Resolved, I decide there’s no harm in peeking again. I’ve already seen it all. What’s one more glance? I’ll save it in the brain cam for a rainy day.
Easing up like a stealthy ninja, I let out a quiet sigh when I see he’s facing away from me. But the back view is just as good as the front. Or side.
I don’t think Beau Eaton has any bad angles.
But his ass? I could die. Everything about the man is big and coarsely muscled. Scars pepper his skin, but they only add to his appeal. The lines in his back and shoulders ripple as he, I don’t know—spreads mayonnaise on bread?
Never knew spreading condiments on bread could feel sexual, yet here I am experiencing spontaneous ovulation because of naked sandwich making.
It’s making me hungry. But not the food kind. So I stifle a groan and drop back down. Horniness wars with my guilt for drooling over him while he thinks he’s alone. It’s an invasion of his privacy, but my brain cells packed up and left town the minute I got that side shot of him.
I listen to the sounds of him putting everything away. Shutting the fridge. Footsteps leaving the open living space. I might finally be able to breathe again.
But not before his voice cuts through the silent house. “Sugar, there’s a spare bedroom upstairs on the left.”
I have never wanted to keel over and die as badly as I do right now.
Of course, he’d figure out I was here. He probably heard me breathing.
I’m startled enough that I shoot up and watch him walk away, round ass bunching with every step.
“And if you want to see me up close, just knock on the door across the hall and ask.”
And I officially want to die even more than I did a few seconds ago.
I’m embarrassed enough that I skip the guest bedroom and lie on the couch, silently berating myself until I finally fall asleep.
“Hey! Hey!”
Beau’s shouts have me shooting up off the couch. I frantically look around myself, trying to figure out what might be wrong. But the entire house is as he left it when he waltzed out of here on full display.
“Hey!”
I realize he isn’t anywhere close. He’s just shouting at the top of his lungs. In my dopey daze, my first thought was an intruder, but the more my head clears, the more I think an intruder wouldn’t start out on the second floor.
I get up and rush across the smooth stone floors, almost chilled by their coolness. Or by the sound of Beau calling out, “Hey!”
Over and over again.
It starts off loud but becomes more distraught, more defeated the longer it goes on.
I don’t knock on his bedroom door. I push right through to find his large, naked body thrashing on the king-sized bed across the room. The digital clock in the corner shows 2:11 a.m.
The pained moans spilling from his lips make my stomach drop.
He’s having a nightmare. A painful, stressful, frantic nightmare. And I have no idea what to do.
The feeling of helplessness pricks at my eyes as I watch him struggling against thin air, reliving some sort of horror.
And my heart can’t take it.
I might get knocked across the room by a stray limb, but I don’t care.
I approach his bed, calmly chanting, “Beau. Beau. Beau.” I reach out with caution and touch his shoulder. He stills almost instantly but doesn’t wake. “Hey, Beau. I’m here.”
“You’re here.” His voice cracks and he reaches for me. His clammy palm clamps around my arm.
“Yeah. It’s Bailey. I’m here. You’re okay.”
“You’re here,” he says again. This time, his tone bleeds relief. This time, he tugs me toward him.
And I go. I don’t have it in me to resist him right now. As I climb on his bed, my chest aches from his expression—pinched forehead, eyes squeezed shut, and no trace of the humor that painted his handsome features mere hours ago.
With one hand on my arm and one at my waist, he drags me to him, gathering me against his chest.
And very naked body.
But this isn’t sexual.
I’m not sure he recognizes who I am right now, but he holds me like I’m a comfort to him. He holds me like I held my sadly departed stuffed horse.
His thick arms wrap around me as I sprawl over him, head tucked under his chin, listening to the sound of his heartbeat.
I can feel the bulge of his cock, firm but not hard, against my inner thigh where my shorts have ridden up.
I can feel his chest hair against my bare breasts where my flimsy crop top has been displaced.
I can feel his deep breaths, his lungs filling and emptying, making me rise and fall in time as though I’m riding a wave while he catches his breath.
“What time is it, Bailey?” His voice is all gravel, his hold not loosening.
I peek over my shoulder at the clock. “Two twelve.”
One of his palms slides up the column of my spine to cup the back of my head. “Good.”
Then I feel him kiss my hair.
17
Beau
I shouldn’t have dragged her into my arms. Not when we’re here, alone, in the dark.
Not when I’m unraveled the way I am right now.
Not when I can’t blame it on being for show.
Not when I want to do so much—
Bailey’s head turns and her lips dust across the hollow at the base of my throat. I swallow, Adam’s apple working as she kisses just below it again. Puffy lips press against my chest.
Awareness trickles in as her nipples harden and point against my chest.
I should stop.
My hand slides down her firm back, toned from long hours spent working, and my fingers dust over the thick elastic waistband that they meet.
I should stop.
She kisses me again. Same spot. But her tongue darts against my skin this time. Her back arches, pushing her tits down and her ass up.
“Fuck,” the word is a breath, a hushed curse marking me, knowing I’m about to go too far.
I should stop.
My hand travels further, and I grip her ass. It’s more than just fabric. The shorts have shifted, and it’s smooth skin. My fingers dig in, the tips of them dangerously close to where no man has gone before.
It’s her fucking moan as she presses herself back into my grip that nearly undoes me.
“Bailey.” I’m too keyed up. She’s too close. Feels too good. Smells too delicious.
She inches down, strands of her hair slipping through my fingers as she kisses lower on my chest. My hand is still kneading the flesh of her ass when she whispers, “Are you okay?”
“No,” I grit out. My dick swells at the nearness of her, the smell, the weight. The way she’s just here in the wake of me totally freaking out.
“Me neither.” Her hot breath fans against my chest.
I realize I’m holding her in place, one hand gripping her ass, the other with a fist full of her hair. My cock goes rock-hard faster than I can fight it off. The thought of filling her with it is more present than ever.
“Tell me how to make you feel okay,” I say, my voice rumbling across the top of her head. She hasn’t lifted her face, hasn’t chanced looking me in the eye.
I think we both might think more clearly if she did.
“Don’t stop touching me.”
My head tips back and I groan. The things this girl says.
Her lips move over my chest again. “How can I make you feel okay?” Her ass lifts higher, knees pushing into the bed on either side of my body. Begging me to explore her.
While I turn her question over in my mind, I let my hands roam along the smooth skin down the back of her thigh to the crook of her knee that she’s pushed up onto while straddling me. My nails rake over the skin of her inner thigh, tiny bumps crop up in their wake.
“Bailey … I should stop.” I say it out loud, the warning sign that’s been flashing in my head for the past several minutes.
Stopping feels like it would be pure torture right now, but I’d do it.
I should do it.
“No. Please.” The words rush from her, breathy and desperate. “Please don’t stop.”