Beard Necessities (Winston Brothers, #7)(64)

I had to take a moment to think about his words, like my language center hadn’t yet switched back on. When I finally comprehended, I lifted my head and peered at him.

“I am?”

“You are.” A soft smile, one I didn’t immediately recognize, brightened his eyes and gave his lips the faintest curve.

“How so?”

“I thought you were going to break my jaw with your thighs.”

His mouth twitched and all at once I remembered where I’d seen this barely-there smile, this affectionate glimmer behind his gaze. This is what Billy Winston looked like when he was happy. My heart gave a tug, then a lurch as I devoured this vision of him, greedy for it, wanting to tuck it away for later when I could savor the sight and the memory.

But then, his eyebrows pulled together, the smile waning. “Are you—”

“I’m great,” I said, my eyes and nose stinging, and I couldn’t remember ever speaking words that were more true.

He examined me and I could see he didn’t know whether I was telling the truth, so I climbed on top of him, grabbed his face, and kissed his magnificent lips over and over, separating several times just long enough to say things like, “I’m so great,” and, “Never been better,” and then I kissed him again.

Billy held me at my waist as I peppered his face with kisses, but then his hands lowered to my bottom, squeezed, and he groaned. Returning me to the blanket, he lifted to his elbow, lying halfway on his side, and continued to massage my backside.

“I have so many things to tell you about your body,” he whispered darkly against my ear, making me shiver.

“You’re going to tell me about my own body?” I tried to force some contempt into my voice, but this was likely undone by how my hands moved over his body, delighting in every square inch of his physical perfection.

“Yes.” He kissed my neck, his palm sliding to my breast. “Your body has been on my mind for a very, very long time. I want to tell you everything.”

His beard and words tickled and I reflexively bent my chin to my chest, laughing lightly.

“That tickles,” he said, like he was cataloging information of great importance.

“Yes. That tickles,” I said, abruptly getting a good look at myself and my ruined dress and my bare chest and—

Yikes! Lord only knows where my underwear is. That thought cut through the fog of extraordinary lust, and I laughed again.

But this time with joy and wonder.





Neither of us could find my underwear.

This fact had been a little embarrassing at first. I tried to clutch my dress to my breasts and cover my back while also holding the skirt in place.

I was unprepared. I was mentally unprepared to be a confident sex kitten post-Billy-Winston-induced-dual-orgasm administration. Plus, there was the not-so-small matter of my scars—all over my back and sides, from my shoulder blades down—and those weren’t sexy at all.

But then Billy—handing me his shirt to slip on over my torn dress—offered to remove his underwear too.

“You can’t be serious.” Now I clutched his shirt to my chest, effectively hiding my front.

“I’m always serious.” His thumbs hooked in his shorts, presumably prepared to pull them down along with his briefs.

My thoughts scattered because his voice plus the look in his eyes told me he was serious. “So, what? We’re just gunna get naked? In a barley field? In Tuscany?”

He shrugged, looking at me like I was cute and silly and he wanted to gobble me up, moving the waist of his shorts two inches downward, exposing more of that delicious V thing bracketing his hips and a dark patch of hair just above his—

“Wait!” I gasped. And then I buried my face in his shirt.

“Too late,” he said.

And I felt a pulse of heat, like a BOOM, rock my body, everything coiling and then relaxing and then coiling again. “You—you’re naked?!”

Sneak a peek, Scarlet. What could it hurt? After what y’all just did, don’t be a dummy.

We were in the throes of passion! This is totally different.

What about what happened at the pool yesterday? You basically shoved his hand in your bikini bottoms, and now you’re embarrassed?

He’d been all wet. A wet Billy Winston is a lethal dose of aphrodisiac on steroids and meth. Plus, that was embarrassing afterward too.

He’s already seen you naked.

I gulped, realizing all at once that he had seen me naked. Or, mostly naked. And he’d already seen most of the scars once upon a time.

“Yes. I’m naked,” he confirmed calmly, and then added, “For the time being.”

“What does that mean?!” I groaned, indecision a climbing musical scale between my ears.

“Well—” I heard movement and I almost peeked. Almost. “It means, when you were on top, I came mostly on my stomach, but also a little in my briefs. Now they’re cold and sticky, but my shorts seem to be mostly fine.”

I gasped again, another BOOM, but then I felt even more like a ninny. If I’d taken a moment to think about things, I would’ve realized that’s what happened. While I was busy getting my jollies during the crazed straddling and grinding session, he’d also climaxed. Which also explained why my dress was damp in the front.