Beautiful Beginning(49)

We’d said we’d never stop being hard on each other, or start having

easily bruised feelings.

We’d promised anything could always happen between us in the bedroom. We

swore we’d never hold back, or be afraid to ask for whatever we needed.

But as I worked his length with my lips and my tongue, I could sense that

Bennett’s hands were fisted at his sides, not in my hair. His hips were

pressed firmly into the seat beneath him, instead of rising up, arching

toward my mouth.

So I did the first thing that came to mind: with a quiet sucking sound, I

pulled my mouth off his cock and sat back on my heels.

His breaths came out in sharp gusts, but other than the sound of the road

passing beneath us, the car fell silent.

Finally, his voice rose from the quiet in a controlled rumble: “What

happened?”

What happened? So tame, Bennett.

In this moment, I hated not seeing his face, but I knew he understood the

point I was making when he took a deep breath and asked, “Why the f*ck did

you stop?”

There he is.

“You know why.”

Strong hands lifted me off my heels and sat me back until my butt hit the

floor of the limo and my spine rested on the seat opposite him. One of

Bennett’s knees planted on the seat beside my head and without saying a

word, he pressed the crown of his cock to my lips, forcing my mouth open.

“Suck,” he said, and this time the word was coated in anger and need. I

barely had time to adjust to the feel of him before a tight fist curled in

my hair, holding me steady as he began to move in short jabs, not going too

deep, at least not yet. Finally, his hands released my hair and left me

only long enough to frame the side of my face, holding me steady for his

longer, deeper strokes.

The car rolled to a stop and Bennett slammed a palm on the intercom button,

managing a sharp “Wait here” before returning his hand to my face,

groaning hoarsely.

His rumbling “Fuck, Chlo” sparked my lust, and I reached up to wrap my

arms around his hips, whimpering at the powerful snap of his thrusts, the

hard contractions of muscles in his ass.

I couldn’t see a thing, but each time he moved deeply and I felt the soft

hair against my face, I wanted to suck as hard as I could so that when he

pulled back I would wring as much pleasure out of this moment as I could

for him. I felt desperate to give him this.

“So f*cking good,” he said, his voice raspy, and I could tell from his

movements that he was growing close. “Those perfect f*cking lips. Feeling

your tongue on me.”

I slid one hand between us, cupped his balls, and stroked just behind,

teasing.

“Yes,” he hissed, hips jerking.

With a final push inside, he came, cock rigid and releasing his orgasm down

my throat. He cried out as I swallowed around him, slowing his movements

until only the tip of him rested against my tongue. I tilted my head up to

him when he pulled out, and felt the soft glance of his thumb across my

bottom lip.

Wordlessly, Bennett reached down and adjusted my blindfold before bending

and kissing me deeply, his tongue sliding over mine.

“Tell me you like my taste,” he whispered.

“I love your taste.”

And then he pulled my dress up, moving his hand between my legs and under

the lace of my underwear, as if confirming what I’d said was true.

“I f*cking love your mouth.” He leaned forward, laughing against my lips.

“And I love f*cking your mouth.”

His touch was gentler now, exploring rather than giving pleasure. He

grunted quietly, moving his hand away from me, and I heard the rustle of

fabric as he pulled up his pants, straightened his clothing.

Taking my hand, he murmured, “Come on, Mrs. Ryan. We’re here.”



We were definitely in a hotel. I could tell by the sounds of elevators,

suitcases rolling across travertine floors. I could hear the way voices

grow hushed as we walked past, and I imagined how we must look: Bennett

carrying a blindfolded and barefoot bride in his arms and with a duffel bag

full of who-knows-what slung over his shoulder, carrying me barefoot and

blindfolded in my wedding dress.

“Are we in a hotel?”

“Shh,” he whispered, lips to my temple. “We’re almost there.”

He carried me as if I weighed nothing, his strides even and steady. I

pressed my lips to his neck and asked, “Is everyone looking at us?”

He turned his head, laughing quietly in my ear. “Definitely.”

Once we stepped into the elevator, it smelled familiar. Was it possible we

were back at the Hotel Del and he had just done an elaborate ruse to trick

me? But if he did, why?

We rode up in silence and I adjusted my grip on his neck, trying to listen

to the number of floors we passed, to any sign of where we were. Beneath my

knees, his left hand squeezed me reassuringly.