Beauty Dates the Beast (18 page)

I could see that his clothes were soaking wet now. And judging from his expression, that was the last thing on his mind. His hands slid to the low band of my wet panties and then underneath,
caressing my bottom. “Take these off,” he said, his breath hot against my ear and neck, sending shivers through me.

As I protectively cupped my breasts, shyness overwhelmed me. I didn’t want to move my hands, “You do it,” I whispered, an utter thrill shivering through my body at the thought of him sliding them off my body.

His hands slid under the wet lace and began to skim that last bit of fabric slowly down my thighs and calves. His body followed, and I could feel his mouth graze the small of my back. Tingles shot through my body.

“You have the prettiest ass,” he said, cupping it. “So round and soft.”

I shivered at that, and he reached past me and turned the water off. “You’re still cold?”

“I, uh …”

Within seconds, he wrapped a thick towel around me, completely blanketing my nudity. He shoved me out the bathroom door, ignoring the fact that his clothes were dripping water all over the place, and propelled me toward the fire. It crackled and blazed in the fireplace, and he sat me on the brick hearth. Before I could think, he removed my towel. A thick blanket plopped over my shoulders.

Confused, I pulled it around me, then turned around. Beau faced away from me, one whiteknuckled
hand clutching the mantel, his shoulders heaving.

The heat was affecting him, badly.

“Wrap up and sit there until you stop shivering,” he said in a harsh voice.

Obediently, I snuggled into the blanket. It was warm and very welcome, but my heart fluttered at Beau’s obvious distress. Maybe I should have told him that I was shivering due to desire?

The words clamped in my throat as he left the room, stripping off his own wet clothing. I was doing this all wrong. He wanted to seduce me, I
wanted
him to seduce me, but I couldn’t seem to get things started.

When Beau reentered the room dressed in athletic pants, I stared at that golden expanse of muscled chest and my mouth went dry. He moved closer to me and I instinctively raised my face toward his. His fingers brushed against my cheek and he frowned down at me. “You’re still cold. Wait here and I’ll make you some coffee.”

He disappeared again, leaving me vaguely disgruntled. I had been enjoying the shower so very much, and he’d turned mother hen on me. I thought of Beau’s warm hands and his bare chest pressing against mine and wondered if I had the courage to ask him to get under the blankets with me.

Because oh, I really liked the sudden visual in my mind.

So what was I waiting for? Here was a ridiculously hot man that I was crazy over, who wanted to make love to me. Being shy wasn’t going to help me with this.

Beau returned a few minutes later with an enormous coffee mug. Concentration furrowed his brow, but the front of his pants showed that he was still thinking about me despite the polite smile on his lips.

I shook my head when he offered the coffee mug. “My front is cold,” I said, shoring up my courage.

“Turn to face the fire—”

“Then my back will be cold,” I said, trying not to get peevish at him. Crap. I was really bad at flirting. I stared at his bare, delicious chest and opened the blanket a fraction, showing a hint of my bare breasts. “Would you … could you come under the blanket with me?” I thought my cheeks might catch on fire with the blush climbing up my face.

He stilled, those catlike eyes gleaming. “Bathsheba,” he said, his voice a near groan. “I don’t know if I can keep—”

“I know.” I held out one corner of the blanket to him. “Come sit with me.”

He put the coffee mug down and sat next to me, avoiding looking in my direction.

I slid closer to him. His eyes closed and I saw his shoulders tense. Encouraged, I let the blanket drop and placed my hands on his shoulders. When his eyes didn’t open, I placed my leg on the far side of his and slid forward until I straddled him.

He leaned back against the stone and groaned.

I slid forward a little more, rocking my hips against his erection. “Beau,” I said softly. “I’ve dropped my blanket.”

He opened his eyes and looked at my face, so close to his own. Heat was burning in his eyes, dark and full of need. But he leaned over and got the blanket, tucking it around my shoulders as if I’d been a child.

Irritated, I grabbed the corners of the blanket in each hand and wrapped my arms around him. When my breasts pressed against his chest, I forgot everything except the feel of his skin against mine. My nipples ached and my pulse throbbed in my veins. I needed more.

He moved under me, his entire body tense. His hand slipped to the small of my back.

“Hold me against you,” I encouraged, tucking my head against his shoulder. “You’re so warm and I’m so cold.”

A harmless white lie. Right now I wasn’t thinking about the cold at all, but how I could get him to put his hands on me.

He sat up so that his chest pressed against mine. His hands grabbed my ass and pulled me tighter against his hips. It caused my legs to stretch a bit wider, leaving me open and bare against the bulge in his sweatpants. The fabric rubbed against my sensitive skin, sending shock waves through me with the slightest touch.

“Sweet Bathsheba,” Beau said, his hot eyes devouring my face. “I’m sorry about today.”

“It’s okay,” I said, brushing my breasts against his chest and hooking my arms behind him. He was so warm and delicious. “Though for a few minutes there, I was starting to think you were a polar bear and not a cougar.”

His expression was tortured. “I wanted to give you romance.”

“Romance is overrated,” I said, then licked my lips. “You know what else is overrated?”

His gaze was focused on my mouth. “What’s that?”

I leaned in, my tongue tasting the seam of his mouth, flirting with his. “Virginity,” I whispered.

Beau’s mouth pressed fervently against mine as if I’d just unleashed him. “I wanted this to be special for you and I’ve been doing this all wrong.
I’ve never slept with a virgin before. Or a human. I wanted to make this right for you.”

I’d be lying if that didn’t give me a thrill. I brushed my fingers along his jaw, feeling the stubble rasp against my skin. “Beau, this is going to sound terribly corny, but just being here with you feels special. I’ve waited twenty-five years, and I think I’ve waited long enough.”

His response was to grab my hips and press the junction of my legs against the hard erection in his pants. The breath sucked out of my lungs and I closed my eyes, letting the sensation wash over me.

“Look at me, Bathsheba,” Beau said in a low voice. “Don’t close your eyes.”

I opened them and gave him a shy look.

Gone was the tense Beau of the past twenty-four hours. “No need to be bashful with me,” he said, his mouth curving into a slow, sexy grin. “I want to see you looking at me when I touch you.”

I squirmed a little at that thought. It seemed wickedly intimate, but I didn’t avert my eyes.

His hands kneaded my hips gently, his eyes skimming over my body in an intimate caress all its own. I wanted to wriggle or cover my breasts, but I forced myself to remain stock-still, my breath caught as I waited for him to make his move. He looked like a ravenous man trying to decide what delicious thing to eat first at a feast.

His hands slid onto my thighs, stroking up and down the smooth muscle. “Do you know how long I’ve wanted to touch you?”

My mouth quirked. “About five days?”

He chuckled and my nipples hardened in response to the vibrations in his body. “Ever since I laid eyes on you. You had such a serious expression, as if you wanted to discourage me from even thinking about touching you. And I wanted to kiss that frown right off your face.” His hands went to my damp braids and began to undo them, his fingers lacing through the wet plaits until the damp hair cascaded down my back. “And right after I saw this glorious mass of hair I wanted to do this.” He pulled some of it over my shoulder, letting it cover my breasts in a medieval fashion.

“And I wondered about your pretty nipples,” he said, his hands sliding over my waist, skimming my ribs. “Would they be dark and pouty, like your lips? Or pale and delicate, like your skin?”

He was seducing me with words alone, and it was working beautifully. I suddenly needed to touch him, and my hands slid up his arms, feeling the cords of muscles in his triceps.

His thumbs slid forward, grazing over the tips of my nipples, rubbing my long, silky hair between his skin and mine. I gasped at the sensation, my fingers clenching against his arms. “And they’re
pale, just like I imagined. Small, soft, and pink.” Rub rub—the slow motion was going to drive me insane, twin points of madness. “I’ve been dreaming about these beautiful breasts for days, too.” His thumbs slid away.

I made a sound of protest. It felt so good, and made my pulse pound hard inside my body. And I wanted to hear more sweet talk. “What about them?” I breathed, and fought the urge to push my breasts back into his hands.

“How they’d feel in my hands,” he said, and one large hand clasped my left breast, teasing the nipple against his palm in a circular motion. I gasped and my hips rocked against his, echoing that motion.

But he wasn’t finished. “How they’d look with all this sexy hair falling over them,” he said, and brushed my hair aside, exposing the white globes of my breasts. “And how they’d taste in my mouth.” He leaned in and brushed his lips against the sensitive tip of my breast.

I made a strangled sound of pleasure and surprise. I hadn’t expected that to feel quite so good.

Encouraged by my response, he nuzzled at my nipple, teasing the peak with his lips and giving it a soft, playful bite. I arched against his mouth when he pulled away, and my hands wrapped around his shoulders and slid to the back of his neck as I tried to pull him back toward my breasts.

“Do you want me to touch you, Bathsheba?”

My hips rose in response.

He nipped my neck as if he couldn’t stop tasting me. “Tell me what you want.”

The words were shy in my throat. “I want you to … touch me, Beau.”

His hand slid down my belly, stroking my skin. “So you wouldn’t object if I touched you here?” His fingers swirled around my navel. I shook my head.

“Here?” His fingers tangled in the pale curls between my legs, and my leg muscles clenched against his again.

His hot eyes held mine, and then he looked down. “What if I touch you … here?” I watched as his middle finger slid past the curls and disappeared, sliding into the slick folds of flesh, open and exposed by my straddling him.

And then he touched my clit, and my brain nearly exploded. I gasped and shuddered, my fingernails digging into his shoulders and neck. “There,” I gasped, my hips arching. I wanted more from those wonderfully invasive fingers.

His other hand clamped onto my hip, holding me in place, and his fingers circled my clit. I leaned forward against him, breathing hard and fast, my forehead pressed against his. He touched me lightly, fluttering over the most sensitive spot
and then moving away, and I wanted to scream in frustration.

He captured my mouth, swallowed my panting into his own breath. “You’re so slick and wet for me,” he said, and bit at my lower lip. “You’ve touched yourself before, haven’t you? You know just how to touch yourself and give yourself pleasure, don’t you?”

I moaned in response.

“Put your hand over mine, sweet Bathsheba. Show me how to touch you to make you come.”

I stiffened a little. My virgin libido wasn’t quite sure how to take that. I pressed a few more kisses to his mouth, trying to change tactics. But then those fingers fluttered past the sweet spot of my clit once more, not quite hitting the mark, and I groaned, frantically kissing his mouth to show my ardor and need.

“You show me, sweet thing,” he said, his fingers stilling. “Put your hand over mine. Use me.”

I slid a hand over his. His fingers were damp from my body. I looked at him uncertainly, but his gray eyes were heated and he gave me a soft kiss of encouragement, his fingers wiggling against mine in that most sensitive of places. I wrapped my fingers around his hand, his index finger extended, and guided him.

The pad of his finger rubbed against the nub
of my clit, and I pressed harder with his fingers, rubbing in a quick, fast motion. I was so wet with desire that his fingers slid against me too easily, and I forced him to circle slowly, rocking my hips against his hand, increasing the friction.

“Sweet Bathsheba,” he groaned, leaning forward to nip at my breast again. “God, you feel amazing.”

When he kissed my breast, my fingers curled in his hair and pressed his mouth harder to my flesh as I rocked against his other hand, letting his fingers tease my clit, hard.

It was only moments before I shattered, a gasped sob choking out of me. Wave after wave of orgasm hit me and I shuddered against him as he continued to rub at my sex, even though my fingers were clenched against his and could no longer guide him.

After long moments passed, my body slowly unclenched and wound down. A hot flush crept over my face. I had just writhed on top of him like a madwoman.

“Sweet Bathsheba,” he said, his voice husky. “That has to be the hottest damn thing I have ever seen.”

B
eau’s hands gripped my hips again and he picked me up as if I didn’t weigh a thing. Startled, I wrapped my hands around his neck, anchoring my body against his. He tossed my blanket onto the floor and lowered me to it, pinning me between the blanket and his hard flesh. This time, his hips ground against mine in an obvious manner, and the excitement started to build in my body again.

“You’re still dressed,” I said, reaching for his elastic waistband and giving it a tug. “I want to see what I’m getting out of this deal,” I teased.

“You’re awfully frisky now.” The stubble on his face scratched against my jaw as he pressed kisses against me, and I tilted my head to give him better access to the sensitive skin of my neck. “Not shy any longer?”