Page 22 of Beauty Becomes You (Beauty 4)
He tensed in her arms. “Erin.”
She laughed at the note of warning in his voice. “Unless you’ve changed your mind about me moving in with you.”
“You know I won’t. There’s no need to rush.”
“Good, because it will probably be a couple of weeks until I can come back. I want to stay and make sure my mom is okay.”
He turned around and pulled her in for a hug. His hands were wet and slippery on her arms, her hair, and she didn’t care.
“I can stay with you,” he murmured. “And get a motel room if I’m getting in the way.”
“Of course not. You need to go back and prep for the fall semester.”
“How did you know I was accepting the job?”
“Well, I wasn’t sure,” she admitted. “But I am now.”
He huffed a laugh. “Very nice, my little socialist.”
She groaned, remembering the Robin Hood story. “You’re going to actually call me that from now on, aren’t you?”
“Absolutely. And I might need to see a costume. With tights.”
“Fine, but you’re playing Maid Marian.”
He shrugged. “As you wish.”
She laughed. He probably would go along with that or anything. His masculinity could hardly be threatened when he stood there, so strong and solid, smelling of soap and a faint musk she could recognize in her sleep. And had recognized in her sleep, she realized, thinking of last night. A blush stole up her cheeks.
His gaze honed on the color, and he bent to nuzzle against her neck. “Were you serious? You’re coming to stay with me?”
“I couldn’t joke about that,” she said honestly. It meant too much. She felt too much. And she’d resigned herself to the fact that it wouldn’t change anytime soon. Love had turned her into a raw, exposed nerve, and the only choice left was to seek the shelter of his embrace.
Tension ran through him, though he was silent. For a long moment, he said nothing, pressing light kisses down her neck and across her shoulder. “I’m grateful,” he said thickly, and she knew she wasn’t the only one who needed shelter. She wrapped her arms around him, barely spanning him at all, but she felt him shudder. Her eyes half-closed, she blindly sought his mouth, finding it warm and firm against hers. She was in a daze, but he guided her, commanded her, until she found the sweet rhythm of their kiss and knew herself to be home—with him, holding him and being held.
“Wait for me,” she whispered.
“Forever,” he murmured. “I’d wait for you forever. Though if you came back sooner, I’d make it worth your while.”
She laughed softly before tugging him closer for another kiss.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Three weeks later
Despite the number of times Erin had undressed in Blake’s bedroom, it felt strange to do so without his solid, sexy presence. The draft from the air conditioning raised goose bumps on her skin. The slim light from between the closed curtains painted yellow light across her bare skin as she shucked her skirt and top. She paused with her thumbs tucked into her panties. Was she really going to do this? For all she knew, she’d look ridiculous splayed out on the bed. Blake hadn’t, but then his body was hard, masculine, and completely unyielding. Hers, she admitted ruefully, was soft. He seemed to like her curves, but that didn’t mean she needed to display them.
No, what was she thinking? He was far more on display every single day—to strangers, no less. And on that unlikely afternoon when she had caught him masturbating, he had exposed himself to her. His pleasure, his body. His heart. It was only fair she return the favor.
She toed off her panties and unhooked her bra, letting it fall to the floor amid the other puddles of clothing. Half-bending, she almost picked them up to fold them…stalling, of course. Even determined, the urge to delay, to hide, tugged at her. But Blake could pull up at the house any minute. She couldn’t reproduce the element of surprise, considering her repaired car was out front. But she could make the vulnerability real.
Climbing onto his bed, she settled herself back, feeling unaccountably raw. Her nipples pebbled in the chilly air even while her face heated with embarrassment. When she slipped trembling fingers down to her sex, she found her lips dry and curled up tight. Swallowing hard, she shut her eyes. Clearly this required a little imagination. What had he been thinking of that day? She remembered now. Her mouth, his cock. She’d sucked him in that little fantasy, and goddamn, it worked for her too. She loved the taste of him, the shape of him, the little ridge underneath, perfect for hooking her tongue around and making him shudder. Imagining it now, she touched two fingers lightly to her clit, warming herself up through contact alone. No pressure, no friction—just touch.
Letting her mind drift, she fell deeper into the fantasy. The hair on his thighs abraded the sensitive outer curve of her breasts as she knelt between his legs. His hands shifted restlessly through her hair, clenching and releasing as if he couldn’t decide which to do. He groaned on every stroke of her lips down his slippery cock. His whole body drew up tight when she angled the point of her tongue into the slit, and she could almost taste the salty pre-cum.
She imagined him finding her. Would he be surprised? Or maybe not. The things they had done were far dirtier than fondling her clit or pinching her own nipples. And yet, a shaky feeling had begun in her center, warning her, berating her. Don’t put yourself out there, it said. Wait. Just wait. For what, though? She’d never quite understood. For the man to make the first move. For her mother to direct her safely through life. For Blake to decide she was strong enough to stay.
Well, screw that. Her relationship with Blake may have started awkwardly, and mortifyingly, but she had always been an equal participant. Her mother may have raised her, but these past few weeks, Erin had taken care of her. And she hoped Blake didn’t doubt her anymore, she truly did.
