Beard Necessities (Winston Brothers, #7)(89)

I didn’t want to put him or any of the Winstons in legal jeopardy, but I did need their help if my plan was going to work. We’d band together, as a team, to rescue Billy. We would eliminate the threat of my father and I’d use the Nashville Music Festival as a cover story.

As I was pulling on the clothes from the box, I paused, catching my reflection in the mirror. Specifically, the determined set of my jaw. I didn’t like mirrors. I didn’t like seeing myself, a replica of my disinterested mother staring back at me, marked with my father’s knife.

Billy thinks you’re beautiful.

My attention drifted lower to my stomach and I turned, looking over my shoulder at the scars on my back. They’d faded, but unlike the ones on my arms and legs, they hadn’t responded to the cosmetic laser therapy. Those marks were basically invisible now, enough that I felt comfortable wearing bathing suit bottoms and tank tops. But the ones on my back would never fully disappear.

The whole time I was with Ben, he’d never noticed my scars. We’d been intimate, but always in the dark. He’d barely touched me during or after, and I’d never felt the urge to share the burden of my past with him. He didn’t carry burdens with grace, he didn’t like being needed if it meant giving more than he received. I comprehended that clearly now.

But Billy had seen my back. He’d changed my bandages when I was fourteen, and he must’ve seen them again last night in the shower. Billy had borne my burdens with me. This whole time, he’d carried them silently, and then asked me for more.

Being with Billy now was like coming home to myself, to the person I once was. She was scarred, she’d struggled and lived through dark times. And yet, I’d missed her, her bravery, her fierce fortitude, her sense of justice. I didn’t realize how much I’d missed her until right this moment, on the precipice of confronting my nightmares.

Scarlet St. Claire had been wholly her own person, and she was who Billy saw. She was the woman he considered beautiful, and she was who looked back at me now.

Placing the clothes back on the counter, I pulled off my bra and underwear and set them aside. Returning to the room, I left the bathroom door open to allow light to fill the space. I climbed back in the bed and moved as close to my handsome man as possible. I then creeped on him for a few minutes, watching him sleep, and I didn’t even feel weird about it. He was mine as assuredly as I was his. We belonged to each other. I comprehended that clearly now too.

Lifting to my elbow, I placed a lingering kiss on the corner of his mouth. Then another. Then one on his chin.

“Scarlet,” he muttered, stirring.

I smiled, liking that he associated me with kisses even when he was asleep.

“I need you,” I whispered, kissing his lips fully this time, sliding my hand beneath his undershirt to feel the beguiling form and shape of him, the hair on his chest, the solid muscles beneath.

Billy started, his eyes blinking open, still dazed with sleep. I witnessed the exact moment I came into focus. He reached for me, groan-growling when he discovered I was naked.

“Scarlet,” he rasped between slow, dragging kisses. “If this is a dream, don’t wake me up.”

“It’s not a dream.”

“Then touch me.” He encircled my wrist, redirecting my palm to the front of his pants, encouraging me to unbutton his fly and reach inside. A thrill raced up my arm at the bold contact and my stomach twisted with lovely heat. While he rolled me onto my back, his mouth lowering to love my breasts, his big hand caressing and then spreading my legs, he came alive in my hand. Hard and ready, his hips rolled, mimicking his seductive movements from last night.

But his undershirt was still on and I wanted his skin. I wanted all of him.

Gently lifting from the bed and shifting his palm to my breast, I rose to my knees, grabbed the hem of his shirt, and tugged it up and off. He allowed it, but then he was on top of me again, pushing me back, rising above to divest himself of his pants and boxers.

Bracing on one arm, he used his knee to gently nudge mine apart while gliding his palm from my hip, over my stomach, my ribs, higher, his movements slow, almost dreamlike. He watched his hand on my body and my instinctual responses to all his touches.

This was so different from last night. Last night had been a starved frenzy. But now he took his time toying with me, moving his thigh between my open legs, applying both friction and pressure. My need built. My hand became grasping while he continued his tender touches, lovingly licking and sucking my breasts, my neck, my ear, like I was a buffet of fine foods to be sampled.

“I need you,” I panted, shivering, my toes pointing reflexively, my body tensing with anticipation. “Please.”

I felt his smile at my neck as he replaced his thigh with his fingers, petting me, cupping me. “I love it when you say please. So polite.” He bit me, soothing the spot with a lick as his fingers mimicked the swirl of his tongue.

He liked me saying please? Okay then.

“Please,” I repeated, trying to reach for him. “Please.”

I felt the change in him, the stiffening of his muscles in his stomach and sides. Finally, he settled between my open legs, gripping himself and capturing my mouth with a kiss as he filled me in one fluid stroke. I shivered again, pushing my head against the bed, my back arching, stretching at the vital invasion.

“Say thank you.” His voice was gruff as he moved, his hips rolling rather than thrusting, rubbing the most crucial part of my anatomy with each sliding stroke.