Beautiful Bitch (Beautiful Bastard, #1.5)(25)

Her hands were cold and her nails felt sharp when she scratched down my torso. “More than two at a time?”

Shaking my head, I bent to run my nose along her jaw. She smelled like home, like my Chloe: her own mild citrus scent and the soft natural smell of her skin. “Weren’t you saying something about wanting my mouth on you?”

“Specifically between my legs,” she instructed.

“I assumed.” I bent, scooped her up, and carried her to the bed.

When I put her down on the edge, she sat up, leaning back on her hands behind her, pulling her feet up on the edge of the bed . . . and spread her legs. She looked up at me, and whispered, “Take your clothes off.”

Holy Christ this woman was going to kill me with views like that. I kicked my shoes across the room, yanked off my socks, and reached behind me to pull my shirt over my head. Giving her a few seconds to reacquaint herself with my bare chest, I scratched my stomach and gave her a smile. “See something you like?”

“Are we giving shows?” Her hand slipped over her thigh and between her legs. “I can do that.”




“Are you f*cking kidding me,” I breathed, fumbling with my belt buckle and pulling the buttons of my jeans free in a single movement. I nearly fell over trying to get them off.

Her hand moved away, and then she reached both arms out for me. “On top,” she said quietly, apparently not wanting my mouth after all. “Over me, I want to feel your weight.”

It was perfect, like this, without pretense. We both wanted to make love before we did anything else: looking around, eating, catching up.

Her skin was cool, and mine still felt flushed from the sun, my uphill walk back to the villa, and the thrill of seeing her here so unexpectedly. The contrast was astounding. Beneath me she was nothing but smooth skin and tiny, quiet sounds. Her nails dug into my back, her teeth slid over my chin, my neck, my shoulder.

“I want you inside,” she whispered into a kiss.

“Not yet.”

Although she let out a little growl of frustration, for a while she let me simply kiss her. I loved the way her lips felt on my tongue, the way her tongue felt against my lips. I was acutely aware of every point of contact between us: her breasts against my chest, her hands on my back, the tendons of her thighs pressing into my sides. When she wrapped her legs around mine, her calves felt like a band of heat around me. I reached down and wrapped my hand around the back of her knee, pulling it higher to my hip until I felt my cock slide against her slick skin.

Beneath me, she arched and rocked, getting as much friction as she could without me pushing inside. Kisses would start tentative, maybe playful, and then grow into deep, ravenous, arching hunger before returning to slow and tasting. She let me press her arms over her head, let me suck and bite her nipples almost to the point of pain. She asked me what I wanted, what felt good, and whether I wanted her body or her mouth first. Her first instinct when we were naked was always to pleasure me.

This woman amazed me. I’d lost perspective on who she used to be outside of our relationship. With me, she could be anything. Brave and afraid weren’t opposite. She could be sharp and tender, devious and innocent. I wanted to be her everything in the same way.

“I love the way we kiss,” she whispered, the words coming out pressed against my lips.

“What do you mean?” I knew what she meant. I knew exactly what she meant; I simply wanted to hear her talk about how f*cking perfect it all felt.

“I just love that we kiss the same, that you always seem to know exactly how I want it.”

“I want to be married,” I blurted. “I want you to marry me.”

Fuuuuuuuck.

And so my entire carefully constructed speech was thrown out the window. My grandmother’s antique ring was in a box in the dresser—nowhere near me—and my plan to kneel and do everything right just evaporated.

In the circle of my arms, Chloe grew very still. “What did you just say?”

I had completely botched the plan, but it was too late to turn back now.

“I know we have only been together for a little over a year,” I explained, quickly. “Maybe it’s too soon? I understand if it’s too soon. It’s just that how you feel about the way we kiss? I feel that way about everything we do together. I love it. I love to be inside you, I love working with you, I love watching you work, I love fighting with you, and I love just sitting on the couch and laughing with you. I’m lost when I’m not with you, Chloe. I can’t think of anything, or anyone, who is more important to me, every second. And so for me, that means we’re already sort of married in my head. I guess I wanted to make it official somehow. Maybe I sound like an idiot?” I looked over at her, feeling my heart try to jackhammer its way up my throat. “I never expected to feel this way about someone.”

She stared at me, eyes wide and lips parted as if she couldn’t believe what she was hearing. I stood and ran over to the dresser, pulling the box from the drawer and carrying it over to her. When I opened the box and let her see my grandmother’s antique diamond and sapphire ring, she clapped a hand over her mouth.

“I want to be married,” I said again. Her silence was unnerving, and f*ck, I’d completely botched this with my rambling nonsense. “Married to you, I mean.”

Her eyes filled with tears and she held them, unblinking. “You. Are such. An ass.”