In His Keeping (Slow Burn #2)(52)

Every muscle, every nerve ending, every single cell in her body was taut, tension coiling about to . . . almost . . . oh God, it was happening.

She hurtled through the air, the rush so exhilarating that it was akin to a downhill ski race, slick like snow, out of control. Faster and faster. Higher and higher.

The room blurred around her. The bed shook. There was a faint thudding sound that grew louder and the bed vibrated beneath her while Beau thrust into her from above, driving her deeper into the bed, covering her like a blanket with himself. Skin to skin. No barriers. No separation. Just time standing still for one brief moment when everything else drifted away and nothing or no one could intrude, could break the tangible connection between heart, mind and soul.

He filled her. Not just her body. He completely and utterly filled her. Her heart. Her soul. He filled her with hope. With confidence. With the knowledge he wouldn’t fail her. That he’d protect her from the outside world and would shelter her from the storms of life.

Her small hands pressed into his shoulders, her fingers curling and turning white at the tips as she held on for dear life. A painting that hung on the wall came sharply into focus and she stared because either it was a lot lower than it had been before or she was much higher.

It was then she realized the entire bed was levitating. Laughter escaped her.

“You’re not supposed to laugh right after a man just gave you the best orgasm of your life,” Beau said dryly.

His eyes gleamed with mischief, telling her he’d been intentionally arrogant in his assumption. But he was also right.

She grinned up at him. “I feel like we’re in The Exorcist. You know, the whole bed levitating bit.”

He kissed her, the soft smooching sound echoing softly through her ears.

“Or maybe we just rocked it so hard that our sexual energy was raising the roof. Literally.”

Her shoulders shook and then she hugged him to her just as the bed settled gently back onto the floor, jarring them just enough that it shook her hold on him. Her smile was likely permanent now. Never in a million years had she imagined her first time to be so earth-shattering, and her expectations had been high. And wrong, for that matter.

So good fiction was apparently just that. Fiction. At first she’d felt extremely let down, and well, she’d felt stupid and naïve. But Beau hadn’t laughed at her. He’d laughed because of her. Because she’d made sex fun for him. On a hotness scale, she wasn’t sure where “fun” rated, but it did odd little things to her heart to know that she’d somehow been special to him. Not just another woman in what was undoubtedly a really long line. Men like Beau never had to worry about forced celibacy. If anything he likely had to beat them back with a stick. And yet he’d chosen her.

That falsification jolted her back to awareness and her “permanent” smile just went south. She glanced up at his passion-laced eyes, uncertainty, something definitely not new to her, crowding in and dimming the aftershocks of something truly wonderful.

Beau’s body came down over her, concern flaring in his eyes. “Ari? Did I hurt you again? Was I too rough?”

“No,” she hastened to assure him. “I was just being silly. It’s nothing to worry over. It was wonderful.”

She was absolutely sincere in that regard. But Beau continued to study her intently, his stare probing, looking beyond the denial she’d hurriedly issued.

He bore his weight with one arm pressed into the mattress so he wasn’t too heavy and he had shifted his weight to her uninjured side so no pressure was exerted on the wound. With his free hand, he smoothed several wild strands of hair that lay haphazardly over her damp, flushed cheek.

“What were you thinking?” he softly prompted.

She sighed and made a face. “I’m not the most self-assured person and you’re going to think me completely absurd. But I was thinking about the fact that I was actually something special or at least unique to you. Because you said I was the first you had fun with. Then the thought expanded to the idea that men like you never have to worry about enforced celibacy and in fact you likely have to beat back the women wanting to get with you.”

She bit her lip, loathing having to admit the last. It was one thing to harbor secret thoughts. They were her own and she never had to worry that anyone would know her weaknesses. But Beau wanted access to those thoughts and the idea gave her hives.

His expression was still puzzled but he stared pointedly at her, obviously waiting for her response, and just as obviously knowing there was more.

“I got this really giddy feeling like a sixteen-year-old high school girl who just got asked to prom by the hottest guy in school. I thought to myself he could have his pick of women and he chose me. As soon as the thought came to me, I realized that you didn’t choose me. I threw myself at you, all but begged you to have sex with me and then made you feel guilty for turning me down. Basically making this a pity f*ck . . .”

She flinched at her choice of words. They sounded stark and crude and she was surprised by them. That she’d actually voiced the last bit. The expression had wafted through her mind just as she’d mentioned him turning her down and just spilled out before she could think better of using it, and now she was ashamed at her language because regardless of his reasons for making love to her, it had been beautiful, soul-stirring, and she’d reduced it to a crude euphemism.