Page 1 of Broken Beauty (Beauty 3)
CHAPTER ONE
Erin picked up her clothes by the dawn’s pale light and left Blake’s room, shutting the door behind her. She slipped into the bathroom down the hall to change. She didn’t want to wake Blake. No, that was a lie. She wanted very much to wake him up, to make love to him, and to spend the rest of the day in bed with him. But real life was on her heels, right upon her.
Final professor assignments were announced today, and that meant textbooks would be listed in the university’s bookstore bulletin. She needed only one class for her last semester. The rest of her credits were for research, though in truth, the exploratory phase was complete. Now she had to write the final draft of her thesis, which would be presented to the committee at the end of the summer semester.
She splashed water on her face and looked at herself in the mirror. College graduate. Barely making ends meet. Master’s degree candidate. Maid service. She didn’t know which side was the real Erin.
She left the bathroom and paused outside the closed door. All was quiet. She continued on without disturbing him. It was so early. Let him sleep.
The stairs were dark. She trailed her fingertips on the wall to find her way. Downstairs, she grabbed a banana from the bowl in the kitchen to eat on the drive home. In the shadowed foyer, she bent to slip on her shoes.
“Leaving without a goodbye?”
She turned at the low sound of Blake’s voice. He must have followed her downstairs, stealthy like a soldier. “You scared me.”
“I’m sorry,” he murmured.
She took a step toward him, hesitant. “No, I’m sorry for waking you.”
They were both lying. He didn’t like it when she slipped away, and she didn’t either. He came forward as she leaned closer. Strong arms pulled her to him. She rested her cheek against his bare chest, her sigh of relief mingling with his.
It was always a strain to leave him, even knowing they would see each other again soon. Perhaps because their relationship had to be secret. Their passion, their love for each other, existed only in the circle of their embrace.
She breathed him in, his sleepy male scent and faint musk of sex. Her body still hummed with remembrance of his touch, his tongue. His cock. Which was currently pressing against her hip.
She hid her smile against his neck. Morning wood was like God’s gift to women. Softened by sleep everywhere, except for there, hard and ready. What a beautiful way to start the day. Even at six a.m., he was primed for her, holding her tighter as her sex grew warmer, their bodies communicating in an ancient language. Her pulse, his groan. She pressed her lips to his collarbone. He crowded her back against the wall.
“I’ve got to go,” she said, even while she let her purse drop to the floor. Her wallet fell open on the tile, pens scattered as the contents spilled out, but she didn’t care about anything as long as he held her this way, as long as he surrounded her and ached with her. As long as they were together.
“Stay with me. Never leave.” He turned his words into action, pushing his hands beneath her shirt and tugging it over her head. He groaned at the sight of her bare breasts.
She bit her lip. “I couldn’t find my bra in the dark.”
He cupped one breast reverently. “Beautiful.”
She squirmed against the wall, aching for more. He was too gentle, too soft. He did it on purpose, the bastard. His tender admiration drove her crazy. She wanted more and harder and faster, and all he gave her was reverence.
But she was not without power here. His body awoke whenever she was near, heating up, growing taut. The muscles of his chest rippled beneath her touch. His jaw clenched when her thumb gently scraped his flat nipple.
He unzipped her jeans, and she slid them off with a wriggle of her hips.
“I really do have to go,” she said, more breathless this time and with far less conviction.
“I know. Just saying goodbye.”
“Is that what they’re calling it these days?” Her laugh was cut short when he slid two fingers between her legs, testing her—and finding her, she knew, slick and ready.
Her sex still felt swollen and tender, not yet recovered from the pounding he had given her last night. Nothing like now. This was slow and lazy, but somehow just as urgent. Somehow more poignant, as he hitched one of her legs on his hips.
