Beautiful Beginning(48)

“I’m whisking you off somewhere.”

“But we have a room upstairs,” I whined quietly. “With a big giant bed

and several of your ties to get kinky with, and,” I dropped my voice,

“the bottle of lube in the drawer.”

He laughed, bending to run his nose along my jaw. “There’s also a duffel

bag in the limo outside that has several of my ties to get kinky with, the

bottle of lube from the drawer, and a few other things.”

“What other things?”

“Trust me,” he said.

“Where are we going?” I asked, tripping after him when he tugged my hand

and led me forward.

“Trust me.”

“Do we have to fly?”

He playfully smacked my ass, growling, “Christ, woman, trust me,” in my

ear.

“Am I going to have orgasms tonight?”

He turned pulled me close to his side and said, “That’s the plan. Now

shut up.”





Chapter Eight



Bennett helped me climb into the back of the limo and then slipped the

blindfold over my face, tying it firmly behind my head. It was wide and

tight; the bastard had anticipated my plan to peek, and the silken fabric

covered half my face. I was left in total darkness.

But beside me, I could sense when he shifted closer, could smell the clean,

crisp sagey smell of him when he leaned in, sucked gently on my collarbone.

“Are you going to f*ck me in this car?” I asked, reaching out blindly for

him. I found his arm and pulled it around me.

His rumbling chuckle vibrated along my collarbones, from one side to the

other, and I felt him reach for the hem of my wedding dress and slowly drag

it up my legs.

Bennett’s fingertips tickled their way past my knee, along the inside of

my thigh and to the thin white lace barely covering my *. He slid a

knuckle under the fabric, dragging it back and forth over the already-slick

skin beneath.

“Fuck,” he hissed. “Goddamnit, Chlo.” He pulled back, sliding two

fingers into me, pumping them deep. “I’m not feeling particularly gentle

tonight.”

Arching my neck, I gave his mouth better access to the most vulnerable part

of my throat, whispering, “Good. I don’t want you slow and sweet.”

“But it’s our wedding night,” he argued with mock sincerity. “Shouldn’

t I gently lay you on a feather bed and bring you endless, loving pleasure?

”

I reached for his hand, pressed it harder into me. “You can do that when I

’m bruised and sore afterwards, in the middle of the night.”

His laugh was so dark, and communicated such barely restrained need that it

sent shivers down my back. I felt his breath on my ear when he asked, “So

I have permission to be rough?”

I nodded, my throat suddenly dry. “Encouragement, even.”

“Maybe a little filthy?” When I answered with a nod, he growled, “Tell

me.”

I exhaled, a shaking, tense breath. “I want you filthy. I want you wild

and impatient tonight. It’s how I feel.”

He twisted his wrist, and pushed a third finger into me so deep I felt the

cool of his wedding ring against my skin, and I cried out from the

sensation of the pressing metal, of being stretched tight. His thumb made

teasing, maddening circles just around my clit, expertly never quite

touching exactly where I wanted it. Traffic sounds grew to a crescendo and

then ebbed into silence, and the steady thump of bridge spacers sounded

beneath the wheels.

“Are we leaving Coronado?”

“Yes.”

“Are we getting on a plane?” I asked again.

“Does my hand not feel good?” Irritation simmering in his voice.

“. . . what?” I asked, confused.

“Are you distracted by the street, rather than the three fingers currently

f*cking you?”

“I—?”

He pulled his hand out and reached for my shoulders, pulling me off the

seat and dragging me so I kneeled on the floor. I felt him shift around to

pull me closer, and I realized I was positioned between his legs. The sound

of his belt, his zipper, and his pants being shoved down his hips cut

through the quiet.

“Come here,” he said on an exhale, cupping the back of my head. “Suck.”

Despite the single rough word, his touch grew careful as I began to lower

my mouth over him, as if he wasn’t sure how to blend his pent-up need to

come with the reality of our brand-new marriage. We’d talked for

cumulative hours about how things would be in this very moment—the two of

us finally alone, married, and faced with the reality that it might be

different—but now that we were in it, I could tell Bennett was a little

torn.

We’d said no way would it feel different: it was just two rings, just a

piece of paper.