In His Keeping (Slow Burn #2) (21 page)

But she drew absurd pleasure from the fact that she was his first anything. However, realization dawned that he seemed baffled by the fun aspect.

“Sex isn’t supposed to be fun?” she asked in puzzlement.

“Oh yeah. It is,” he said, his voice laced with satisfaction. “You make a compelling argument for it being
very
fun. It’s just that I’ve been called brooding and intense and supposedly chicks are into that. I can’t say I’ve ever laughed while having sex. But you’re so damn cute.”

He chuckled as he said the last and nudged her chin affectionately and then pushed his hips, wedging himself deeper, momentarily rendering her speechless as euphoria swamped her. She danced along a razor’s edge, the very thin line between pleasure and pain as his fullness invaded her, stretched her.

Her inner walls rippled and clutched greedily at him, trying to prevent him from withdrawing each time he began easing back. She no longer cared about the vague discomfort because the sensual haze surrounding her, whispering through her veins, was as potent as any drug ever manufactured.

“You undo me,” he whispered as his lips brushed against her ears. Said so lightly that she wasn’t sure whether she’d truly heard them or if she’d merely imagined them.

She clutched the back of his neck and pulled him to meet her mouth, sucking his tongue inward just like her body sucked his cock deeper and deeper with every thrust.

“Need to get you off,” he said gruffly. “I want you there when I come. I want to watch you experience it all for the first time.”

Finally.

He was going to give in to her desperate need. He was finally going to give her the relief she needed so badly. Her insides clenched in anticipation and he groaned, a raw, tormented sound of a man at his very limit.

“Tell me what you need,” Beau demanded. “Let me get you there, honey.”

“I don’t know!” she cried. “Just don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”

Every muscle, every nerve ending, every single cell in her body was taut, tension coiling about to . . . almost . . . oh God, it was happening.

She hurtled through the air, the rush so exhilarating that it was akin to a downhill ski race, slick like snow, out of control. Faster and faster. Higher and higher.

The room blurred around her. The bed shook. There was a faint thudding sound that grew louder and the bed vibrated beneath her while Beau thrust into her from above, driving her deeper into the bed, covering her like a blanket with himself. Skin to skin. No barriers. No separation. Just time standing still for one brief moment when everything else drifted away and nothing or no one could intrude, could break the tangible connection between heart, mind and soul.

He filled her. Not just her body. He completely and utterly filled her. Her heart. Her soul. He filled her with hope. With confidence. With the knowledge he wouldn’t fail her. That he’d protect her from the outside world and would shelter her from the storms of life.

Her small hands pressed into his shoulders, her fingers curling and turning white at the tips as she held on for dear life. A painting that hung on the wall came sharply into focus and she stared because either it was a lot lower than it had been before or she was much higher.

It was then she realized the entire bed was levitating. Laughter escaped her.

“You’re not supposed to laugh right after a man just gave you the best orgasm of your life,” Beau said dryly.

His eyes gleamed with mischief, telling her he’d been intentionally arrogant in his assumption. But he was also right.

She grinned up at him. “I feel like we’re in
The Exorcist.
You know, the whole bed levitating bit.”

He kissed her, the soft smooching sound echoing softly through her ears.

“Or maybe we just rocked it so hard that our sexual energy was raising the roof. Literally.”

Her shoulders shook and then she hugged him to her just as the bed settled gently back onto the floor, jarring them just enough that it shook her hold on him. Her smile was likely permanent now. Never in a million years had she imagined her first time to be so earth-shattering, and her expectations had been high. And wrong, for that matter.

So good fiction was apparently just that. Fiction. At first she’d felt extremely let down, and well, she’d felt stupid and naïve. But Beau hadn’t laughed at her. He’d laughed because of her. Because she’d made sex fun for him. On a hotness scale, she wasn’t sure where “fun” rated, but it did odd little things to her heart to know that she’d somehow been special to him. Not just another woman in what was undoubtedly a really long line. Men like Beau never had to worry about forced celibacy. If anything he likely had to beat them back with a stick. And yet he’d chosen her.

That falsification jolted her back to awareness and her “permanent” smile just went south. She glanced up at his passion-laced eyes, uncertainty, something definitely not new to her, crowding in and dimming the aftershocks of something truly wonderful.

Beau’s body came down over her, concern flaring in his eyes. “Ari? Did I hurt you again? Was I too rough?”

“No,” she hastened to assure him. “I was just being silly. It’s nothing to worry over. It was wonderful.”

She was absolutely sincere in that regard. But Beau continued to study her intently, his stare probing, looking beyond the denial she’d hurriedly issued.

He bore his weight with one arm pressed into the mattress so he wasn’t too heavy and he had shifted his weight to her uninjured side so no pressure was exerted on the wound. With his free hand, he smoothed several wild strands of hair that lay haphazardly over her damp, flushed cheek.

“What were you thinking?” he softly prompted.

She sighed and made a face. “I’m not the most self-assured person and you’re going to think me completely absurd. But I was thinking about the fact that I was actually something special or at least unique to you. Because you said I was the first you had fun with. Then the thought expanded to the idea that men like you never have to worry about enforced celibacy and in fact you likely have to beat back the women wanting to get with you.”

She bit her lip, loathing having to admit the last. It was one thing to harbor secret thoughts. They were her own and she never had to worry that anyone would know her weaknesses. But Beau wanted access to those thoughts and the idea gave her hives.

His expression was still puzzled but he stared pointedly at her, obviously waiting for her response, and just as obviously
knowing
there was more.

“I got this really giddy feeling like a sixteen-year-old high school girl who just got asked to prom by the hottest guy in school. I thought to myself he could have his pick of women and he chose
me
. As soon as the thought came to me, I realized that you
didn’t
choose me. I threw myself at you, all but begged you to have sex with me and then made you feel guilty for turning me down. Basically making this a pity fuck . . .”

She flinched at her choice of words. They sounded stark and crude and she was surprised by them. That she’d actually voiced the last bit. The expression had wafted through her mind just as she’d mentioned him turning her down and just spilled out before she could think better of using it, and now she was ashamed at her language because regardless of his reasons for making love to her, it had been beautiful, soul-stirring, and she’d reduced it to a crude euphemism.

“
Pity fuck
?”

The words sounded strangled. Anger radiated from him in strong surges and she immediately regretted blurting out her thoughts in a single unguarded moment, a mistake she couldn’t take back and one that could very well completely wipe out an exquisite coming together of hearts and souls.

“Do you honestly not see yourself?” he asked incredulously.

He shocked the crap out of her by easing out of her aching, hypersensitive, swollen tissues and then simply scooped her up and carried her into the bathroom. Naked.

He gently set her down in front of the mirror and stood behind her, forcing her to look at her reflection. Color stained her cheeks as she took in her disheveled appearance.

She had the look of a woman who’d just been thoroughly made love to. Lips swollen. Eyes still glazed from the remnants of her mind-blowing orgasm and yet they glowed brightly, making them appear particularly brilliant in the lower lighting the bathroom cast.

He framed her body between his hands, one on either side of her, allowing his palms to roam freely up and down her and over her curves, to her breasts, holding them from underneath, thrusting them upward so there was no possible way not to see the puckered, taut crests, also swollen from his tender ministrations.

“You’re beautiful,” he said hoarsely. “But you’re the
most
beautiful in a way you probably don’t think. I’d say it’s obvious you don’t see yourself the way I do. The heart of you.”

He laid his hand over her chest, splaying his fingers possessively.

“Let me tell you what
I
see.”

She held her breath, yearning. So filled with hope and yet afraid to allow herself even a kernel of it when she could so easily be crushed by his rejection of her.

“I see a beautiful, loyal, brave young woman who places the people she loves before herself and her own safety. Not many people would be as selfless as you are. You gave me a gift, Ari. Do you realize how humbled and absolutely gutted I was that you chose
me
to be your first? And yet you don’t think I chose
you
? That I gave you a goddamn
pity fuck
?”

She winced upon hearing her words thrown back at her again. Because now, in light of his reaction, and all that he was doing in an attempt to reassure her, it would look as though she’d been chasing compliments from him. Ultimate female manipulation. And it made her cringe, not to mention feel hugely embarrassed and if possible, even more self-conscious.

“Not only do you sell yourself short and do yourself a huge disservice, but you do the same to me to even suggest I’d use
my
body as an object of pity. That I would pour my
soul
into making love to you, as you
deserve
to be made love to. I get that you struggle with confidence. But do not ever show yourself such disrespect in my hearing—or any damn time for that matter. Because you’ll just piss me the hell off.”

She swallowed and slowly nodded just as he leaned in to nuzzle her neck. Even as ultrasensitive as she was after her orgasm, her body reacted violently to his touch. To the sizzling heat that erupted between them when they got into touching range.

He rained kisses down the entire curve of her neck until he got to the top of her shoulder and then he simply pulled her backward, her back flush against his chest, and he wrapped his arms securely around her.

Their reflection presented such an intimate, erotic, picture in the mirror that she instantly committed it to memory, never wanting this memory to fade, to always be able to bring it sharply back into focus. Because it was one she’d never forget. A night of so many firsts for her.

He rested his chin atop her head, staring directly at her in the mirror, his gaze seeking. Evidently satisfied by what he found or that at the very least he had found what it was he was looking for in her expression, he gave her one last squeeze and then turned her around so she faced him.

He cupped her chin, his thumb whispering over her cheek. There was no anger or judgment in his dark eyes. Just unwavering resolve. Comfort and warmth spread through her limbs, infused into her bloodstream and rapidly pumped to the rest of her body. Euphoria once again wrapped her in its intoxicating embrace and she relaxed in his hold, allowing her body to mold itself to his. A perfect fit.

“Look at the mirror, Ari,” he murmured, his lips brushing the hair just behind the shell of her ear. “See how beautiful you are. Really see.”

Reluctantly, she turned and complied with his gentle request and what she saw surprised her as she looked at herself through objective eyes, as though it weren’t her, but another woman. It was as if it were the first time she saw herself without the self-imposed filter.

She looked . . . beautiful. More importantly, Beau made her feel beautiful. And desirable. Like a woman he chose, not someone he was “talked” into making love to. Now, away from that vulnerable moment when she’d been stripped bare and was so raw and exposed from the power of their lovemaking, she knew just how ridiculous her original thought—fear—had been.

Beau was not a man easily manipulated. For that matter manipulated at all—by anyone.

She wanted to apologize, but it would only make things worse and that the best thing she could do was simply acknowledge what he saw and what she now saw.

A beautiful, thoroughly made love to woman who’d just lost a piece of her heart to a man she’d only known for a very short amount of time. But at the same time, she felt as though she’d been waiting for this moment her entire life.

EIGHTEEN

BEAU
quietly left the warmth of his bed the next morning, glancing at Ari every so often to ensure he didn’t wake her. She needed rest, and well, he needed . . . distance. Objectivity. Because the night before had permanently altered the course of his relationship—his supposedly objective, professional relationship—to a woman he damn well should have kept his hands—and various other parts of his body—off of. Maintained a strict level of professionalism. Not compromising his perspective and preserving the contractor/client strict level of impartiality.

Hell, who was he kidding, though. He might think he needed to distance himself, and he might acknowledge that’s what he
should
do, but it sure as hell wasn’t what he wanted, and he was at least honest enough with himself that he wouldn’t make up excuses or try to rationalize his breach in the professional code of conduct he and Caleb insisted their security specialists maintain at all times.

He was a flaming hypocrite and he didn’t give a flying fuck. Which meant he was in way over his head.