Two-Step Read online

  My heart craters at the thought.

  I grip his shoulders, needing to hold onto him.

  “That feels good,” he murmurs, oblivious to this crisis that is chewing me up. What I feel is too big. It’s too much to contain.

  I’m in love with him.

  I want to be with him.

  “Beau?” My hands still hold his shoulders, and I’m grateful he can’t see my face just now. “I think I made a mistake.”

  He whips around to face me, his look as dark as the storm raging outside. “You didn’t. Putting some space between you and Moira is the right thing—”

  “N-no,” I say, startled. Somehow, my hand is on his chest. Right above his heart. “Not that… I mean I made a mistake when I said we shouldn’t see each other.”

  And because my hand is where it is, I feel it the instant his heart launches a thrashing beat.

  “Iris—” His right hand cups my cheek, the look in his eyes transforming, but no less stormy.

  “If…” I swallow, summoning the very last of my courage, “you still—”

  His mouth covers mine, stopping the words, and as though the energy between us is too much, thunder rends the air overhead.

  My hand at his chest fists his shirt. With the other, I clasp the back of his neck to pull him closer. Beau’s fevered tongue feeds mine, and the intimate recognition of his taste sets me moaning.

  Without hesitation, I climb onto his lap, straddling his thighs and tipping his head back with my kiss.

  It’s as though all the ties that have held me back my entire life snap at once.

  I have never been more present. Than. I. Am. Right. Now. I feel everything. The fabric of Beau’s shorts between my knees. The tickle of his hair on the inside of my wrist. The rasp of his beard along my chin. His erection. My wetness.

  And holy shit. I have a body. He has a body. We both have bodies and they’re amazing.

  His touch on me. My touch on him. IT’S ALL AMAZING!

  For the first time in my life, it hits me that my body—my hands, my skin, my nerve endings, my muscles, my belly, my ass—the whole of my body is a gift.

  And I want to share it.

  I will. I will. Just as soon as I get enough of Beau’s kisses. I kiss him and I kiss him, and after what seems like an age, it begins to sink in that getting enough might take a while.

  In fact, I might never get enough. But I want more, and by the sound of Beau’s desperate breaths, he wants more too. His hands are everywhere, rubbing down my back, gliding up my thigh, tangling into my hair.

  When he traces over the side of one breast, I gasp against his mouth.

  “Is this—” he pants between kisses, “okay?”

  I’m nodding because nodding requires less oxygen, and I don’t have to stop suckling Beau’s bottom lip to do it.

  He shifts his hand over my tank top and squeezes my breast, and I release his lip in a sob of ecstasy. Muscles deep inside me clasp in response, and no man’s touch has ever made that happen.

  “Bodies are amazing,” I breathe, the words muffling against Beau’s cheek.

  “Hmm?” he asks, kissing my jaw and making his way down my neck, that wicked hand teasing my hardened nipple. The tank top has just a shelf bra, but I want to feel the full force of Beau’s attention. My neglected nipple deserves nothing less. And so does the other one.

  Yes. Justice for both nipples!

  In a snap decision, I reach down, grab the hem of my tank, and whip my top off.

  “Oh God, you’re so beautiful,” Beau utters before hitching me up and sucking my left breast into his mouth. He moans around my flesh.

  I throw my head back because, holy God, I think I could come just from this. I rake my fingers through his hair as the sensation sucks all of my control through a crazy straw.

  I’ve always thought my boobs were just a little too small. Moira has always said so. Wardrobe is always strapping me in push-up bras with plenty of padding.

  But if there was any more boob to my boob that’s in Beau’s mouth, the pleasure would be too much. Too damn much.

  When he moves his kisses, and suckles the right one, my spine turns to coconut oil. I grab his shoulders, my body humming with every vibration of his moans.

  Drenched in pleasure, I run my hands down his chest and shake my head. “Take it off,” I say, tugging at his T-shirt. But Beau just cinches me tighter around the waist, arching my back, and sapping my focus.

  Jesus God, what can’t this man do? Dance. Build a frickin’ house. Turn my timid tits into porn stars.

  I rock forward and connect with the hard ridge of his cock, surprising moans from both of us. The need to run my hands over Beau’s skin is a revelation. I marshal my efforts and grab again at his shirt.

  “I need to touch you.” Am I begging? It sounds like I’m begging. I don’t care.

  Beau must hear the urgency because he pulls back and locks eyes with me for one blistering second before he reaches back and yanks off his shirt. I can tell by his smoldering look he’s about to dive back into my meager cleavage, so I put a hand on his chest.

  It’s so hot against my palm I lose my breath.

  “Wait,” I pant.

  Alarm flashes in his brown eyes. He grips my waist with both hands. “Too fast?”

  “No,” I’m quick to say. Then more slowly. “No... But it’s my turn.” I paint my fingers down his chest and watch his eyelids fall to half-mast. He is absolutely beautiful. The dark hair of his beard is echoed in a natural arrow between his pecs. Muscles bunch and quiver under my touch.

  As soon as I trace my fingers below his navel, he grips my wrist. I snap my gaze back up to his to find him glaring, all stern and serious.

  God, I love that look.

  “Yes?” I tease with false innocence.

  His eyes narrow on me. “What do you think you’re doing?” His voice is nothing short of a growl, but a smile fights to peek at me from the corners of his mouth.

  Loving you, I want to say.

  Instead, I take my free hand and run the back of my nails up the path I just traveled along his torso. He shuts his eyes as a shiver passes over him. I want to make that happen again and again.

  Beau peels his eyes open and arches one brow. “I asked you a question.”

  My fingers reach his right nipple, and I trace its circle. I manage just one revolution before he snatches that wrist with his other hand.

  I meet his gaze, and I know I’m not above begging. “Lie down for me.”

  His breath hitches, and I swear a molten panic passes over his eyes. It tells me everything I need to know. My Beau is used to leading. He’s used to giving. He takes charge, and he gives and gives and gives.

  Right now, I want to give. I want to lead.

  “Please?” See? Not above begging.

  Beau hikes his hips, lifting me with them, and turns us parallel with the sofa cushions. He leans back, propped up against one of the hefty throw pillows against the arm of the couch. I’m still straddling him, but now he reclines before me, all masculine beauty.

  He’s still gripping my wrists.

  “Can I have my hands back?” I ask, wiggling my fingers against him.

  His eyes narrow again. “That depends. What are you going to do with them?”

  “Touch you.” I know my tone is playful, but I hold his gaze and let the moment take us deeper. “Do you want that?”

  Beau squeezes my wrists before letting them go. “Yes, I want that.”

  God, I like the way that sounds. I lay all ten fingers low on his ribs and slowly glide them upward. His breath stutters. I don’t take my eyes off his. He doesn’t look away from me. It’s intense. And the intensity just builds.

  “How long?” I hear myself ask. It feels like my heart exists at the base of a waterfall. Such a downpour. I’m over the edge and falling endlessly.

  “Have I wanted you to touch me?” he asks, eyes and voice softening.

  Speaking is too hard. I just nod. I b
rush my touch over both nipples, and he exhales a sharp breath.

  “The first—the first night we met.” He shakes his head. “I wouldn’t have admitted it then. But it’s true.”

  I smile because I could say the same thing. My hands reach his shoulders, and I lean forward to hover over him. “What kept you from admitting it?”

  Beau plants his hands on my sides. They span me from rib to hip. The look in his eyes grows so raw.

  “I couldn’t imagine this,” he says, gripping me tighter. His touch anchors me. “Why let yourself want what’s impossible?”

  I think about the course of the last twenty-four hours. “Maybe letting yourself want what’s impossible is the secret to life.”

  I lower myself and brush his lips with mine.

  “Maybe,” he murmurs. His right palm slips higher, but I pull back and place a staying hand on him before he reaches my breast.

  “I said it was my turn,” I remind him and nearly laugh at his frustrated frown.

  “For what?” He’s almost glaring. I love it.

  In answer, I fold forward again, but instead of bringing my mouth to his, I go for his right pec and run my tongue over his nipple.

  Beneath me, his body goes bowstring tight. “Shit, Iris,” he hisses.

  I nod, lapping and then suckling the tight nipple. “Tell me about it,” I murmur. I run my hands down his sides and back up his arms, loving each jump of muscle and each tremor as he seems to wrestle himself for control.

  His hands land on my knees, and as I plant kisses across his chest, most with tongue and some with teeth, he grips and squeezes me in a kind of restless Morse code.

  A desperate S.O.S.

  Working him up is driving me wild. I’ve never done anything like this, and the thrill is almost too much. I’ve never felt so powerful. So free. So capable of sharing this part of myself with someone.

  And it’s only right that someone is Beau. From the beginning, he’s always made me feel safe. Like it’s okay to fall or even fail when I’m with him.

  My hands move with certainty to the waistband of his shorts. But as soon as I grip it with intention, his hands come back to mine.

  “Iris, honey, hang on.” I look up and find urgent heat in his gaze. Sweat mists his forehead.

  “What’s wrong?” I thought I knew exactly where this was going. Could I have misread the way he’s touched me? The way he’s said my name?

  “Baby—” Frustration edges his eyes. “It’s been a long time for me.”

  Call me petty, but as far as I am concerned, this is good news. I’ve found myself feeling jealous of Beau’s other dance partners. I haven’t even let myself think about his sex partners. Starting now wouldn’t be a good idea, either.

  “It’s been a long time for me, too,” I say, and I’ll be damned, but is that relief in his eyes? “Probably longer.”

  Yeah, that’s definitely relief.

  Is it wrong that I think that’s sweet?

  “Iris.” Beau reaches up and presses his palm to my cheek. “I want to make love to you, and I want it to be the best you’ve ever had.”

  Again, good news. “Okay.” I might sound just a little too enthusiastic.

  The corners of his mouth quirk and his eyes dance. “Iris.”

  “What?”

  Beau smiles, his dark brows lifting with emphasis. “If you touch me right now—even a little—I won’t be able to do that.”

  I blink fast, stunned. “Really?”

  His chuckle does amazing things to my nether parts. I bite my lip to keep from moaning, and Beau strokes my cheek.

  “Iris, I’m gonna explain this so we’re clear. You’re the woman I’d walk through a hurricane to reach,” he says, his eyes narrowing and heating at the same time. “And you’re sitting on me. Without your top. Touching me. A man can only handle so much.”

  I suck in a breath. “Oh.”

  His gaze falls to my mouth, and he licks his lips. “Yeah,” he murmurs. Then he pulls me down to his mouth. We kiss, and heat engulfs my body.

  Beau’s hands sweep up and down my back in long caresses. I spread my legs and sink lower onto the wedge of his erection. His breath goes jagged. My hands go crazy, touching and memorizing him. I run them through his hair, down his cheeks and over his beard. His neck and shoulders. Ride the swells of the muscles down his arm. Sweep along the sides of his waist.

  When I find my way back to his shorts, I tuck my hands beneath him, thread them past the elastic, and grab his muscled ass.

  “Jesus Christ!” He bucks beneath me, grinding into me with such power that I see stars. I want more. I want it again and again.

  I squeeze him again.

  “Dammit, Iris.” Beau bites my collarbone. I squeal. He laughs. And I moan, grinding down on him.

  “Dammit,” he hisses again, his hands going to the fly of my shorts. I have to let go of his ass to give him room to manage the button and zipper.

  In seconds his hand is down my panties, and his fingers find my slippery clit.

  “God, yes,” I sigh at the same time Beau whispers, “Holy fuck.”

  His fingers graze me, inflame me, but I need more. My angle and the shorts bunched at my hips keep his touch at bay.

  I waste no time. It isn’t graceful—I’m never graceful—but I pop up and manage to shimmy out of my bottoms without leaving Beau’s lap.

  “Holy fuck,” he says again, eyes blazing as they run down my naked body.

  I have never been here before.

  I’ve only been naked, beneath sheets, in the dark. And while the storm bleeds light from the sky with her rain and wrath, a gray luminescence still glows in the windows, leaving all of me bare. Even without the light from outside, the two table lamps bathe the room in a warm gold.

  And I’m glad.

  If anyone is going to see every inch of me, I want it to be Beau.

  And if I had any lingering doubts, he chases them away when he pushes up off the cushions, bringing us face to face.

  “My God, Iris.” He kisses me again, hooking an arm low around my back. My breasts press to his chest in a move that makes us both moan. I feel the tenting of his shorts, their sleek fabric between my legs, and I move, needing it. Needing him.

  Beau moans again, and his other hand travels down between us until he finds my clit again. I gasp at the contact. It’s never felt so sensitive, so eager to be stroked.

  “Iris,” Beau pants against my mouth, his voice strained.

  He’s making it hard for me to concentrate. “What?”

  “I don’t have a condom.” This whispered confession and his clear disappointment make me fall a little more in love with him.

  I smile. “IUD. And I’m clean.” Of this, I’m certain. I swallow as his strokes send sensation spiraling through me. “You?”

  “Clean,” Beau says. Then he draws back enough for me to see his frown, never stopping his caresses. “But are you sure? We could wait. We could do other things—”

  “I’m sure,” I say in a rush. “We’ll do other things—” Not that I’ve ever done other things, so I’m a little bit nervous about them, but we don’t have to go into that now. The rhythm of Beau’s fingers is building pleasure deeper inside me. “I just want to do this first.”

  “Jesus Christ,” Beau groans.

  The ache in his voice breaks through my bliss. “Is that bad?”

  “God, no.” He chuckles into my neck, mumbling something that sounds like an embarrassment of riches, but the vibration of his laugh and the finesse of his touch are too damn much.

  I grab the sides of his shorts. “Can that happen now? Like right now?”

  Maybe it’s the urgency in my voice. Maybe it’s the sound of the wind whipping up outside, reminding all living creatures to seize the day. Maybe it’s because I’m pushing Beau over the edge just as I’m about to hurtle myself over it as well, but Beau hikes up his hips and scoots out of his shorts with way more grace than I pantsed myself.

  But I�
�m not thinking about my clumsiness because, right now, my full attention is on Beau in all his glory. His naked beauty is stunning. Humbling.

  And I realize what we’re about to do isn’t supposed to be done in darkness, embarrassed under sheets, with your co-stars brother at some party in Marina Del Rey. Or half-dressed in the back of a guy’s Tesla. It’s supposed to happen with the person you trust to walk you through the woods. To batten down the hatches. To join you in battle.

  To be your dance partner. For life.

  I’ve never done it that way. And the fact that I get to do this—make love for real with Beau—makes my breath hitch.

  And I’ve never done it this way either. Not on top. But time slows when I watch him, lying back on my couch, take himself in hand—God, what a sight—and my body—my sweet, mistreated, misunderstood, and marvelous body—knows exactly what to do.

  I shift forward until my sex hovers just above his, and then I latch eyes with Beau. I can’t explain to him what’s happening to me, how this unspoken love changes everything. But when our eyes lock, I think I see what I’m feeling in the depth of his.

  We touch. His heat to mine, and his eyes blaze, never leaving me. But when we thrust together, the pleasure is shattering. I throw my head back, a cry on my lips, my hands braced on his biceps.

  “Iris.” My name sounds precious. Irreplaceable.

  I tip forward, meeting his gaze again as Beau bucks beneath me, the force of his thrusts hitting me deep. Touching the place that knows the truth about love: that it can only be met with eyes wide open.

  His fingers find me again, and I move, learning my body, his body, our rhythm. It doesn’t take long. In fact, it’s a lesson I master in record time. Because when I see Beau watching me, his jaw clenched tight, the tendons in his neck straining to hold back his climax, it’s like a self-fulfilling prophecy. The thought of him coming—of him finding his pleasure, his release in me—

  “Beau—” I cry his name as wave after wave of bliss pound me. He grabs the back of my thighs in a tight hold as he starts to unravel, and my orgasm just telescopes, going on and on.

  “God, Iris… God, Iris” he echoes. And I’m not kidding. Lightning crashes. Thunder rolls. And I come like I’ve never come before.

  Collapsed on Beau’s chest moments later, eyes closed, I catch my breath, feeling Beau’s chest heave beneath mine. His arms close around me. Blindly, I reach one hand up and stroke his bearded jaw. And for a moment, we just breathe, touching each other with a tender claiming.