The Beauty Series (28 page)

A gentle caress touched her lips. “Beautiful,” he said.

Above all, she knew him to be honest, and the fact that he found her beautiful, the fact that he found her mouth or face beautiful when her whole body was exposed to him, made her heart clench. A tear leaked from her closed eyelid. He caught it with his finger and traced its path back up her cheek.

“Don’t be sad,” he said, and she heard the sadness in his voice—an ineffable sorrow for what he had seen, for what he had been through. If there was anyone who understood suffering, it was him. And yet, he seemed to derive more joy than anyone she knew. He found it in her body, in her company. He found it in books and teaching. He found joy in living again, and her love for him was boundless, expanding.

“Oh, Blake,” she said, too choked up to say anymore. Her tears fell in earnest then.

He released himself; at least, that was how it felt to her. He scooped her up and cradled her. She didn’t fail to notice the nudge of his arousal, but he wouldn’t use it until he knew she was okay. She
was
okay. Better than okay, which spilled over into sadness and then back again in an eternity knot of powerful, life-affirming emotions. One couldn’t be separated from the other. She couldn’t have known love without heartache. He couldn’t have found solace without pain.

“Don’t cry,” he murmured against her hair. “What was this about? To show me that you want me, that you care. I know that, sweet girl. Don’t you think I know that? You show your heart in every expression, and it’s beautiful to see.”

Somehow she found her voice. “You can’t talk like that and expect me not to cry.”

His chest expanded on a quiet laugh. “There’s my girl.”

She turned her face into his chest, her cheeks wet and slippery against his shirt. Fumbling, she tugged it over his head, desperate to feel him, skin-to-skin, nothing between them. His body felt sharp after the long absence, the rigid planes of muscle, the hair tickling her tender skin. She shuddered against him, leaning closer, aching to feel him harder, more deeply. And thank God, he seemed to understand; he seemed to need it too, holding her flush against him, almost bruising her, needing her.

He turned them over, so she lay on her back, the sheets cool against her skin. His mouth held her down, his hands explored her, caressed her all over, and then he began to move down. Nipping kisses down her neck and in the valley of her breasts, gentle kisses over the curve and suckling at the tip. Then he trailed lower, as her belly quivered beneath questing lips.

“Blake,” she said, in warning, in plea.

“Just take it,” he murmured. “Be good for me,” and she was lost and lax in his arms. Her legs fell open, letting him explore the insides of her thighs. He made a small sound of pleasure as he felt the wetness at her core. Possessive fingers dipped into the moisture and spread it across her swollen flesh. He drew damp circles around her clit until any traces of reserve had fled. Spearing her, he pulled more of her arousal to the entrance. He removed his hand from her, and with damp fingertips, drew a heart on the low flat of her belly. She smiled in her sensual haze and reached for him. He caught her hand in answer and sucked on the tip of her finger, sending shocks down her center. Then he ducked his head to lick up the mess he had made of her—her belly first, his tongue mapping the shape of the heart. Then lower, down to the outer lips, then inner. He roamed to her clit, which had grown too sensitive, and she jumped, startled, entranced.

“Please,” she groaned, not sure what she was asking for. Relief or respite, more or less. It all blended together in a miasma of desire. “Blake.”

“You can take it,” he said, softer now, encouraging. He pushed her legs up, farther and more firmly than he usually did. Her knees pressed against her chest, capturing her, exposing her. His eyes burned with a hungry light as he stared down at her.

“Please,” she repeated.

Keeping both hands on her thighs, he bent to place hot, open-mouthed kisses against her sex, sucking and licking until she squirmed. But he held her too tightly to move much or escape—and thank God, because she didn’t want him to stop, not really. She wanted more and harder. Her secret muscles clenched in silent question, begging to be filled, but empty as he teased her clit to oblivion.

“You’re mine,” he muttered, his breath a phantom caress against her sex. “I won’t let you go now.”

Yes. His. “
Please.”

He chuckled darkly. “You’ll have to learn patience. Well, we’ll have a lot of time to practice.”

Then he put his mouth to her clit and her whole world went black, with stars bursting behind her eyelids. Before she recovered he entered her, thrusting roughly, without rhythm or finesse, so perfect that tears slipped down her cheeks. She came two more times before he became rigid above her, still rocking as he poured himself inside her. She accepted it all. His come, his sweat. His love.

He leaned on her, breathing hard. She caught him when he wanted to roll off, mumbling something about being heavy. He
was
heavy, and perfect, and she wanted to feel that lovely weight forever.

“Marry me,” she whispered.

He stiffened. After a moment, he pulled back, searching her expression, her eyes. “What?”

She smiled. “You heard me, Professor.”

“Did you…did you plan to ask me?”

Admittedly, it was unconventional. Other couples arranged champagne and fancy dinners. “I thought we should start the way we meant to go on. Or go on the way we started.”

With sex. Masturbation, to be specific. But more than that. With an attraction so deep they had to act on it. With respect so strong they’d been careful and mindful and
joyful
every step of the way. Unconventional, unique, or just freaking weird—she didn’t care. This was the way their relationship had started, his moment of vulnerability a gift to her, and she’d wanted to propose to him and return the favor.

“Well, Professor?” Her heart started to beat faster.

A slow smile spread over his face. “Erin.”

Which wasn’t an answer, really. She raised an eyebrow.

“God, you’re beautiful.” He reached over to the side table.

Still not an answer. “If you’re going to grab a sex toy right now, I might have to rethink my proposal.”

But he didn’t have a sex toy, judging by the little black box. If she’d thought her heart was beating fast before, it was nothing compared to now. He opened it to reveal a sparkling princess cut diamond with small, even diamonds circling the band. Her heart stopped.

The words came to her in a rush:
If you can paint…I can walk…
If he could move past his scars, return to the world, the very least she could do was move past her own fears and trust him not to leave.
The world can turn upside down…
And it did.

“Yes,” he said simply. “I’ll marry you.”

He did more than answer her; he asked, with the ring that had been stowed away in his side table drawer…for how long? Happiness squeezed her throat, robbing her of breath. She had to force the words, to feign levity or she’d never be able to speak at all. “Now, I said no sex toys. But I have to tell you, that right there is very sexy.”

His mouth curved in a self-satisfied little smile. “I think it’ll look great on you. Wearing nothing else.”

“Oh, so this was all a ploy to get me naked,” she said, clearly teasing since she was already naked and so was he.

“It seems to be working,” he said, slipping the ring on her finger. It sparkled in the dim evening shadows, reflective even with barely any light. But no glittering facets or sleek metals could compete with the stark, painful beauty of the man in front of her. The man she loved.

*     *     *

Blake lingered in
the hallway, watching Erin flip a page in the newspaper. His body tightened at the sexy sight. Sun streamed in through the bay windows, glinting golden off her hair and illuminating the lines of her body within her white dress shirt. His dress shirt, although she still wore it much better than he ever would. The top buttons were undone, allowing him a glimpse of the curve of her breast as she bent her head, intent on her reading.

She glanced up and smiled. “Good morning.”

“Morning.” He wandered into the breakfast nook, feeling reluctant to disturb her. As if it were her room, her house. And God, it was.

She’d agreed to marry him, which meant all this was hers as much as his. A sense of contentment filled him at the thought. He’d be able to take care of her. And, he thought wryly, he’d be taken care of in return.

He didn’t slow until he reached her, standing beside her chair, tilting her chin up to look at him. He brushed his thumb over her lips, loving the way she shivered in response.

“You’re happy,” he said. A statement, a question? He wasn’t sure.

“Too much.” She smiled shyly. Was she blushing? “I’m not sure what I did to deserve this.”

Jesus, she killed him. Humble and proud, kind and fierce. A study of contradictions in a beautiful package he would never get tired of worshipping. Like a magnet, his lips sought hers; he bent to kiss her, leaving them both breathless.

Sometime during the onslaught, her hands grasped his bare shoulders. He was wearing only his dress pants from last night, picked up off the floor. It seemed they could only find a full set of clothes between them—and no underwear. No bra, that much he could see. Damn, he was going to have a hard time leaving her in peace today. And every day. Especially considering the ring that sparkled on her finger. His ring. The sight of it filled him with possession.

With peace.

“I’m not going to let you go now. You know that, don’t you?” He didn’t know why he was always warning her. Even now.

Maybe because he knew she wouldn’t balk.

She grinned. “Do you think I’d let you go either? Not a chance. So get comfortable, mister.”

Ah hell. No way was he leaving her in peace today. He pulled her from the chair, flush against his body, molding his hands to her curves. “God, I already am.”

He kissed her again, debating whether they could make it upstairs to the bedroom. But then she kissed him back—actually nipped his lower lip—and he stopped thinking at all. He surrounded her, body and heart; he sank into her, finding refuge in her sweet acceptance and limitless love.

There were no boundaries on what he would do for her. He would climb mountains, slay dragons—but all she’d ever asked of him was a promise. And so he had always been hers, before he’d even known it, stumbled upon in moment’s base weakness, claimed by a whole-hearted acceptance, and made new by a love he would work to deserve each coming day.

The End

Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed the Beauty series!

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•    Turn the page for an excerpt from Loving the Beast…

“G
et up!”

Blake jerked from sleep, breaths bellowing in and out of his chest, blood racing. His body was covered in sweat and tangled up, constrained. Something warm was beside him, something soft.

He grew still. His eyes closed. “I’m sorry. Did I wake you?”

Of course he’d woken her. He always woke her when he got like this. In fact, she was the one who had to wake him up, because he wouldn’t stop thrashing and screaming. How many years had it been now? He’d come back, put his life together. He’d found Erin. Things were good, but the nightmares wouldn’t stop. Would they ever?

Erin trembled beside him. He could feel her tremors through the mattress they shared. A strip of moonlight fell over her face. Her eyes were wide, lips tight. Fear. She was afraid of him.

His stomach clenched. “What did I do?”

She shook her head, her voice shaking only slightly when she said, “Nothing.”

A lie. “What did I do to you?”

Her hands tightened and released a twisted corner of the sheet. “You were… on me.”

Something inside him went cold. He didn’t want to believe it. But maybe that was just a sign of how fucked up he was, that he wasn’t even surprised. Angry. Furious. At himself. But not even fucking surprised. “I was hurting you?” he asked softly.

“No.” The word came out too forcefully—too false. “Not on purpose. You were… I think you were protecting me. You kept saying to stay down.”

“Jesus.” He shook his head and looked at the wall.
Jesus.

He was one fucked up soldier. What business did he have with a woman like her? A fiancée like her?

“Are you okay?” he asked. He didn’t wait for her to answer. He ran his hands over her shoulders, her arms, assuring himself that she was put together, her body just as whole, her skin just as smooth.

“I’m fine,” she said, and at least her voice did sound more normal now.

Maybe he’d just scared her more than hurt her, but either way it was too damn close. Even if he’d been in a dream, if he’d believed that somehow he was protecting her, he’d used his body to dominate her. He could have injured her and not even known it.

Abruptly, he stood. The master bedroom was large, but suddenly it felt suffocating. He paced away from the bed, away from her, moving to stand at the window. So many nights he’d looked out of this window, awake again, panting and sweating again.

When would the nightmares stop?

He heard the sheets rustle as Erin got out of bed. Her footsteps were soft over the hardwood floors. And then she was behind him, her arms around his waist, her lips pressed to his back. So many nights he’d stood here, staring out the window, and so many nights, she’d stood behind him, kissing him, making him whole again. He knew she deserved better, deserved someone already whole, but he couldn’t give her up. Not when it seemed almost bearable with her here.