Giving It Up: Pushing the Boundaries, Book 1 (12 page)

And it made her want to see Warren.

She was too keyed up to sleep, but even so, she slipped out of her clothes and was about to put on a nightgown when she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. Nana had said that Beatrice was always looking at life through the lens of a camera…

But after tonight, after making up her mind to step away from being a passive observer and actually be a part of something, it made her wonder what it would be like if she turned the camera on herself.

She pulled out her equipment and set it up, arranging the lighting as best she could in her tiny studio. She sat on the couch with the shutter remote and took a deep breath.

If she took a single photo of herself, what kind of person would she see in the frame? What did Warren see when he looked at her?

God, he was sexy. It had been almost impossible to stop touching him today in the restaurant. She’d wanted him to come. She’d wanted to take him home and let him slip between her thighs. But in the end, she’d wanted to
know
him more than anything, and she’d been annoyed he wouldn’t share himself with her despite their increasing intimacy.

Still, she regretted the missed opportunity. These past encounters with Warren had been heady, but had left her in need of her own release.

If he were here now, with no agreement between them, she’d want him to kiss her.

She leaned her head over the back of the couch. She would offer him her neck, like this, and he would kiss a trail down it…

She hit the button on the remote that released the shutter, and she heard the click of the photo being taken.

He would slide back up and kiss her mouth, gently, before continuing down to her breasts, taking one nipple in his mouth. She lifted her free hand to one breast and gently massaged the plump flesh, imagining his tongue there, slipping over her skin…

Click.

Her hand roamed down, over the soft skin of her belly.
Click.
A finger dipped into her navel.
Click.
Teased at the top of the curls between her thighs.
Click.

She began to touch herself, fingers sliding between her legs as she continued to take photos, pretending it was Warren’s gaze she was capturing, thinking about the way he would touch her that would show him the parts of her he wanted most to see.

That she wanted so much to show him.

“Warren.” She rasped out his name to the empty room, but the sound of it alone spurred her to move her fingers faster, slicking them with her own arousal as she moved them over her opening. What if he were here, touching her like this? Would he slide one finger inside? Two? Or maybe he would tease her for longer, drawing out the need.

No matter what, he would be focused on her. She knew that at least. Warren Davis didn’t do anything by halves. But maybe he’d want her to be above him, taking the lead as he watched her from below. As she sank down on his big cock and—

Ring!

Beatrice gasped at the sound of her phone, pulling a couch cushion over her body to cover herself by reflex.

Ring!

Goodness, she was ridiculous. She dropped the cushion and stumbled to her phone, still trying to get her body to catch up with reality.

Who was calling her at ten o’clock on a weeknight?

She grabbed her phone and looked at the screen. It was a local number, but it wasn’t anyone she knew. Not that that meant much. Sometimes, when there was a breaking story that needed camera coverage, the editor-in-chief would call her from any available phone.

Though she wasn’t quite in the mood to go chasing down a story right now.

She swiped the call and lifted the phone to her ear. “Hello?”

“Beatrice?”

Oh God. She recognized that voice. All the things she had been imagining crowded back into her mind, making her hot and breathless.

“Warren.”

There was a moment’s pause. “Am I getting you at a bad time?”

“No. I was…”
Don’t lie.
“I was thinking about you.”

A sound like a muffled groan came through the receiver. “What were you thinking?” His voice had dropped, like earlier today, and she felt her nipples harden at the thought that he might be as turned on right now as she was.

“First tell me why you called.”

There was a pause, but he must have realized he wasn’t going to get her to budge, because he spoke again. “I, uh—I know we talked about pushing out the Wednesday evenings, but my schedule got a little more complicated. I wanted to see if we could get together this Friday, instead, since I was…busy…tonight.”

The way he said it made it sound like he was preemptively avoiding telling her anything personal. She hated how he wouldn’t tell her what was going in his life. Usually, she could ask Nina for information, but Nina was on her honeymoon.

Besides, now that she knew him, cared about him, it felt too personal to be prying in Warren’s life. She wanted to hear it from him.

She wanted him to trust her.

And she didn’t think giving in and seeing him tomorrow, the way he framed it—
if we could get together on Friday
—would bring them any closer.

“No.” She walked back to the couch and sank down, imagining again that Warren was there, and she was commanding him in a way that she couldn’t do in real life. But this time, she could hear him too. His real voice, that sexy baritone…

She stared at the camera for a second, then put the phone on speaker and set it on the cushion next to her. Then she picked up the remote from the cushion where she’d set it before, and spread her legs wide.

Then clicked the shutter.

Oh God, did I really do that?

She felt emboldened and alarmed at the same time by her daring.

“We’ll
get together
on Wednesday, like we discussed earlier,” she told him.
Unless you tell me what’s going on and let me into your life.

He sighed, loudly enough that it clearly came through the phone. “Okay.”

She closed her eyes for a moment, feeling hurt he wouldn’t open up to her. But that was his choice, and like she had seen with her mother, control was only as strong as the permission one was granted
to
control. She couldn’t force him to tell her, and she wouldn’t actually coerce him. No matter how many deals she struck in her mind—like sharing his life in exchange for seeing her—she wouldn’t hold that over his head.

“Now your turn.”

Yes. She had agreed to tell him what she’d been thinking about him. “I was thinking about you touching me. Now I’m thinking about you licking between my legs.”

Damn, she couldn’t believe she’d actually said it. Blurted it out, really, while spreading her legs even wider, making room for Warren’s imaginary mouth, the hot, firm pressure of his tongue. She set down the remote and cupped her hand over her mound, trying to relieve the ache.

“Fuck.” The word was filthy. Angry. Desperate. “Beatrice, we—”

He sounded like he was going to say,
We can’t do this
. But she wasn’t about to let that happen. “We’re not in a session. You’re not paying me for this.”

There was a pause, and then, “Hold on.”

Through the phone, she heard the sound of walking, and then a door shutting and locking. His voice came back on. “Do you like it?”

Goodness.
Had he shut himself away somewhere so he could do what she was doing? The thought of him taking hold of himself, the way she’d done to him earlier today, and stroking until he came…

“Yes.” She gasped out the word, her fingers pressing against the sides of her opening, rubbing over her clit, working frantically already. She was too keyed up to go slowly. “It’s so good. I want it so much.”

A low groan erupted through the phone. “Shit, baby. You’re killing me.”

“Are you touching yourself?” It was too direct for her, but it was what she wanted to know. She wasn’t going to hide her desire. They already had the phone screening them. She wanted to see him. She wanted him to know. She picked up the remote again, her hand working between her legs the entire time.

“Yeah.” He sounded like he regretted it and enjoyed it at the same time. “I’ve got my dick in my hand and I’m about to fucking come.”

Oh Lord. Simple, primitive words, but somehow they were mind-blowingly sexy. She clicked the shutter several times as her hips bucked up into her hand, and her head went back.

“I’m taking pictures of myself, Warren. I’ve got two fingers inside of me and I’m photographing it. I’m imagining the camera is you. I’m imagining my fingers are yours. I want—”

“Fuck. I’m coming. I’m coming. Oh shit I’m coming.” His words were fast and harsh, and melted into quiet grunts. The sound of it pushed her over the edge, and made the shutter go wild as her body convulsed with her climax, every click shocking her even deeper into her orgasm.

When she finally came back to herself, she was at least grateful she hadn’t finished what she’d been about to say before he interrupted her.
I want you
, was what she would have said, and even though she could have pretended it was something she’d blurted out in the heat of the moment, she wouldn’t have.

I want you.

She still wanted to say it. It was right there on the tip of her tongue. But it wouldn’t be right. It would tip the scales too far in his favor, and that wasn’t what
he
wanted, in the end.

So instead, she simply said, “Good night, Warren,” and ended the call.

Chapter Thirteen

Holy shit.

Warren dropped the phone on the bed next to him and stared down at the mess he’d made into his hand. He couldn’t believe he’d come so fast from just a phone call with a woman he wasn’t even dating.

But damn, he wanted to be dating her. He wanted to do those things she’d told him about. He wanted to plunge between her legs and watch her face when she came. She said she was taking pictures of herself. What did she look like when she climaxed? He wanted to see those photos. He wanted to look at them and remember this night and—

Shit. His cock was already getting hard again.

He blew out a breath and grabbed some tissues from his bedside table. He couldn’t spend all night jerking off in his room like some teenage boy who’d snuck a
Penthouse
magazine under his mattress. He needed to get some sleep. He had to work again tomorrow, and he’d spent the past few hours helping Mom set up the medical bed they’d rented and move furniture around. He was exhausted.

Plus, he had a detail job tomorrow evening, to try to bring in some more money. Luckily, Mom had Dad on her insurance policy, and a lot of this stuff they’d gotten paid for, but Warren couldn’t help but be worried. He didn’t want to take the chance they might not have enough to pay for some emergency in the future. Things were stretched pretty thin as it was.

He groaned and stood up, tossing the tissues in his trash can and changing into a clean T-shirt and boxers before getting into bed. The house was quiet, and despite the excitement of that call with Beatrice, he quickly fell asleep.

* * * * *

The next day was bruising. They got a tip on a chop shop in one of the worst districts of town, and he and the guys had to armor up and storm the building. After exchanging several rounds of live fire with some guys who looked like they’d vowed not to leave the place except on a gurney, the team had finally taken over and caught five criminals responsible for multiple auto thefts in Greenbriar.

And then he’d had to push the whole scene out of his mind while he went from that to a traffic detail, a boring, mindless rotation of directing cars around a tree removal truck. His life was like a seesaw, moving from completely insane to mind-numbingly boring with the slightest push. And the only thoughts that kept him from going crazy were ones about Beatrice.

She’d been thinking about him when he’d called her last night. No. More than that. She’d been thinking about him licking her. She’d been touching herself. She’d been taking pictures of it.

All while imagining him.

He’d never had a woman do something like that for him.

He scoffed at himself.

That didn’t mean anything. Just because she wanted him physically shouldn’t make him feel like he was anything special.

Except he did. On a day like today, a mere hug from Beatrice—a physical comfort—would mean everything.

Shit. He should never have gotten involved with her. He should have used Queen Dommes and kept it impersonal.

Although he was willing to bet now that it wouldn’t have been nearly as satisfying. Part of him even believed he would still be feeling that same, restless unhappiness as he had before he’d started seeing Beatrice. He’d dreamt of her in his life long before Queen Dommes was ever a thought, and she seemed to give him exactly what he needed, something that was more like comfort and care than dominance.

Kisses, too. Hell, she gave some incredible kisses. And hand jobs and—

Shit. Better stop thinking about her or you might end up causing an accident.

All he knew was she’d changed everything, and that kind of change was risky.

It was past eight o’clock when the detail job finished. He’d been on his feet all day and now he had to go home to whatever needs awaited him, and he was sure there would be many.

Would it be wrong to call Beatrice, just to talk?

Yes.

Because he couldn’t give her more than that. He had to make peace with having her for a few more weeks, and then it would be over, and he’d go back to making it through life one day at a time. He’d been doing it for years, after all. And yet suddenly it felt like not enough.

You’re fooling yourself into thinking you can have it all.

“Bullshit,” he said aloud, speaking into the silence of his car as he drove home. He didn’t want it all.

He wanted Beatrice.

* * * * *

“We’re heading to The Clipper. You coming?” Donahue appeared next to Warren’s locker at the end of the day on Friday. Thank God things had been easy today. Dad had adjusted well to being back home and the doctor thought he’d be up and about again within a week at most. Nate had stepped up too and, in addition to his other chores, was helping out wherever else he could.

At some point yesterday, Mom had even told Warren to get out of the house and stop hovering, since they had it all under control.

It had felt…strange. He hadn’t been quite sure how to handle it, so he’d gone outside to sit on the porch and think in silence, and he’d had to work hard to resist calling Beatrice. She’d said no to seeing him tonight, after all. Probably had plans. He wondered if she’d be on a date with some other guy. If she’d kiss someone else and touch someone else the way she’d touched him…

A drink or five sounded really good right now.

Not that he’d actually ever drink to excess. He couldn’t take that risk.

He shut his locker. “Yeah. I’m coming.” They often went to the dive bar after work, but it had been a while since he’d been able to go.

“Sure you don’t need to call your mommy first and make sure it’s okay?” Donahue grinned.

Warren huffed in exasperation. “What the fuck do women see in you?”

Donahue laughed as they filed out the door. “Why, you want some pointers? You don’t have time for women, remember?”

Warren scowled, which only made Donahue laugh harder. And once they were at the bar, he didn’t waste any time.

“Y’know, for all your talk about not having room in your schedule for a relationship, you don’t seem like a guy who has too much shit going on. I mean, your dad is out of the hospital and that must have been stressful as hell, but you’re taking it pretty well. You have time to come out for a drink, anyway, so that means something.” Donahue humphed. “But even before this shit with your pops, you haven’t been the same asshole Davis. Something’s different about you. What’s up?”

Goddamn.
Donahue was like a mind reader sometimes. It was like he had a woman’s intuition paired with a man’s complete lack of tact. But Warren didn’t want him to guess about Beatrice. He shrugged. “Kelly’s been picking up a little of the slack and Nate’s helping too.”

Which was half the truth, anyway. Nate
was
helping more, even if that had only started yesterday. And now that Kelly had dropped out of her degree program—again—he was planning to talk to her about taking on more responsibility at home. He knew she was tired—they all were—but if her teenage son could do it without complaint, so could she.

It would free Warren up to do other things here and there, like kiss a beautiful girl in her bed while she brought him to orgasm with her hand.

But a man couldn’t build a life one hour at a time.

Warren gave Donahue the fiercest scowl he had, but Donahue gave him a strange look. At least he didn’t say anything else.
Thank God.

“You’ve got a good family, Davis.” Brewer half lifted his glass in a casual salute. “At least none of you guys is a meth head, like my brother.” He shook his head, but then grinned and smacked Donahue on the back. “And we all know Donahue fell from the sky.”

Donahue laughed good-naturedly, but didn’t bother responding otherwise. For all that they were partners and spent a lot of time in the car together, Donahue was still a mystery in a lot of ways. All Warren knew was the guy had spent most of his young life in foster care, then was turned out on his own the day after his eighteenth birthday. He could be scathing and cynical, but the truth was he was more sensitive and warm-hearted than anyone else Warren knew.

He just hid it well.

Really well.

“That means I lucked out,” teased Donahue. “I don’t have to put up with being nagged about not being married—” Brewer snorted, since his mother was constantly on his case about not having a girlfriend, “—or be treated like a second-class citizen for being a girl, like that chick Beatrice.”

Beatrice?

Warren tensed. “What do you mean?”

Donahue took a sip of his beer, studying Warren. His movements were casual, but Warren wasn’t fooled. Donahue
knew
. Or at least suspected.

“Yeah, I was talking to Nina one time about it. She said Beatrice turned her back on her really conservative, father-knows-best kind of family. They’re supposedly pretty narrow-minded and don’t agree with her choice to have a job and live alone. Nina said she was really brave to break out of that, since it meant going it alone starting from when she was eighteen. I mean, we all know Beatrice is still shy, but at least she doesn’t take shit from anyone.”

Donahue had discerned all of that? Had he asked Nina about Beatrice, or had Nina volunteered the information, and he hadn’t shared it with Warren before?

Warren felt jealousy rising.

“She’d be good for you, you know, if you ever wanted to ask her out.” Donahue tipped his glass toward Warren.

Shock replaced the jealousy.

Donahue thought Warren should
date
Beatrice?

He shook his head. “You’re wrong.” He looked away. “She’s nothing like me. Besides, you know how things are for me. Just because I’m out with you guys tonight doesn’t mean things are really that great at home. I can’t get involved with anyone right now.”

The three were silent for a moment, sipping their beer.

Donahue set his down on the counter. “I don’t know, Davis. Beatrice doesn’t strike me as the needy type. If anything, she’d probably be the one to take charge of the relationship.” He gave a small laugh. “But, hey, don’t listen to me. What do I know about that shit?”

Too much
, Warren wanted to say.

Instead, he said nothing, and eventually the talk turned to something else. But Donahue’s words stayed with him all evening.
Beatrice doesn’t strike me as the needy type.

It was true. She wasn’t. She wouldn’t cling to him, even though she knew how to make demands. She had her own life and did her own things. In that sense, she was very different from Jen, who had wanted Warren to be with her every minute she wasn’t at work.

Beatrice wouldn’t hesitate to take charge of the relationship if need be. But Warren knew from experience that being in control all the time was exhausting too. He wouldn’t wish that for her.

He wouldn’t want that for himself, either, to be honest. He
liked
being in charge, for the most part. He did it naturally and he was good at it. It was just lately, having had so many things he was supposed to have under control that were instead spinning out wildly…he needed someone to help him find a little balance.

But things were starting to get back to normal. Better than normal, even, because he had a little help. In a few more weeks, he’d be fine. He could go back to being in control all the time. He couldn’t ever give it up completely anyway.

But…Beatrice was the first woman who had ever known he liked to give it up
sometimes
.

And that made a hell of a difference.

“Davis?”

He jerked himself out of his daydreaming to find Donahue looking at him curiously.

“Uh, yeah. Sorry. What?”

Donahue raised one brow and gestured to the bar. “I got you another beer.”

Christ. He’d completely zoned out. He nodded his thanks and reached for the glass.

“Cheers.” Donahue tipped his forward, and as the two glasses met and clinked, added, “Here’s to being completely, fucking screwed.”

I’ll drink to that.