Page 21 of Beauty Becomes You (Beauty 4)
He forced himself silent, and she was quiet, focused. The only sound was skin pushing together, her cunt sucking him in and the insides of her thighs over his hips. He couldn’t see straight, could no longer think with the intensity of her sex surrounding him, her slight weight blanketing him. He was lost in a haze, a fog of pure bliss.
He felt her orgasm clench around his cock. Her hips slowed to a stop, shuddering on a final, lingering thrust. He didn’t have the fast friction he needed to come, so his cock remained hard and throbbing within her. She stopped moving and made a contented sigh against the side of his neck. He realized she had drifted off to sleep again. With him still intensely aroused.
Tense, and drowning, he could still feel the velvety walls of her around his cock. Just thinking about her made his cock flex. But she was completely still over him, her breathing steady and slow. Gingerly, he moved her just enough to slip his cock from her slick heat, wincing at the cool sandpaper sheets on his sensitive flesh.
He couldn’t bring himself to push her off him, though, even if it meant she’d sleep more comfortably. He swallowed, forcing back his desire and failing. It was going to be a long night, but even if he could, he wouldn’t have changed a thing.
* * *
Erin woke up with a long, lazy stretch, hearing the gentle clink of pans and dishes in the kitchen. Rumpled sheets twined around her ankles, leaving a bare expanse of bed beside her. Which meant Blake was out there with her mother. A jolt of alarm went through her; what would they talk about? Would they get along? Her worries quickly dissipated. Blake was the most competent, charismatic man she’d ever met. She suspected he could charm a bird out of a tree if he put his mind to it, or in this case, charm a wary, protective mother into giving her blessings.
After throwing on jeans and a T-shirt, she stumbled into the kitchen to find Blake standing at the stove and her mother chatting away with a conspiratorial smile. Oh yes, the overprotective bird had most definitely left the tree.
“Telling all my secrets, hmm?” Erin asked, sitting at a place that had been laid out with a chipped plate and glass of orange juice.
“Of course not,” her mother denied, the barely suppressed amusement belying her words. “Just that time in fifth grade when you had discovered Robin Hood.”
Erin groaned. “Oh God. That’s even worse than I expected.”
“What? It’s cute.”
A smile played at her mother’s lips. It was good to see her enjoying herself, even if it was at Erin’s expense. “Can we just show him pictures of me as baby instead? That would be less embarrassing.”
“You were adorable with your hair pulled up into that felt green hat. Those neighborhood boys didn’t kn
ow what to make of you. You should have seen them staring.”
“That is not a compliment, Mom.” She sneaked a glance at Blake, who watched the byplay with undisguised amusement.
“I’ve heard there was a bow and arrow,” he added, his voice teasing.
Her mother sighed with pleasure. “The arrows had glittered feathers glued on.”
“Okay, look,” Erin said, finally rising to her own defense. “They were taking money out of the community center’s donation box. It’s not right. You can’t fault my motives.”
“I wouldn’t dare,” Blake said solemnly. “Not with you armed and dangerous.”
She narrowed her eyes, promising retribution when her mother wasn’t in the room, but the effect was ruined by her grin. Oh well, it had been funny. Not at the time, when she’d been sure that injustice could be cured with a curved stick and some twine. And somehow, it had worked, because like her mother had said, the boys had been too freaked out by her Robin Hood routine to really argue the point. They’d never touched the donations box again. Though she’d learned later that good intentions and bravery weren’t enough.
The thought stopped her cold. When had she become so jaded? During high school, with Doug? She wasn’t sure, but none of that was true. Good intentions and bravery were enough. Maybe that was what had drawn her to Blake. He embodied both ideals. Not even fire could stop him; his scars were testament to that.
He seemed to recognize the change in her mood, because he sobered. The playful light in his eyes gave way to a studied concern. Without taking her eyes off Blake, she spoke to her mother, who was sipping the last dregs of her coffee.
“If you’re done here, I can set you up on the couch. You can watch some TV.”
Her mother huffed. “I don’t need help to make it to the living room.”
“All the same, I’ll walk you there.”
She set her mother up with pillows and a glass of water too. Even with the doctor’s blessing, she worried for her mother. And despite the urgency to return with Blake, she planned to stay until she was sure her mother would be fine on her own.
Her mother leaned on her arm as she stood from the table and crossed the short distance, proving that Erin was needed here for the time being. She found a blanket for her mother’s feet and also a few beloved books for her to look at. She told herself she was just taking care of her mother, but at least partly, she was distracting her. A burning, aching need had formed inside her—to talk to Blake, to hold him, and she couldn’t very well do that with her mother looking on in the small space.
The television roared with laughter and voices as a morning talk show flickered on and captured her mother’s attention. Erin bustled back into the kitchen under the pretense of cleaning up to find that Blake had already done so. He cooked, he cleaned. For her sick mother. God, if she weren’t already in love with him…but she was. Completely, whole-heartedly in love.
He glanced up from the sink of soapy water. “What is it? Why are you smiling?”
She went to stand behind him, wrapping her arms around his solid waist and resting her head against his back. “Just imagining doing this in your house when I get back. In our house.”
