Beautiful Bombshell: Chapter 7

Bennett Ryan

Will’s voice broke the silence in the elevator. “Should we be even mildly concerned about Henry down there in the high rollers room?”

I reached into my jacket pocket, pulling out my brother’s credit card—the only one Mina let him leave home with. “I have no idea what he’s playing, but he’ll either keep winning or run out of money and the only card he’ll have in his wallet will be the one that opens his hotel room door.”

“Brilliant,” Max murmured, sleepily leaning into the wall of the elevator car. “I’m fucking knackered.”

Will sighed, watching the numbers climb on the digital display. “You know, for being a couple of neutered assholes, you guys actually managed to make a pretty entertaining night out of it.”

“Nudie club, fake medical emergencies, fan-fucking-tastic dinner, grand theft auto, transvestite escort, Chloe wins a few grand, and we nearly get maimed by some goons,” Max said, standing up straighter. “Not so bad, eh?”

Will turned to stare at him. “Grand theft auto?”

Max rubbed his face, shaking his head. “A story for another—”

Will held up a hand, eyes wide as if he’d already moved on from his first question. “And how could you forget Mike Hawk? I think, especially for the two of you, Mike Hawk figured quite prominently in this evening’s activities.” Will hiccupped, weaving slightly as the doors to our floor opened. “I’d say you’re pussy-whipped, but I think it’s even worse than that.”

I watched as Max’s smile went from self-satisfied to mocking. “Will. Darling.” He put a heavy hand on Will’s cheek and clucked his tongue. “I can’t wait for that one girl to come in and kick your feet out from under you. You think you have things organized, sorted. You think you’re content with your low-key bachelor apartment, with your triathlons and your work and your scheduled pussy. When that one girl comes along, I’m going to say I told you so, and give you no bloody sympathy when you’ve turned into a lovesick strop.” With a light slap to Will’s cheek, he stepped away, laughing as he walked down the hall. “Can’t fucking wait for it, mate.”

Will watched Max’s heavy limbs and dragging feet, and then turned to me expectantly as if I would add to the lecture. I shrugged. “Pretty much what he said. When you find that girl, we’ll be happy for you, but mostly we’ll be happy to give you endless shit.”

“This is why you’re my people,” he mumbled, punching me weakly in the chest before turning the opposite way down the hall.

Bidding Will good night, I walked to my room, wishing I knew where Chloe was staying. Even as exhausted and half drunk as I was, I still would have gone downstairs and climbed in a cab to go anywhere to her.

 

Just inside my door, I stopped at my closet to hang up my blazer, and froze. Dangling from a wooden hanger was Chloe’s lingerie from the club, the jewel stones of the tiny bra and underwear winking green and white in the dim light coming in the bedroom window.

I moved farther into the room, wanting to confirm what my racing pulse had concluded: she was here, in my bed, waiting for me. Sure enough, a Chloe-shaped lump was sound asleep amid a mountain of blankets and pillows in the middle of the king mattress.

Stripping my clothes off and leaving them in a discarded pile on the floor, I climbed over her, braced on my arms and legs. Not touching her, not yet, just taking her in: a tangle of brown curls against the stark white bed linens, eyes closed but lids fluttering in her dreams, lips wet and red and begging to be kissed. Everything below her neck was covered by her cocoon of blankets, and when I stared down at the steady rhythm of her pulse beneath the delicate skin of her neck, I felt a little predatory. The thrill of being able to do this—kiss her, wake her up, fuck her—was still as fresh tonight as it was nearly two years ago when, for the first time, we finally had time alone in a hotel.

Lifting the covers, I slid in beside her and realized she was wearing nothing but my shirt. Beneath, her body was bare. It was one of my favorite iterations of Chloe: when her limbs were heavy and slow from sleep, her sounds similarly deeper, more wanton.

I inched down beneath the covers only as she began to be aware that I was in bed with her. She’d bathed; she no longer smelled of an unfamiliar woman but of her own soap now, blossom and citrus. I kissed the curve of her breast over the shirt, lifted the cotton to lick a line from her belly button to the sweetness of her hip.

Curious fingers ran through my hair; fingertips grazed along my jaw and moved up to trace the shape of my mouth. “I thought I was dreaming,” she whispered, rising into consciousness.

“Not dreaming.”

Her hands found my hair, her legs opened wide beneath the covers because she knew now that I was there, and that I was going to give her what she loved more than almost anything on the planet. Shifting so I was lying between her legs, I bent and blew a soft stream of air across her pussy, teasing and relishing how she bowed off the bed for me, urging me closer, offering her little broken sounds of pleasure. It was a dance I loved: kissing her hips, her thighs, exhaling oh-so-close to that sweet, tiny slide of skin. The room was cool but her skin was already damp with perspiration, and with a single finger I easily slid through the heat of her sex. My Chloe cried out, in a tangle of relief and need.

She didn’t urge me faster because if she’d learned anything, it’s that I would just slow down. She was in my bed, in my room, already my wife for all intents and purposes, and no way was I rushing this when I’d been thinking of her all night, and had nowhere to be early tomorrow morning—this morning—except in bed with her.

I let her feel my breath and my fingers, kissed her stomach, tasted her skin. Fuck, she’s beautiful, I thought, with her arms stretched over her head, her hands searching for the anchor the rest of her didn’t seem to feel. Her hips rolled in front of me, searching, and finally I couldn’t take the seduction of her, the warmth and sweetness anymore. I kissed her gently just once, closing my eyes against the intensity of it.

I wanted more. I wanted, as always, to find a way to taste and fuck her simultaneously and the second my tongue slipped out to glide across the small rise of her clit I was fucking done, mouth open and sucking, devouring. With a cry, she dug her hands fully into my hair, hips sliding and rocking into me and it became a rhythm we fell into without effort, without stutter. She was silky and warm and her legs found their way over my shoulders, down my back, closing around me until the only thing I could hear was the muffled sound of her pleas, the rustle of sheets beneath her as she moved up into me.

Her body couldn’t decide what it wanted—tongue or the pressure of my lips—so I made the decision for her, hungry after a night of secretive, hurried sex and so little intimacy. I surrounded her with my mouth, sucking and reminding her this is how I love you, both soft and wild.

I am fucking lost in you.

Her body was so familiar to me, its dips and curves, the flavor of her sex as she went from sleeping to wild. And although I’d started this wanting to tease her, I couldn’t; her release was a precursor to mine. She came quickly, legs falling away, back bowed until her cries quieted and thighs stopped trembling. She propped herself up on her elbows, watching me.

I kissed up her navel, pushing my shirt up her body as I went, and exposing the soft fullness of her breasts.

“Hello, my lovelies.”

“Did you have fun tonight?” she asked, voice still groggy with sleep and pleasure.

“It was definitely interesting.” My teeth found the bottom swell of her breast, and then my tongue slid up the curve, found her nipple.

“Bennett?”

I paused my gentle attack on her chest to look up and catch the uncertainty on her face. “Hmm?”

“Is it really okay that we did this? That I crashed your bachelor party? I mean, it basically hijacked your first night here.”

“Do you think I’m at all surprised you decided to take charge at the club?”

She closed her eyes, smiling a little. But only a little. “Not being surprised isn’t the same thing as being glad that I did it.”

I pushed my shirt the rest of the way up her arms, trapping her wrists above her head and using it to tie her hands together. “We have all weekend to celebrate the bachelor thing. It’s really okay that you did this.” I leaned down, sucked her neck. “In fact, if you ever stop doing crazy things like that, stop being wild and foolish because you want me so much, it might just ruin me a little.”

“A little?” I could hear the smile in her voice.

Looking down at her face, at her hair fanned across the pillow, eyes heavy with desire and satisfaction in equal measure, I had the sense of being pulled backward through a cable in time. How the fuck had we gotten here? This woman beneath me was the same one I’d despised so viciously for months, the one I’d fucked with such combustible need and hate. And now, she was in my room, on the weekend of my bachelor party, wearing my grandmother’s ring, hands tied over her head with my favorite T-shirt, the one she’d claimed as her own months ago.

Chloe tilted her head, catching my eye. “Where did you go?”

I closed my eyes, swallowing. “Just remembering.”

She waited, eyes studying me.

“I was just remembering everything and . . .”

“And?”

“Thinking about how we started . . . and what it was like before. I was trying to remember the last woman I was with before you. . . . I don’t think I ever told you about that night.”

Beneath me, she laughed. “This has the potential to be such a romantic conversation.” She wiggled a little, rubbing her slick skin along the underside of my cock.

“Just listen,” I murmured, bending to kiss her. Pulling back, I said, “She was my date at the fund-raiser for Millennium Organics. You were there, too. . . .”

“I remember,” she whispered, watching my lips.

“You had on this dress . . .” I exhaled. “Fuck. That dress. It was—”

“Red.”

“Yes. But not just red. Fire engine red. Siren red. You looked like a fucking beacon, a devil . . . which is pretty appropriate, considering. Anyway, Amber was my date, and—”

“Blond. Tall. Fake boobs?” she asked, clearly remembering. I took a small bit of pleasure knowing she was paying close enough attention even then to remember my date nearly two years later.

“That’s her. And she was . . .” I sighed, remembering my complete apathy that entire evening. “She was nice enough. But she wasn’t you. I was obsessed with you, but in a really fucked-up way. I loved finding ways to push your buttons just to see you react to me for a second. I loved getting a rise out of you, because I think it meant that I was the focus of your thoughts for a moment, however rage-filled.”

She laughed again, stretching to kiss my neck, sucking lightly. “Psychopath.”

“That night,” I continued, ignoring her, “you were getting a drink at the bar, and I walked up to you and made some crack—I don’t even remember now what it was I’d said. But I’m sure it was nasty, and unnecessary.” I closed my eyes, remembering her face, how she stared at me blankly, without even a trace of interest. “You looked at me and then laughed before taking your drink and just walking away. It fucking wrecked me, I think, though I didn’t really get that until later. I was used to seeing you react to my jabs with a tiny hint of hurt feelings, anger, or frustration. But to see absolutely nothing but indifference . . . fuck. That was it for me.”

“I don’t remember what you said, either,” she admitted. “But I’m sure it took a lot of effort for me to look unaffected.”

“We left not long after that. Amber and I.” I smoothed a hand up Chloe’s body, over her breast to her face. I looked her in the eye and admitted, “I fucked her. But it was awful. You kept barging into my head. I would close my eyes and imagine what it would be like to touch you. I tried to imagine the sounds you would make when you’d come, how you would feel. That’s when I came. I bit the pillow to keep from saying your name.”

She exhaled sharply, and I realized she’d been holding her breath. “Did you go to her place or yours?”

I looked away from where my fingers ran over her jaw and met her eyes again. How was that relevant? “Hers. Why?”

Shrugging, she whispered, “Just curious.”

I continued to study her and could see the wheels turning, some private curiosity growing in her thoughts.

Bending to kiss her ear, I asked, “What are you thinking, little devil?”

She smiled up at me, caught. “I was wondering . . . what position you were in.”

Ice trickled into my bloodstream. “Do you like hearing about this because you want to imagine me with another woman?”

She shook her head immediately, eyes darkening. Her hands turned into tight fists around the knot of my shirt above her head. “I like hearing how you were thinking about me. I just . . . want to hear about it.”

“I was on top of her, like this,” I murmured, wary. “We only had sex that one time. I’m sure she found me wholly unimpressive as a lover.”

She wiggled, adjusting the position of her hands in their soft binding, watching me. Thinking, thinking, thinking. “Before you had sex with her,” she said, eyes on my mouth. “When you got back to her place. Did she go down on you?”

Shrugging, I admitted, “I think so. A little.”

“And did you?”

“Taste her?” I asked and Chloe nodded. “No,” I said. “I didn’t.”

“Did you wear a condom?”

“I always wore a condom,” I said, laughing. “Well, before you.”

She smiled and rolled her eyes. “Right.” But then her legs slid up around my waist. “Before me.” All I needed to do was shift my hips slightly and I would be able to press inside her. Yet somehow, talking about this naked and over her felt perfect. We had no secrets. “Did she come?” she asked.

Sighing, I admitted, “She faked it.”

Chloe laughed, head pressed back into the pillow so she could see me better. “You’re sure?”

“Positive. It was an impressive effort if not a bit over-the-top.”

“Poor girl didn’t know what she was missing then.”

“It was only a few days before the conference room,” I whispered, kissing the corner of her mouth. “I think I was probably already in love with you. So when I think back to that night with Amber, it feels as though I cheated. Given how you found me tonight—blindfolded, passively accepting an erotic dance—I want to air all of my potential sins. I guess that’s why I’m talking about Amber now.”

Her face straightened, eyes wide and earnest. “Babe. You didn’t cheat. Either with Amber or if had been another woman tonight dancing for you.”

“I wouldn’t, you know,” I said, my voice tight. Reaching above her, I untied her hands, rubbing her wrists carefully. “You saw that I wasn’t aroused until I knew it was you. I couldn’t be unfaithful to you.”

She nodded, and I kissed up her neck to her swollen lips. Swollen from the rough treatment I gave her not long ago. Holy shit she must be sore everywhere. Even still, she lowered her arms, reached between us, and rubbed me over the crease of her sex.

When she kissed me, she moaned quietly against my tongue. “You taste like me.”

“However could that have happened?” I asked, nibbling her bottom lip.

Angling her hips, she pushed up into me, suddenly demanding and urgent.

“Easy,” I whispered, pulling back and sinking into her slowly, groaning into her neck. “Don’t go too fast.” Fuck. She even felt like honey, smooth and sweet. “So good. Always so fucking good, Chlo.”

“How did you know?”

I paused for a moment as I pulled my hips back, interpreting her question. “How did I know you’re sore?”

She nodded.

It was her favorite game, the one where I told her every tiny thing I noticed. I paid attention; she loved it.

“You rode my fingers pretty hard earlier.”

She hummed, eyes closed and hands running down my back.

“And I wasn’t particularly gentle in the restroom.”

“You really weren’t,” she whispered, turning her head to suck on my shoulder.

I started an easy, steady rhythm moving in her. “So just now, when I put my mouth on you? I wasn’t surprised you were a little swollen.”

“Close. Faster, please, baby,” she gasped, but I didn’t pick up speed.

“Not faster,” I objected, lips near her ear. “It’s the slow sex that drives me most wild. It’s when I can feel you best, hear every sound you’re making. I can imagine how we might look beneath the blankets, where I’m moving in you. I think about how many times I’ll make you come. I don’t have all of those thoughts when I’m fucking you hard in a bed, or in a bathroom of a casino.”

Her breath faltered, and she held it, silently begging me to get her there. She ran her hands up my back, around my neck to my face. I felt the cool press of her engagement ring, thinking holy shit, this woman is going to be my wife, have my children, share my home and my life. She’ll see me grow old and most likely insane. She’ll promise to love me through all of it.

I lifted myself above her, arms straight so I could watch what I was feeling, moving inside her. But her hands cupped my face, brought my attention back to her eyes.

“Hey.”

I tried to catch my breath, felt sweat drop from my forehead onto her chest. “Yeah?”

She licked her lips, swallowed. “I am so in love with you.” Her thumb slipped into my mouth and I bit down sharply, causing her to let out a tight moan. “And whatever happens outside of this, of us like this . . .”

“I know.”

We shared a desperate look, a mutual, silent agreement that we would never get enough, that maybe the ideal life was us here like this, alone and touching, but it would never be our reality to exist here exclusively. It was why she crashed my bachelor party but would leave tomorrow. It was why I couldn’t stay away, knowing she was in the same city.

And here she was, limbs heavy and fevered beneath me, hips rising urgently up to mine to get what she needed. She would always belong to me—at home, at work, in bed—and that thought sent me barreling down the road to my release.

She was close, but unfortunately I was closer. “Get there, sweet thing. I . . . I can’t . . .”

Her hands gripped my hips, head pushing back into the pillow. “Please.”

My body tensed, hips thrusting wildly, my orgasm held back by barely a thread. “Fucking get there, Mills.”

It was the voice I used sparingly because I never wanted it to lose its effect on her. With a flush down her chest, she arched off the bed, pulling her thighs high up against her body to send me deep into her. With her lips parting in a sharp cry, she dissolved into her orgasm beneath me.

I’d never tire of the view of Chloe coming. The blush on her skin, the nearly drugged darkness of her eyes as she watched me, and the way her lips shaped my name . . . Every fucking time it reminded me that I was the only man to ever give her pleasure like this. Her arms fell away, heavy with exhaustion, and her tongue peeked out to wet her lips.

“Fuck,” she whispered, shaking.

Relief washed through me, opening the floodgates and permitting my own body to tumble forward, blind to everything but the sensation of her around me. The sweetness of her, the wetness of her . . . My back bowed back as I came, shouting out into the quiet, sterile room.

The sound of my yell echoed from the ceiling when I collapsed onto her, sweaty and heavy. I wanted to nestle my face into the smooth curve of her neck and sleep for at least three days.

She laughed, groaning under my weight. “Get off me, Hulk.”

I rolled away, practically crashing into the mattress beside her. “Damn, Chlo. That was . . .”

She curled into me, purring, “Very, very good.” Stretching to nibble at my jaw, she whispered, “I’m going to need at least ten minutes before we do that again.”

I laughed, and then it turned into a hoarse cough as the idea hit me fully. “Jesus, woman. I may need a bit longer than that. Just fucking cuddle me for a few.”

With a small kiss to my neck, she whispered, “I can’t wait for you to become Mr. Bennett Mills.”

My eyes flew open. “What?”

Her laugh was low and husky against my skin. “You heard me.”

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