“Take a breath,” Brad says quietly as I throw the vodka down my throat. “Or a drink.”
The door opens behind us, and we both crane our necks to find Goldie hovering on the threshold. “What is it?” I ask, and she opens up the way, revealing Beau. The sight of her balances me, and I exhale, taking in her lithe body coated in Lycra. I’ve eased her gently into exercise, made a point of it, and her well-conditioned body has handled it well, her muscle memory helping.
I flick my head for her to come in as I rise, meeting her in the middle of the room. “What’s up?” I ask, cupping her head in my hands and pushing my lips to the top of her head, inhaling, closing my eyes, relaxing. I expect the smell of sweat. No sweat, just her intoxicating fruity scent. Calm.
“I need some more bullets,” she says, simple as that, straight-up, no hesitation.
I still, and my eyes snap open. I see Goldie hovering on the edge of the office with Fury, both doing a terrible job of hiding their amusement, and I hear Brad behind me outright chuckling. Yes. Fucking hilarious.
I pull away, although I’m evidently reluctant, and cautiously peek down at her. She’s doing a terrible job of hiding her smile too. Taking my wrists, she pulls my hands down from her face. “Good day?” she asks.
Me? “I’m more interested in yours.”
“Rose and I did target practice.”
My entire being seems to deflate, and Beau starts massaging at her wrist. “Take it easy,” I warn, replacing her working hands with mine, rubbing gently as I guide her to the couch and nod for her to sit.
Otto and Ringo walk in, and Brad stands. “He’s been dragged into the garden,” Ringo grunts. “Something to do with the wedding.”
“Fucking wedding,” Brad mutters. “Worst idea he’s ever had.”
“Apparently the suits are ready,” Otto says, prompting Ringo to glance down his front.
“I don’t know what’s wrong with this one.”
“It’s not a tux.”
Ringo looks across to Goldie. “You got a new suit?”
When I expect her to go psycho on him and his incessant, unexplained need to rile her, Goldie instead lifts her chin. “No, actually. I have a dress.” Her eyes quickly turn to slits, daring any man in the room to question her. So, of course, they don’t. Ringo’s learned his lesson. Almost.
But . . . a dress? Goldie?
Beau laughs beside me, and I turn an interested look her way. She shrugs. “About those bullets.”
“I’m living in a fucked-up version of Little House on the fucking Prairie,” Brad snaps. “I’m going to smack some balls over the net. Let me know when Romeo’s finished pacifying Juliet.”
“Say that to Rose,” Beau shouts on a laugh.
“No fucking way,” he calls back, pushing his way through the men. And woman.
“So, the bullets.”
She really wants those bullets. It’s the third time she’s asked, and I’m worried, especially after she nearly shot me when she found out I was there the night her mother died. Nearly, being the operative word here. If Beau hadn’t been sporting a broken wrist, I wouldn’t be sitting here now. And since she’s not averse to getting trigger happy with me, perhaps I should rethink my desire to ensure she can protect herself. Being in a relationship with Beau Hayley is perilous in every way. “No bullets,” I say, looking up and giving Goldie and Fury a nod. I’ve got this for now.
Goldie pulls the door closed, and I return my attention to Beau. “How’s Lawrence?”
She wilts before my eyes, which tells me all I need to know. Not that I need Beau’s reaction. I have it from a good source—namely, Doc—that Lawrence is still in his suite here at Black’s mansion. He’s not eating. Not speaking. “I don’t know,” she says on a sigh. “He won’t let me in his room today. He’s locked himself in. I don’t even know if he’s taking the meds Doc has prescribed.”
“We’ll find out. Come o—” I catch a wave of uncertainty pass across her face.
“I’ve agreed to have dinner with my father tonight.”
I make sure I hide my grimace as I know she’ll be dreading it. He doesn’t like me, and I can’t say I’m his biggest fan. He’s been absent from Beau’s life for too long, not there when she needed him. He thinks showing up at the hospital when Beau was shot, throwing his weight around, making demands, would heal the years he’s been lacking? It won’t. Now he’s just another cause of stress for Beau, and that makes me dislike the egomaniac even more. The feeling’s mutual, of course. But I couldn’t have handled things at the hospital differently if I’d tried. Couldn’t have been civil. Not to him, not to anyone.
“I want to know where, what time, and who will be there.”
She’s not surprised to hear my demands. “He’s texting me.”
“Good. Let’s go check on Lawrence.” I go to stand, but she pushes me back to the couch and clambers onto my lap, straddling me. Oh? “Beau,” I warn roughly. This isn’t the time or the place. I’ve got Danny on the warpath, Brad sulking, Lawrence hiding, Spittle waiting for me to mutilate him.
“What?” she whispers, feeling down my torso to my jeans and unbuttoning the fly.
I hold my breath, scrambling for some willpower to resist her. “I have shit to deal wi—” My back cracks, arching, as she slips a hand into my boxers and seizes me. “Oh fuck.” My legs straighten, black spots hamper my vision. Of course, I can’t deny her, never will. She’s been doing so great in recent days. Who am I to hamper her progress?
So I take this precious moment to be close to her, the tip of my finger running along the waistband of her workout leggings. Her hands on my chest, she leans into me, eyes flicking all over my face. “I want to look at you for a minute.” She kisses the corner of my mouth, and every drop of blood inside sizzles. “Feel you.”
“Working out suits you.”
She gives me an impish grin. A telling grin. She’s got me, and she knows it. “I’d prefer to work out with you.” Her smooth palm glides down my shaft with beautiful ease.
Since Beau’s epic meltdown at Hiatus, sex has definitely cranked up a notch or twenty. But I’m still careful. Still cautious. Still worried about the long-term damage. And yet when she looks at me the way she’s looking at me now—her eyes lazy, full of sex, her body literally blowing my mind—the animal inside growls his want. “You want to work out?” I ask, lifting from the couch, Beau attached to my front. I hold her under her arse with one hand and take her to Danny’s desk—God forgive me—swiping a few things off before sitting her on the edge. “Here?” I ask, pushing into her chest, sending her down to the wood. Her breathy, desperate “yes” is hardly decipherable amid our heavy breathing. “But you just had me this morning.” I take her sports bra and shove it up, stretching it over her head until the tight elastic has her arms restrained by her ears. “Open,” I order, smiling when her lips part. I push the fabric into her mouth. “Bite.”
She clenches down, her eyes wild with satisfaction, as I cup her soft, gorgeous tits. Her back bows, offering them, so I lower and take a nipple between my teeth, biting down lightly as I squeeze and mold her flesh. Her muffled moan saturates the room, her sounds of need fueling my own. I grip her leggings and pull them down to her calves, then push her legs up, draping her bound feet over my head. I take her all in, every mind-bending pore of her stunning body, my mouth watering for a taste, my skin singing to touch, my eyes hungry to watch her squirm and writhe, my ears desperate for more of those moans. And my nose bombarded by the heady scent of her desire. I pull my dick out, lay a palm on each thigh, and tug her down the desk until the aching, swollen head of my arousal meets the warm, pulsing flesh of her pussy. She jerks, and I shake, easing gently into her. “Fuck,” I hiss raggedly as her eyes widen, the material of her sports bra springing from her fighting the bond. “You feel incredible.” With the backs of her legs flush against my chest, her arms restrained, she is at my mercy, and it is exactly where she wanted to be. Lost. Reminded. Pushing back the darkness. That thought gets my hips moving, thrusting, pumping, sinking into her over and over until I’m out of my mind on only Beau. It’s safer. For everyone. I close my eyes, tilt my head to the ceiling, and let nature take over, thrashing my body against hers, driving high and deep, sucking back air repeatedly. I’m gone. Out of my mind. My body’s on autopilot, searching for the release, my gasps constant.