Beautiful Bitch(7)

Nodding, Julia said, “She exercised too much, worked too much.” Her eyes searched mine for a beat before she added, “It wasn’t good, Bennett. She was a wreck.”

“So was I.”

She acknowledged this with a teasing smile. The sadness was in the past, after all. “So if you’re going to keep her in bed for the next few days, just make sure you give her breaks to eat.”

I nodded, moving my eyes to the back of the room, where my girl spun a couple of times, took aim, and then barely hit the dartboard. She and Sara broke into laughter, pausing only to say something that then made them both laugh harder.

And while she played and danced to the Rolling Stones, I felt the weight of my love for her settle into a heavy warmth in my stomach. Two months apart was nothing in the grand scheme of what we had ahead of us, but in our shared history it felt enormous. I wanted to dwarf it with time spent together.




I needed to get back, get closer. I waved to the bartender, mouthing, “Check,” when she looked at me.

Julia stopped me with a warning hand on my arm. “Don’t f*ck it up. She’s independent, and she’s been doing it on her own for so long she’ll never be the girl to tell you how much she needs you. But she’ll show you how much she wants this. Chloe is about action, not words. I’ve known her since we were twelve, and you’re it for her.”

Two smooth arms slipped around my waist from behind, and Chloe pressed a kiss between my shoulder blades. “What are we talking about over here?”

“Football,” Julia said just as I answered, “Politics.”

I felt her laugh and she slid under my arm, wrapping herself around me. “So you were talking about me.”

“Yes,” we both answered.

“And what a mess I was and how happy I look tonight, and how Bennett better not f*ck it up this time.”

Julie glanced at me, punting that one in my direction as she lifted her beer, raised it in a silent toast, and then left us alone at the end of the bar.

Chloe turned her brown eyes on me. “Did she tell you all of my secrets?”

“Hardly.” I set my drink down and wrapped my arm around her. “Can we go now? I’ve been away from you for too long and I’m reaching the limit on how much sharing I’m willing to tolerate. I want you alone.”

I felt her laugh as a small shaking of her body in my arm, and then the quiet sound made it to my ears. “You’re so demanding.”

“I’m just telling you what I want.”

“Fine then. Be specific. What do you really want?”

“I want you on your knees on my bed. I want you sweaty and begging. I want you wet enough to drink from.”

“Shit,” she whispered, her voice strung tight. “I’m already there.”

“Then damn, Miss Mills. Get the f*ck in my car.”





TWO


With my hands on the steering wheel, and her hands everywhere else—my thighs, my cock, my neck, my chest—I wasn’t even sure we would make it home safely.

Especially not once she lifted my right arm so she could duck down and unzip my pants, pull my cock from my boxers, and drag her tongue up its length. I’d wanted to get her home, but f*ck, this would do just as well.

“Oh, God,” she whispered, before taking all of me in her mouth.

“Holy f*ck,” I mumbled, moving into the slow lane of traffic.

It was so perfect, all over again: her hands and mouth working in tandem, tiny moans vibrating against me and sounding to all the world as if she’d never wanted anything as much as she’d wanted to feel me like this. She started slow, long pulls and tiny teasing licks, looking up at me through dark lashes until I thought I might lose my mind. But she read me like she always did, knowing when not to stop, when to move faster or rougher, squeezing my base tightly. What sent me reeling was her own excitement; her eyes grew dark, pleading, her breath grew labored, and her sounds around me grew more frantic. Too soon, I was gripping the steering wheel, panting and begging, and, finally, cursing loudly as I came in her mouth.

I have no idea how I managed to steer the car onto my street, or pull it into my driveway, but with shaky hands, somehow I got us there. She kissed my navel, and then rested her forehead against my thigh and the car grew completely silent. It wasn’t exactly how I imagined being with her again for the first time, but the way it was so hurried and spontaneous . . . that felt like us, too.