“Ah, God.” My eyes fall shut, my body succumbing to his touch.
He releases my nipple and works his way up my neck, sucking and licking.
I grind harder and reach out to touch his beard. “It’s like silk,” I say as my greedy fingers glide through the buttered magic with wonder. “Your beard is perfect.”
He moans and without warning, changes our position so I’m flat on my back with him over me. “Touch yourself,” his husky voice says.
My wildest fantasies could never prepare me for what he does next—
Makes love to me with his beard.
As I slip my hand in my panties, his dark head eases down, and he rubs the soft hair on his face against my feet.
“Ryan,” I murmur, circling my clit in a feverish frenzy, “don’t stop.”
“I’ve never liked my name so much until you said it.”
Sparks erupt along my skin as he moves up, caressing every inch of my leg with his beard. Ankle, knee, thigh. He’s fire, bearding me until there’s nothing left but charred remains.
Foreplay this good can only lead to feelings, and I don’t even care. He pushes the material of my panties aside and rubs his chin against my pussy. The sound he lets out is halfway between a groan and a grunt.
“You’re so wet,” he husks out. “I want you to fuck my face.”
Fuck his beard is what I do. My orgasm builds as his tongue slips along my fingers, darting out to compete for my clit. The way he eats me is incredible. All I can do is brace my feet on the couch and beg for mercy as he devours me.
“Ryan,” I pant over and over as he slides his tongue in me.
Not to be overdramatic about his beard, but it sends me soaring, right off a cliff, and I come, long and loud. So hard. In a ninja move, he straddles me and strokes himself in a masterpiece of debauchery. My orgasm rolls into another, arching my back at the wicked sight of him thrusting into his hand.
His hips jerk faster, and I lick the tip as it emerges from his fist.
“God, Chloe. I’m going to come.” He bites his lip, and it’s too much.
“Come on my tits,” I say.
He strokes faster, base to tip, and then lets out a groan as he releases on me. Unashamed, I reach up and rub it all over me like lotion.
“That’s so damn hot,” he says.
If foreplay is this good, I may never want to sex.
Well, let’s not get crazy.
He leaves me to grab a towel from the bathroom and when he returns, cleans his cum from my chest.
“You may have to leave the bra with me,” he says.
Not to be too extra, but this is a good bra, and has to be washed on delicate, and I don’t know that he’ll appreciate the importance of proper washing. This may seem judgmental, but men rarely understand that bras shrink and wires poke out if they aren’t cared for properly. Just ask Austin about the time he accidentally put my bra in with his clothes and it came out a twisted mess.
“Oh, that’s okay.”
“I can jerk off with it. Unless that’s crossing a line.”
I consider. “See this tattoo on my arm?”
He leans in to look at my bicep. “Where?”
“Here.” I point to it.
He squints. “That’s a tattoo?”
“Yes. Long story, but this is a reminder to not cross a line. And I’ve decided this doesn’t meet the criteria for that.” I unfasten and hand it over before I slip my shirt on.
To avoid the awkward of what we do next, I make the bold move of saying I should go. He doesn’t try to convince me to stay, and that’s okay. This is healthy. Even if I kind of wanted him to ask me to stay. It’s okay if he didn’t ask me to hang out. I’m not disappointed or anything.
Much.
Five
“What do you think about wearing a T-shirt instead of a bridesmaid dress? Maybe Ryan could make something?”
I laugh at Charlotte’s question, but judging by the frown on her face, she’s serious.
“This is not a laughing matter, Chloe. I’ve got one wedding. I’m running out of time, and you need to help me figure this out before I’m forced to say my vows in a place I vehemently oppose.”
“Well, hm. Let’s think about this.”
“I’ve already thought about it. And yes, I love this scarlet dress for you,” she points at the laptop screen, “but why should we bother if it’s not taking place where I want it to? Does it really matter what anyone is wearing? Maybe I’ll wear a T-shirt too.”
“I think you might regret that when you’re looking at your photos. Plus, you’ve already picked out your dress. Can you secretly tell the Hilton not to take their money? Spread some rumors about where it comes from? We know it comes from a software company they sold in the nineties, but people get real nervous when you say the words ‘blood diamond.’”
It’s tough to give advice on something I know nothing about, so I’m at a loss here. Charlotte has moved from putting Mr. Charlotte-to-be on the couch to straight-up passive-aggressive fighting with her fiancé’s parents over the wedding issue. She’s been posting subliminal mountain pics on her Instagram for weeks. Things she needs, like flowers and dresses, are not being ordered in hopes she can get what she wants.
This complicated problem is beyond coming up with extra money and securing her dream venue without their monetary help. Even if she could find a way to do so, his parents have their own idea of a dream wedding for their son. And it doesn’t take place on the snow-covered mountain where Charlotte envisioned her big day.
“You’re not going to like my advice,” Austin says, dropping strands of fresh cut pasta into a tall pot on the stove. “But I think you need to adjust your dream.”
Despite the tension mingling with garlic in the air, I’ve missed this. Lucy’s out of town working on a campaign with SuperFit, so Austin is making dinner for us girls. It’s just like the old days; we drink wine and banter while he does all the work. Until we started looking at dresses, Charlotte seemed to enjoy herself. Now, not so much.
“I can’t believe you just said that,” Charlotte balks. “If this were you, I’d…I’d help you come up with a way to get what you want. I’d kidnap the parents or something until they changed their mind. I wouldn’t tell you to change your dream. Why should I change my dream? A dream is not a dream if you change it. You’re basically telling me to give up my dream.”
She has a point. Dreams are hard to let go of, as I know firsthand. “Okay, listen. I don’t think anyone needs to be kidnapped.” I place a hand on Charlotte’s in an attempt to calm her. “If I thought it would help, you know I’d be down with kidnapping. Ride or die. Maybe you need to have a heart to heart with his mom and explain to her your feelings?”
“Pfft. She won’t budge about this,” Charlotte pouts. “And my walking-a-thin-line fiancé won’t either. He thinks it’s not a big deal and that we, meaning me, need to compromise. How can I compromise on this? It’s not chicken or fish, roses or lilies. It’s the key thing I wanted and I can’t have it because her hands swell at higher elevations? Really?”