Beautiful Beginning(52)

he simply stared down at me, studying every part of my face as he swept the

wet pad of his thumb back and forth across my bottom lip.

“Married,” he said quietly, as if only to himself.

I loved his honest, expressive hazel eyes, his smart mouth, and his carved,

stubborn jaw. I loved his tousled hair and the heavy dip of his Adam’s

apple when he swallowed. I loved his broad chest, sculpted arms, and the

world’s best naughty fingers. I loved his abdomen, his hips, and every

long, thick inch of him pressing urgently between us.

But more than any of that, I loved his intelligence, his composure, his

loyalty, his sense of humor. And I loved how he loved me.

Tilting his head, he asked, “What are you thinking, Mrs. Ryan?”

“I’m thinking how it’s a good thing I love your body so much that I can

put up with your disappointing brain.”

He spread his hands around my waist and lifted me, tossing me onto the

mattress.

“If you think I’m going to put up with that smart mouth of yours now that

we’re married . . .” he began, crawling up the bed and hovering over me.

“Then I’m right?” I finished for him, reaching to wrap my hand around

the back of his neck.

He bent to kiss me, giving me a lopsided smile. “Yeah, actually.”

I’d often had this feeling when I was alone with Bennett that time somehow

melted and the entire world outside simply dissolved into nothing. I’d

been nervous with the anticipation of tonight, but once his weight settled

over me—and his mouth moved to my neck, my shoulders, my breasts—instinct

took over. I slid my palms up his back and over his shoulders and gasped as

he returned to me, his tongue touching mine, pushing and demanding. The

sounds of his excitement vibrated inside my mouth and down my neck as he

grew wilder, needing to kiss and taste everything, all at once.

I suspected I knew this man better than I knew my own mind. I knew how to

touch him, how to love him, how to get him to do anything and everything to

my body. And so when his hands spread my thighs apart, thumbs circling and

meeting in the middle to glide over my clit, and his eyes focused on my

face as his lips clamped over the peak of my breast—studying, commanding,

hungry for my pleasure—I lost any sense of anxiety over the night and knew

we would forever be the fevered combination of Bennett and Chloe. Mr. Ryan

and Miss Mills. Mr. Mills and Mrs. Ryan. Husband and wife. Bastard and

bitch.

Kneeling between my legs, his hands framed my hips and he watched as he

slid over my wet skin, before resting the head of his cock on my navel. I

could feel my pulse thundering in my throat, and I lifted my hips, suddenly

impatient for this, wanting to feel his weight on top of me, hear his

desperate sounds in my ear.

“Should I say something profound before we begin?” he asked, smiling down

at me.

“You can try,” I said, scratching down his stomach. “But I wouldn’t

want you to hurt yourself.”

With a light pinch to my nipple, he bent low, nipping at my jaw. “I love

you anyway.”

As he slid into me, I shook, crying out sharply at the relief before

gasping, “I love you anyway, too.”

“It feels so f*cking good.”

“I know.”

I pressed my palms to his ass, feeling the contracting muscles, pulling him

deeper into me and rising to meet his every push. Bennett’s lips moved

across my cheeks, aimless, to my ears and my mouth. Down my chin to my

neck. His words came out broken and desperate.

So much

Oh, God, Chlo, I don’t

Let me hear

Let me hear you

Tell me what you’re feeling, tell me

Tell me what you want

I sucked at his neck, watching his shoulders bunch as he moved and moved

and moved over me. “I want faster. Closer. More. Please.”

He pushed up onto his knees between my legs, gripping my thigh and pushing

my legs farther apart. “Fucking hell, Chloe, you’re so beautiful.”

I groaned, feeling the heavy drag of him sliding inside me; the pleasure

was amplified by the way his eyes seemed to caress my skin.

“Reach down,” he whispered. “Feel where I move in you.”

I did what he asked, letting his cock move over my fingertip as he slid in

and out.

He bent low. “Tell me what you feel.”

“Wet,” I answered, looking up at him. “Hard.”

His gaze burned and he stared down at my fingers on him. When he smiled, he

looked dangerous, and it made my heart slam into my chest.

“I know,” he said. He took in my tangled hair, picked up one of my dirty

feet, and slid my ankle up his hip. “You’re a mess, you greedy f*cking

girl.”

He slowed, pulling almost all the way out until I panicked and wrapped my

legs around his waist. It felt like a match had been lit inside my belly