“Close. Faster, please, baby,” she gasped, but I didn’t pick up speed.
“Not faster,” I objected, lips near her ear. “It’s the slow sex that drives me most wild. It’s when I can feel you best, hear every sound you’re making. I can imagine how we might look beneath the blankets, where I’m moving in you. I think about how many times I’ll make you come. I don’t have all of those thoughts when I’m fucking you hard in a bed, or in a bathroom of a casino.”
Her breath faltered, and she held it, silently begging me to get her there. She ran her hands up my back, around my neck to my face. I felt the cool press of her engagement ring, thinking holy shit, this woman is going to be my wife, have my children, share my home and my life. She’ll see me grow old and most likely insane. She’ll promise to love me through all of it.
I lifted myself above her, arms straight so I could watch what I was feeling, moving inside her. But her hands cupped my face, brought my attention back to her eyes.
“Hey.”
I tried to catch my breath, felt sweat drop from my forehead onto her chest. “Yeah?”
She licked her lips, swallowed. “I am so in love with you.” Her thumb slipped into my mouth and I bit down sharply, causing her to let out a tight moan. “And whatever happens outside of this, of us like this . . .”
“I know.”
We shared a desperate look, a mutual, silent agreement that we would never get enough, that maybe the ideal life was us here like this, alone and touching, but it would never be our reality to exist here exclusively. It was why she crashed my bachelor party but would leave tomorrow. It was why I couldn’t stay away, knowing she was in the same city.
And here she was, limbs heavy and fevered beneath me, hips rising urgently up to mine to get what she needed. She would always belong to me—at home, at work, in bed—and that thought sent me barreling down the road to my release.
She was close, but unfortunately I was closer. “Get there, sweet thing. I . . . I can’t . . .”
Her hands gripped my hips, head pushing back into the pillow. “Please.”
My body tensed, hips thrusting wildly, my orgasm held back by barely a thread. “Fucking get there, Mills.”
It was the voice I used sparingly because I never wanted it to lose its effect on her. With a flush down her chest, she arched off the bed, pulling her thighs high up against her body to send me deep into her. With her lips parting in a sharp cry, she dissolved into her orgasm beneath me.
I’d never tire of the view of Chloe coming. The blush on her skin, the nearly drugged darkness of her eyes as she watched me, and the way her lips shaped my name . . . Every fucking time it reminded me that I was the only man to ever give her pleasure like this. Her arms fell away, heavy with exhaustion, and her tongue peeked out to wet her lips.
“Fuck,” she whispered, shaking.
Relief washed through me, opening the floodgates and permitting my own body to tumble forward, blind to everything but the sensation of her around me. The sweetness of her, the wetness of her . . . My back bowed back as I came, shouting out into the quiet, sterile room.
The sound of my yell echoed from the ceiling when I collapsed onto her, sweaty and heavy. I wanted to nestle my face into the smooth curve of her neck and sleep for at least three days.
She laughed, groaning under my weight. “Get off me, Hulk.”
I rolled away, practically crashing into the mattress beside her. “Damn, Chlo. That was . . .”
She curled into me, purring, “Very, very good.” Stretching to nibble at my jaw, she whispered, “I’m going to need at least ten minutes before we do that again.”
I laughed, and then it turned into a hoarse cough as the idea hit me fully. “Jesus, woman. I may need a bit longer than that. Just fucking cuddle me for a few.”
With a small kiss to my neck, she whispered, “I can’t wait for you to become Mr. Bennett Mills.”
My eyes flew open. “What?”
Her laugh was low and husky against my skin. “You heard me.”
Acknowledgments
Thanks to our agent, Holly Root, to our partners in crime (husbands and kiddos), to our fantastic readers, and to our friends and family who put up with our glassy-eyed stares when we’re mentally plotting another chapter during a lunch date.
Thanks to every single wonderful person at Gallery. Thank you, Jen and Lauren.
And thank you most of all to our editor, Adam Wilson, who appreciates that knickers are best in a bunch.
Hot on the heels of Beautiful Bombshell comes Will’s story.
Will this chronic Casanova finally meet his match in a bookish bombshell?
Take a sneak peek here at the opening chapter of Beautiful Player . . .
Prologue
Hanna