she has with this.

“None,” she answers, doing that eerie reading-my-mind thing. “I’ve never been spanked. I’ve never asked to be spanked. I do want to sit down tomorrow morning and all that, so blistering my bottom red isn’t really high up on my list of fantasies, but like, a good smack on each cheek?”

“I’m not sure I know how. What if I hit you too hard?” Again, why am I even asking this?

“You could start out light.”

She pulls away, gets up, walks to the edge of the bed, and drapes herself over. The twin moons of her ass are on full display, and they’re very creamy white in the moonlight coming through the window. I am not a kinky bastard, I swear, but she put it out there, and now my brain is going haywire. I’m not going to put my handprint on either of those cheeks, but my god, I see it. It’s there in my mind.

“If you spank me,” she says, wriggling her bottom in the air until my mouth goes completely dry, “it will be a first for me. I’ve always wanted to try it. You have to admit, I’ve been awful, breaking the contract, demanding that you pleasure me, giving orders. I’ve taken full control, and I need to be put back in my place.”

“No, Ignacia…” I’m horrified. And it shows.

She turns around and gives me a coy look. “I’m kidding, Beau. This is a game. People sometimes like role-playing when they’re sexing. I think it sounds fun. I’ve never done it before. If you’re up for it, I’d like it to be you.”

“Why?” I rasp.

“Because you’re a big, dangerous bodyguard, and you like to pretend you’re all hard and badass and that you have no feelings. People like that are the kind of people who like to give out spankings. I think. Usually?”

I’m frozen for too long. She whips around. “Okay, never mind.” She sits on the edge of the bed, and her face is scarlet. “We can just have regular missionary sex. Or I can go on top. I can even reverse on top if you like.”

“No.”

“Oh, I—I see.” She twists a strand of her hair around her finger. “Alright.” She looks around for something, and I realize it’s her shorts. “Okay, never mind, then. I—if there’s something wrong with me, you could just say it.”

“There’s nothing wrong with you! I do want to spank you!” Oh god, oh god, fuck, what is even happening here? Ignacia is so sweet and kind, all sugary and mousy and a good girl in her regular life. How the ever living fucking hell is she asking me to do this? Then again, are two small swats to see if she likes it really asking for a lot? Maybe she’s always wanted to try this, yet she’s never had the courage to ask for it, and I’ve just shut her down.

“Ummm, I could repay the favor and bite you aggressively later if you’d like that. On—on the nipple.”

“I don’t like having my nipples touched,” I tell her.

“Really?” She searches my face. “It sounds more like you haven’t had your nipples touched before, and you’re unsure about it because it sounds strange. But if you’re for real for real on that, then I don’t have to go near them. I will stay away from your nipples.” She says that in her most strict and authoritative voice.

I twirl my finger, needing to get this in hand. Nipples are an erogenous zone, another intimate zone. “It’s not the nipples per se.” Damn her, I want her mouth on them now, just because I shouldn’t and have never let myself want that with anyone. Wanting one thing always leads to wanting more, and that’s never an option if you want to save yourself and someone else from hurt.

I should want that right now. I don’t want to hurt Ignacia, and I don’t want to hurt myself.

Yet I still can’t say no.

“Turn around. I’m going to love-tap you on the—on the—”

“On the ass? Darling, are you afraid to say it? Well, as you’ve already divined, I have an obsession, so I’ll put it out there for you. Ass. There, I’ve saved you. Ass cheek.”

I have never felt more ridiculous. As I get behind her when she’s bent over in such an alluring position, I feel like I am going to embarrass myself and come in my damn pants. I bring my hand back and lightly smack her right cheek.

“Wow,” she sighs. “That was so uninspired. Beau, I expected more from you. You’re such a boss in your regular life. Spank me like you mean it.”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” I tell her.

“You could at least make it sound good.”

The next swat, I make sure I use more of my palm. There’s a loud smack, just the way she wants, but I barely make contact. She gasps. “Oooh. That was better.” She whips around, grinning at me, but she’s such pure sunshine and happiness that I can’t even find it strange. Yeah, she’s definitely wanted to do that for a long time. And she trusted me to do it with her.

One hand suddenly reaches out and brushes the hem of my T-shirt. “Can I take this off?”

“Yes,” I grunt.

“I’ll be careful of the pump.”

What pump? Right. Duh. I’m having such an out-of-body experience right now that I can’t even remember the details of my own limbs and organs.

She takes such care with my T-shirt that it’s as if I’m going to break. I want to tear it in half by the time she’s done; my blood pressure is so elevated. Her eyes shoot straight to my nipples.

“What’s the real deal with these anyway? You said it wasn’t them per se, so what is it?”

I am not saying it out loud.

But I don’t have to. She knows.

“Will I break you if I lick one?”

“Yes.” Damn it. Why? Why did I say that?

“Okay.” She brushes a finger over my bottom lip, surprising the hell out of me. “I don’t want to break you, so I won’t touch them. Is it okay to kiss you and just…see what happens?”

I should shut this down right now. It’s gone way too far. She’s not laughing now or playing around. She’s being sweet and kind and respectful of my boundaries, and she’s still looking at me with so much heat, looking at me like I’m not some broken, damaged, fucked up to the core person. She’s looking at me like this is something we can do together, something we can connect over. I should be running from it because it’s the very thing I’ve been running my ass from all along, but I just can’t run anymore. And no, I’m not tired. I could continue running for the rest of my life. It’s more like I’ve found a safe spot to just take a rest and a breather for a second.

So I kiss her.

I kiss her like she’s made for me, like I belong to her. I don’t know when that happened. I don’t know when my protective instincts started being less about this job and more about her. All my instincts are about her. This isn’t part of my job. If anything, this could ruin my cover. I’ve known nothing but emptiness since my parents died. That emptiness has nothing to do with the money. I never tried to buy something to fill the hole inside me. I knew it wasn’t possible, and I didn’t even try.

Right now, I’m afraid of this kiss. I’m afraid because all those holes inside me—and my insides are about as hole-riddled as a moth-eaten old wool sweater stored in a not-so-moth-proof trunk for the better part of a hundred years—don’t feel so hole-ish. It feels as wrong as kissing her feels right.

I feel as if another string has unraveled from the tight, ugly ball of twine that is my life. No, fuck it. The ball of twine is me. It’s me, and I’m losing strings. If I keep shedding them and shedding them, there’s going to be nothing left of me.

I always thought I just felt so much sadness that there was no end to it. I didn’t want there to be more, even though adding endlessness to never-ending shouldn’t have been a problem. But it was. It is.

When I leave, Ignacia is going to be holding that string. The memory of her will keep on falling and falling and falling inside the pit within me. It doesn’t matter if it’s bottomless. She’s inside me forever now.

“Ignacia…”

She traces my bottom lip with her tongue and kisses me so gently after that it robs me of speech. “What?” We’re both breathless, and I’m panting. I’m out of control, and that’s the one thing I never, ever give up.

“I can’t give you what you want,” I say weakly.

“Yeah, I know we’re not going to go all the way. Your cock can stay safely where it is. No worries.”

“What?”

“I already expected you to tell me you couldn’t go all the way. I don’t care, Beau. Just finger me, and I’ll finish you off however you want. That can be hot, too.”

Jesus Christ, this woman. Jesus, god, that mouth.

She won’t have to finish me off. At this rate, I’m going to blow my load in my sweats and then straight-up die.

“That’s not what I was going to say.”

“Really?” She circles my nipple with her finger. “Were you going to tell me about your long list of kinks? I draw the line at weird objects doing dangerous things, but I’m pretty open otherwise. You don’t have to be afraid to tell me.”

“I can’t give you what you want,” I repeat. Not in this bed. Although, that would also be for the best. This has gone too far already. “I can’t give you romance. I can’t give you candlelight and snuggles. And I’m never going to be the one you come home to.”

“Err, ummm…” I guess I darned well earned the well, duh look she beams down at me. “I gathered that. I’m also basically a fugitive, and my life is a hot mess. I didn’t expect you’d want to get involved. As for the boyfriend material part, I always thought that was off the table. You’re way too much a by-the-books or by-the-contract kind of dude.”

“Dude?” I sputter indignantly.

“Dude.” Then, she kisses the end of my nose and rolls off of me.

Rolls. Off. Of. Me.

I’m officially going to die because now she’s pulling the blankets around her and turning to face the other direction. Her body language isn’t screaming fuck you, you insensitive prick of an asshole at me, so I just sit here gaping at her quilt-clad back.

My balls are going to need CPR in a second if they get any bluer, but it’s my jaw that’s going to need a crane to pick it up and put it back in place. My dick isn’t in charge, but literally, what the fuck? She’s just going to go to sleep?

I did just tell her I’m not boyfriend material, but she was pretty insistent that we finish what we started, one way or another, and now she’s just going to bed?

This is reverse psychology at its finest. She’s baiting me and playing games. She’s trying to get me so physically worked up that I cave.

But I caved in the barn and told her about me just like that. She doesn’t need games.

I don’t think she’s playing them either. She’s not that kind of person.

“Ignacia?” I call out.

“Do you want a hand job after all, Beau?”

“No.” I grind my teeth. Her washing machine downstairs is probably a sexier prospect at the moment than I am. It also has more emotional intelligence.

“What makes you think I can’t handle myself? Because I got played once? I’ve definitely learned from that. I didn’t just put the moves on you because I’m in the market for a boyfriend or that I need a man to take care of me, or even that I need someone to stand at my side and take care of me. I do thank you for chasing Aiden off, and yes, I have been terrified of him finding me. What I should have gotten was a good dog. The kind that loves me but has a thing against douchebags.”

“I’m not a dog?” I really don’t know what to say right now. I have nothing surly left to hand out, and really, that’s all I ever toss around. It now strikes me what a feral asshole I’ve become.

Actually, I know I’m one but I didn’t realize the extent to which I have become one.

“You’re certainly not a dog. You’re not cute like one, you’re not furry or cuddly, you don’t wag your tail when you’re excited, and you’re not offering any love. Even the most feral animal can likely be tamed with a gentle hand and some patience. But people aren’t like that. We’re not all feral, we’re not all gentle, and we’re certainly not capable of unconditional love, nor should we be. That kind of blindness only ever gets you in trouble. Love just straight-up sucks for people at this intelligence level. Love shouldn’t be one person getting hurt, but often, that’s how it ends up. Sometimes, it’s both people, but usually, it’s one more than the other. Love isn’t equal. You never get what you give. I tend to give all of me, and it’s something I need to learn not to do. It’s a note for the future, but I don’t think I’ll ever need it. Certainly not with you. This wasn’t about dating or candlelight or cuddles. I know you’re basically the human equivalent of the love child of a cactus, a pincushion, a venomous spider, and one of those crazy sawing tools with the reciprocating blade that no one has a hope in all hell of controlling.”

After saying all that, she sighs. I hate that sigh. She’s not wrong about any of it, and for the first time in my life, I want to do better. I want to be better. I don’t want to be hard and unreachable. I don’t want to be untouchable .

“I know I started this, but I thought it could mean something. I hoped it would. Even if it’s not a relationship because neither of us is relationship material, and we’re not ready for that level of commitment with everything going on in our lives. Anyway, don’t worry. You never made me think it could mean anything. It was just me being hopeful,” she continues.

“Ignacia—”

“No, Beau, it’s okay.” She won’t turn and face me, and I have zero right to ask her to. I don’t deserve her trust. I don’t deserve her looking me in the eyes. “It’s really okay. It’s been a night. We should both get some sleep.”

“Ignacia,” I call out again.

“Yes, Beau?” The blankets rustle, and my heart leaps and gallops. But she doesn’t turn. Dejected, it plummets back down to the pit of my stomach and refuses to beat normally.

Great. I’m going to go completely silent now? I had no idea what I was going to say or what would be appropriate for this situation because I’d never been in one like this. There’s never been a time when I so badly crossed every line. Client. Job. Contract. All just about obliterated. So what if we didn’t do the deed? What we did was enough to break down barriers and cross lines inside me and my mental space. I don’t know what to do with that, so what the hell should I say?

That, for a few seconds, I actually felt less lonely, and it wasn’t as horrible as I thought it would be? I’m still a liar, and there’s nothing I can say that would make it better.

Except the truth, but then she’d hate me.

Fucked if I do, fucked if I don’t.

But not in this bed.

Not physically.

Unless it’s the kind of physical pain that comes with the emotions we don’t want to feel and can’t help feeling anyway. Anger. Loneliness. Abandonment. Fear. Grief. Pain. Pain. Pain.

“If you’d like there to be a dick o’clock in the future, just let it mean something,” she whispers. The words are not just huffs under her breath. Rather, it’s a nice whisper.

“Did you just say dick o’clock ?”

The blanket rustles again, and she sinks deeper into the pillows and pulls the quilt up a little bit higher. I’m just here, frozen, because I’m darned well flabbergasted. I have never been so thoroughly told .

“Goodnight, Beau.”