Beauty from Pain (Beauty, #1)(70)

She’s staring at me. “I highly doubt that.”

I can’t talk to her about this right now. I’m too furious. I start the car and drive to the house in silence. I’m pissed off. She’s scared and confused. Not a great combination.

Neither of us says anything when we get to the house. She walks inside and goes straight to the bedroom. I go to the kitchen and search the freezer. I don’t find frozen peas, so I wrap ice in a dish towel and put it around my swollen hand. It hurts like hell, but I don’t regret hitting that *. I’d do it again in a heartbeat.

I calm down after I stand in the kitchen for a while. I decide I owe her an explanation, so I go into the bedroom to find her. She’s wearing her nightgown and standing in front of the sink washing her face. She watches me in the mirror as I come up to stand behind her.

I put the dishcloth-wrapped ice on the counter before I place my hands on her upper arms and kiss one of her bare shoulders. She reaches up to touch my injured hand. “You’re bleeding. You need to clean this so it doesn’t get infected.”

She takes my hand. “Is there any antiseptic here? Or maybe some triple antibiotic ointment?”

I’m rarely here, so I don’t make a habit of keeping stuff like that around. “I doubt it.”

She brings it closer for a better inspection. “You should at least wash it with soap and water.”

She cuts on the water and soaps a lather onto her fingers. She washes my knuckles until the dried blood is gone and then blots it dry. “I’m afraid you’re going to owe your boss some new towels.”

“He’ll get over it.”

She’s still holding my hand when she looks up at me. “Tell me what happened.”

I focus on her eyes as I remember his words, “I’d really like to f*ck her.” The thought of anyone else having her makes me crazy.

I reach out to hold her face. I lean forward and kiss her, not knowing if she will let me or not, but she does. When I finish, I take her hand and pull her into the bedroom toward the bed. I sit on the edge and pull her hips toward me so she’s standing between my legs. Her fingers play in my tousled hair.

“I want to know.”

I take a deep breath and blow it out slowly. “That guy, Chris, told me he wanted something of mine—something I wasn’t willing to share.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You. He wanted you.”

“Me? But he’s married.”

It makes me sick that I can’t say it without picturing it in my head. “He asked me to watch him f*ck you while his wife gave me head.”

Her eyes are wide. “Oh?” I see it on her face when it clicks. “Ohh. Swingers?”

“Exactly.”

“You pounded his face in because he wanted to have sex with me?”

“I damn sure did and I’d do it …” She cuts off my words with her mouth as she slams it against mine. Her hands are at my chest working to unfasten the buttons of my wined-stained shirt. Unsatisfied with such slow progress, she reaches for the bottom and pulls it over my head while it’s still buttoned.

She unfastens my belt buckle and then the button on my pants, this time more successful with the process. She slides my zipper down and puts her hand inside my jocks. Her hand encompasses me as she glides it up and down. Damn, this girl knows how to give a hand job.

She kisses me hard while her hand pumps me. I’m close to coming, but she doesn’t let me. “Where are the condoms?”

“Outer pocket, big suitcase.”

She kisses my mouth. “Don’t go anywhere.”

Hell, there’s no chance of that. I stand and kick off my daks and jocks while she’s digging for the rubbers.

She slinks toward me flipping a foil package between two fingers. She uses her palms to push me down on the bed. “I’m putting it on this time.”

“No argument here, baby.”

She opens the packet and I’m such a guy. I lift my head because I want to watch her put it on me. It’s hot watching her hands touch me like that. When she finishes, she shimmies her panties down her legs and steps out of them. She climbs one knee at a time onto the bed and straddles me. My hands are splayed over her hips as she watches my face. “So, you don’t want Swinger Chris to have me?”

Ugh, I need that image out of my head. “No f*cking way.”

My tip is at her wet entrance, but she doesn’t slide down on it. She’s rocking her hips back and forth, teasing me. “Can anyone else have me, or is Swinger Chris the only one who can’t?”

“No one else can have you, Laurelyn. I’m the only one.”

She smiles. “Then show me.”





35

Laurelyn Prescott

Lachlan comes up from the bed and flips me onto my back. He’s kneeling between my legs and hooks them around his arms so he can push them back. He’s not gentle about it. He drives into me without mercy, but that’s the way I want this. His mouth is against my ear.

“You’re mine. Do you understand?”

“Yes!” I scream partly because it’s my answer, but mostly because what he’s doing feels so good.

“I want you to say it.”

We’re sideways on the bed and each thrust shoves me farther across the mattress until my head is hanging off the edge. “I’m … yours … and … no … one … else’s.”