Beauty Dates the Beast(31)

I hurt with sympathy for Beau. “What did you do?”

He clipped my wet hair atop my head and squirted body wash across my shoulders. “The only thing I could do. I challenged JT for the right to lead our mismatched clan, and I won. And then I exiled him. And spent the next twelve years getting everyone’s shit together. Went to college, got my business started, and got this place out here for quiet time. I set up the Russell clan as a corporation, and others came to us for protection. As an Alliance, we have enough power to withstand the bullying from the vampires and werewolf packs. Now loners don’t have to worry about seeking protection—they have the Alliance looking out for them. We’ve grown stronger every year, and now we’ve got a major toehold in the supernatural world. It’s come a long way.”

He sounded genuinely proud, not resentful of the fact that he’d had to pick up the pieces his dad had left behind. I knew what it was like to put your own dreams on hold to care for others. I’d wanted to leave home and go to a college as far away as I could. But when Sara’s boyfriend had bitten her, it had changed our lives. I’d given up a full university scholarship because Sara hadn’t been able to come with me. Six years later, our lives still revolved around keeping her safe.

“Your path was decided for you by family. Did you ever want something different?” I asked.

He rubbed the wash across my shoulders, then down my arms. “Never. The clan is mine. I built it up.” His slick hands slid around my front, palming my breasts, and I gasped at the twin flickers of sensation as he stroked his thumbs across my nipples.

I leaned back against his chest, arching under his hands with a soft moan of pleasure.

One of his hands strayed down my stomach, leaving a sudsy trail. His breath tickled my ear. “How do you like your bath?” His fingers circled my belly button.

Warmth flooded through me. As his other hand circled and teased my nipple, I pressed back against him, gasping. “I like it,” I admitted, blushing.

“We’d better finish washing you,” he said in my ear, his voice husky, “before the water gets cold.” His hand slid down to the curls at the juncture of my thighs. One thick finger slid against my sex, and I bit my lip as he searched for just the right spot.

A delicate brush, and then a rocketing sensation as he found it, his finger swirling around the sensitive spot. “Nice and slick,” he murmured, kissing my neck. My hand slid down to cover his, unsure if I wanted him to stop the tormenting pleasure or to press him to do it harder.

“I need to make love to you again, sweet Bathsheba,” he said, licking the sensitive skin of my neck between words. “I’ll be careful if you’re too sore.” His teasing fingers slid through my folds, delving lower, and one finger slid inside me.

I inhaled sharply, rearing back against him. It stung a little, but the initial discomfort was soon replaced by startling pleasure. “Not too sore. Should we get out of the tub?”

Beau’s legs untangled from around me, and he grasped me by the waist and moved me onto his lap. Then he ran one hand down my thigh and lifted my leg over the side of the tub. He did the same with the other leg, lifting it over the other side, and I sucked in a breath, a little startled—and turned on—at how open I was.

His hand slid between my legs again, teasing my parted flesh, and my hips bucked as he circled my clit. “Tell me if anything hurts you, Bathsheba. You’re still sensitive.” His hands slid under me, lifting me slightly, and I held on to the edge of the tub as he tilted me forward. Then I felt his hard cock nudge between my legs and I sank down on his body.

I felt tight, stretched. Delicious. “Feels so good,” I panted, encouraging him.

He thrust with the barest hint of movement, but I felt it down to my toes. I moaned in pleasure at the sensations that rocketed through me, trying to imitate his motions. His hand slid down my front again, plucking at my nipples as he thrust again, slow, precise.

“Not going to last for long,” he said, his breathing harsh. “So sweet and tight … so damn hot.”

His hand slid between my legs and he rubbed my clit hard with his next thrust, and I shattered. A high, keening cry came out of me as the orgasm swept over me, his fingers dancing over that hot spot as he thrust again, and then again and again, the movements smaller but sharper and more frequent. He bit at my shoulder again, thrusting hard, and I heard a feline snarl. He growled my name, and came inside me again, pressing down hard against my hips and grinding my flesh into his. My shoulder hurt where he’d bitten me, but it was so overwhelming that I didn’t care. I simply clung to him, my fingers wrapped in his hair, as his body subsided against mine.

Both of us were panting when his tongue rasped against the sensitive spot of my shoulder where he’d bitten me. It was rough like a cat’s, and I froze at the odd sensation. He continued licking my shoulder, and I winced.

“I’m sorry, sweet thing. I bit you. Fuck.” He sounded angry with himself. “I lost control.”

Sure enough, he’d bitten me hard enough to break the skin. A set of bite marks circled the white flesh of my shoulder; I’d probably be bruised in the morning.

And I found I didn’t care. I smiled. “That’s all right. It’s not like you can turn me into a were-cat if you don’t break the skin.”

He stilled. “How do you know?”

Oops. I couldn’t tell him that it was personal experience, that I was immune to turning. “I think Giselle mentioned it once,” I said casually.

“Bathsheba,” he said in a low, serious voice. “When we’re together, you have to tell me if I’m hurting you. With the heat … I … I can’t control myself very well.” The hard, raspy note was back in his voice, and I felt him stirring against me again.

Already?

It excited me, even through my exhaustion. I wiggled against him again, delighted that I could cause him to lose his mind like that. “I like what you do to me, Beau.”

He pressed his forehead against my shoulder. “Let’s give this a few minutes.” He seemed to be trying to compose himself.

But I liked the wild, untamed Beau. I was disappointed when he lifted me out of the tub and set me on my feet, our bodies sliding apart and leaving me with a sudden jab of loneliness. As I moved to the long counter where our towels lay, a glance in the mirror showed that Beau was still in the tub, his eyes closed. I frowned.

I toyed with my long hair and let it fall down my back in a damp cascade, the wet ends teasing the small of my back. “Would you dry my hair for me, Beau?” My voice sounded breathy and excited. His eyes opened and I ran my hand through the long, tangled strands, then deliberately leaned over the counter, my ass in the air, and glanced at him over my bitten shoulder.

I heard that same leonine snarl, and fast as lightning, Beau was across the room. He pressed me against the counter, my stomach sliding along the cool marble, and his hot, thick cock rammed into me from behind, hard and delicious. I cried out in surprised pleasure and Beau plunged deep, hard, and fast, and his hand clamped down on my shoulder, holding me against the counter as he pumped over and over again.

As I spiraled toward the newest orgasm, I wondered if I’d last until morning. And when my body stiffened with pleasure and I cried out his name, I decided that I didn’t care.





Chapter Fifteen





Several hours, seventeen climaxes, and a brief nap later, I pulled Beau’s discarded shirt over my head and went down to the kitchen for a drink. Beau was sleeping upstairs, his movements restless. I suspected that he’d wake soon and we’d go for another exhausting, wonderful round of sex. He’d woken me up twice during the night, his body demanding more in a wordless call that I was happy to answer.



My entire body was deliciously sore and my hair had long ago formed a mass of snarls that framed my face. I shoved it out of the way as I filled a glass with tap water, then squinted at the bright sunlight pouring through the window as I drank. I was wrecked. Happy, but wrecked.

There was a small red box on the counter, about the size of a book. A jaunty white bow covered the top and there was a tag on the cover. For Bathsheba. You can do my books anytime, sweet thing.

I lifted the lid and laughed at the calculator inside. A small ten-key, complete with rolls of tape in pastel colors. My name ran along the side of the calculator in alphabet stickers.

It brought tears to my eyes and I dabbed at them, feeling like an idiot and yet unable to stop smiling.

No one had ever bought me presents. My stepmother had rarely remembered, and when we’d had money, everything had gone to Sara. I’d been lucky to get hand-me-down clothing from neighbors. Never a present just to put a smile on my face.

I lifted it out of the box and held it to my breast, feeling absurd. I was about to bawl over a calculator. This is the part where you separate sex from love, idiot, I told myself, and put the calculator down. I couldn’t afford to get attached. I couldn’t.