Easy Magic (Boudreaux #5)

“Good. Lift your hips.” I comply, and he slips a pillow under them, tilting my pelvis up. I’m sure he’s going to start kissing me there, but instead I feel his fingers gently pet me, slipping through the wet lips, and then he’s inside me, thrusting in and out at a hard pace. “You’re so fucking tight.”


“You’re so fucking hard,” I reply and clutch the bedsheets in my fists above my head so I don’t try to reach out and touch him. This isn’t going to last long, for either of us.

He pulls out, then flips me over, jerking my hips into the air and slips back inside me once more. His hands are firmly holding my hips, controlling the speed and the depth of his lovemaking. He slips his thumb down the crack of my ass and lays it lightly over my anus, barely touching me, but it’s enough to send me into overdrive.

“Fuck,” I groan.

“Too much?”

“No.” I shake my head. “Don’t stop.”

Not only does he not stop, he picks up the pace, thrusting harder and harder, until all I can do is cry out with my climax, and smile as he also cries out, then kisses his way up my spine until he reaches my neck.

“We’re not done.”

“No?”

“No.” He takes the blindfold off and collapses next to me, brushes my hair off my face, and I’m finally able to look around.

It’s all a mess. My hair, the bed, my thoughts.

Life.

It’s a wonderful, glorious mess.





Chapter Eleven


Mallory

The blue scarf is tied around my head, holding my hair back from the whirl of the wind as Beau drives me down Interstate 1, from Miami to Key West.

“How long will we be over the water?” I ask again, slipping my sunglasses on.

“For a while,” he replies and squeezes my hand, as if to comfort me.

“That’s not natural,” I reply and take a deep breath. “What if the bridge gives out?”

“It won’t,” he says.

“How do you know?” I demand.

“Well, I’m quite sure it was engineered by intelligent people, not to mention, it’s been here for a long time, and it’s designed to not give out.”

“All bridges are designed to not give out. Doesn’t mean they don’t.”

He squeezes my hand again and tosses me a cocky smile. “Take a breath and enjoy the view, sugar. Most people don’t ever get a 360 degree view of the ocean without being on a boat or in a plane.”

“It is pretty,” I concede and watch the water zoom past us. Beau rented a convertible Mercedes. At least, I assume he rented it. It was waiting for us at the airport this morning. I settle back against the soft leather seat and watch as a school of dolphins swim past, as if they’re popping up out of the water to say hello. “I’ve never seen dolphins before.”

“You’ll see plenty of them this weekend,” he replies. “Our cottage is on the beach.”

“Thank you for bringing me,” I say for the fiftieth time since this morning. We’ve only been gone for nine hours, but every part of this trip has been something new and fun. Riding in the private jet, being sent shopping with his credit card while he was in a meeting—even though I didn’t buy anything, and now driving down to a cottage on the beach in Key West.

“Thank you for coming along. I know it’s not easy to drop everything on a moment’s notice.”

“It wasn’t as difficult as I thought it would be. Shelly and Lena jumped at the chance to cover for me.” I smirk. “I guess I needed a little time away more than I realized.”

“Is there anything specific you’d like to do while we’re here?”

“I’ve always heard of Ernest Hemingway’s house, and all of his polydactyl cats. I’d like to see that.”

He smiles over at me, then turns his gaze back to the highway.

“I know, not a very sexy thing to do. I’m a book nerd.”

“You are?” He grins, surprised.

“Oh yeah. The things I’ve seen are nothing compared to what’s in fiction.”

“And I have a feeling that you’ve seen quite a bit.”

I smile and shrug, enjoying the way the wind feels on my face, and not doing too bad at forgetting that I’m hovering over the deep, blue ocean.

“I’ve seen my fair share. But it’s fun to lose myself in a book. I just don’t get the chance to as often as I’d like.”

“Okay, Hemingway’s house is on the list. What else?”

“Why do I have to make all of the decisions?”

“Because this weekend is for you.”

I blink and glance over at him as he switches lanes, enjoying his sharp jawline and the way the wind ruffles through his thick, dark hair.

“I thought it was a work weekend?” I shift in my seat, facing him.

“It was a work day,” he says and smiles over at me, making my heart lurch just a bit. “And then you agreed to join me, making the rest of the time about you.”

“Hmm.” I don’t know what else to say. I don’t know if there’s ever been a time in my life that a man has made anything about me. And I don’t know if that reflects on me, or the men I’ve been with in the past.

“What are you thinking?” Beau asks.

“That I don’t know what else to put on our list.”

He pulls my hand up to his lips, still watching the road. “Well, you just think about it and let me know. We don’t have to do anything at all, if you don’t want to. We can sit on the beach and soak up some sun all weekend.”

“Well, I think at least one day of that is important,” I reply, thankful that I found a super cute swimsuit to bring with us.

“I was thinking that we could take a short cruise this evening.”

“Like, on a big cruise ship?”

“No, on a sailboat. We keep one down here.”

“We do?”

“The family.”

“Wait. You didn’t rent the cottage, did you?”

He shakes his head. “No, we own it.”

“Your family owns it.”

“Yes.” He frowns over at me. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” I sigh and tip my face up to the sunshine. “I’m just still getting used to how wealthy you are. You’re down to earth, fun, sexy, and then we go somewhere or you say something, and it’s like a glass of cool water in my face.”

“The money is just a result of generations of hard work,” he says reasonably, completely comfortable with this conversation.

“I understand that, and I don’t begrudge you or your family your wealth. That’s not what I mean at all. I just come from a very different background, so it’s new to me.”

“That’s just one more reason that I’m so attracted to you,” he replies.

“You’re attracted to me because I grew up poor?”

He smirks. “No. I’m attracted to you because the money isn’t what attracts you to me.”

“Well, it doesn’t suck,” I say, teasing him. “But no. I think that I would be intrigued by you whatever your tax bracket was.”

“So back to the subject at hand, how do you feel about the sailboat idea?”

“I’ll try anything once,” I reply and brush my fingers over the scarf on my head, remembering all the ways the pretty blue material could be used. He glances over and laughs.

“That’s an excellent outlook, sugar.”

***