Beard Science(53)

But I would not lose control. Losing control would mean losing her.

“Cletus, touch me.” Her breath hitched, her gorgeous eyes moving between mine. “Please.”

“I am touching you.” My voice was gravelly and strained. I cleared my throat.

A sudden frown marred her features and frustration pierced the fog of desire in her stare. “Where are you? Where is your mind right now?”

I blinked at her and the allegation. “My mind is on you.” I moved to kiss her again and flexed my fingers on her skin.

She evaded my mouth. “You’re distracted, I can tell. You were distracted in the car and you’re distracted now.”

Astute woman is . . . still very astute.

“What makes you think so?” I hedged.

“Because I know what it’s like when you’re not. When you kissed me for practice—”

“That wasn’t practice.” Suddenly, I felt it vitally important that she know the truth about that night. “I kissed you because I couldn’t help myself.”

“Oh.” Her eyes grew wide, as though this was news to her. “Wait, what? You couldn’t help yourself? I thought it was practice.”

“No, Jenn. That’s wasn’t practice. That was me wanting you.”

Her eyes grew a little hazy and a small smile arrested her features, but then almost immediately she blinked, as though clearing her head, and said, “Well, it was different the first time. Why was it different?”

She studied me with eyes now shaded a deep, rich purple. Almost indigo. But I hardly noticed the color because I was too preoccupied being captivated by the woman. A stirring in my chest, a sudden longing had me tightening the leash on my restraint.

She was so beautiful, my Jennifer. And not because of her eyes, or face, or any other outward attributes. The person she was held me transfixed. How could I have disregarded her? How could I have looked at her with anything but wonder and respect and desire?

“It wouldn’t be prudent for our continued longevity to do anything you’re not ready for.” I had to swallow, my voice again rough and unsteady.

Her frown deepened, her body growing stiff. “You’re holding yourself back because you’re worried about my lack of experience.”

Jennifer drew an inch away and I stopped her, bringing her body back to mine. “No. Not precisely that. You’ve been through an ordeal this evening, and I’ve just made a confession I’m not sure you were ready to hear.”

“So . . . what?” Her tone held a hint of irritation and desperation. “You tell me you love me and want to, what? Shake hands?”

“No. I don’t want to shake hands.” I didn’t catch my grin in time—her prosaic suggestion struck me as both funny and depressing. I captured her cheeks in my palms and pressed a slow, savoring kiss to her mouth, leaning away to whisper, “Like I said, serious touching.”

“It doesn’t feel serious. It feels safe.”

I lifted an eyebrow at this. “Don’t you want safe?”

She shook her head, more desperation bleeding into her voice. “No. I don’t.”

I scrutinized her, clenching my jaw, burying the rising passion. Crushing it. “Jenn, I won’t lose you to regret.”

Her soft exhale fluttered over my lips and chin. She regarded me silently, still frowning, her eyes darting between mine. She seemed agitated.

So I added, “You tell me what you want, and I’ll make it happen. But think carefully before you do.”

She licked her lips. “Anything? You’ll do anything I want?” Something sharpened behind her eyes, an idea or a thought, and her jaw and neck relaxed beneath my fingers.

I held very still, because the question sounded like a precursor to a trap; I tried to pull her intentions from her mind but encountered a brick wall. I dropped my hands from her face and slid them to her shoulders.

“I’ll do anything within reason.”

“Fine.” She nodded once, crossing her arms and gaining a full step backward. “Take your clothes off.”

I blinked at her. I blinked at her request. It was not what I’d been expecting.

“Pardon me?”

“Take off your clothes.”

My hands went to my waist, a spike of apprehension passing through me. “I don’t have a shirt on.”

She lifted her chin and ordered, “Take off your pants.”

I stared at her, fighting a rising tide of horniness induced trepidation. “Jenn—”

“You can keep your underwear on. Or your boxers. Whichever. I just . . . ” she gathered a deep breath, as though gathering courage through the air, “I want to see you. I know you’re right, that I’m wrecked and muddled from the day’s events, but I also know, no matter what happens tomorrow, I’ll never regret spending the rest of this evening discovering and touching your body.”

She ended by biting her bottom lip, her eyes wide with confessing her secret want.

I stared at her, uncertain what to do.

This is a bad idea.

I was breathing heavier, my heart beat like a drum, the reverberations from each constriction shaking my chest and throbbing in my dick.

This is a bad idea.

“Please,” she asked softly, shuffling forward and placing her hands on my stomach. I flinched at the contact. “Please let me just . . .”

She didn’t finish the thought. Instead her hands slid down my body while she held my stare captivated, her fingers gripped the button of my jeans. She unfastened it, unzipped the fly, pushed her fingertips into the waistband, and pushed them down my hips.

Her fingers lifted and curled around mine. She took a step back, still holding me with her gaze and grasping my hand, as though guiding me, she motioned to the bed. “Lie down.”

I released a rough breath, resisting her pull. “This is a bad idea.”

“Step out of your pants and lie on the bed.” The command disguised as an entreaty sounded entirely reasonable; she’d paired it with a small, hopeful, hypnotizing smile.

I’d been with several women before, always discerning bakers, working professionals who were interested in a no-strings-attached arrangement. But I’d never been hypnotized before. I’d never had to remind myself to maintain my control. I’d never even come close to losing control.

If Jenn had glanced down she would have seen my obvious erection, jutting from my hips and tenting my boxers, hard and near painful. But she didn’t. Her attention held me transfixed. My good judgment was strangely silent.

I pulled my feet out of the jeans and allowed her to lead me the short three steps to the bed. Her eyes hadn’t lowered since she’d made her initial request. They didn’t move from mine as she placed her hands lightly on my shoulders and directed me to the mattress, pushing me until I lay flat on my back.

It wasn’t until she reached for the button of her jeans that I disentangled myself from the trance.

“What are you doing?” I asked sharply, preparing to sit up.

She placed her palm flat on my chest and pushed me back. “The cuffs of my jeans are dirty. I don’t want to get the bed messed up.”

Jenn made quick work of unfastening her fly. My eyes dropped to her legs, bared inch by inch as she removed her pants. She still wore my shirt and it fell to her thighs, just above her knees. The sight of her, standing at the edge of the bed, dressed only in my shirt, had me swallowing desire and a plea for more skin. Instead, I fisted my hands at my sides.

This is a very bad idea.

As though sensing my imminent movement, Jenn hastily moved to straddle me, her hands coming to my wrists.

“Don’t you dare get up.”

Every one of my muscles tensed, lucidity persisting and reminding me that I was in love with this woman. I loved her both rationally and irrationally. And I wanted her with a ferocity that had kept me awake at night and tortured during the day.

I was halfway upright when her mouth came to mine and she kissed me.

“Please, Cletus,” she beseeched between hot kisses, her fingertips sliding up my ribs, then unexpectedly whipping off her shirt.

Jennifer pressed her breasts against me and wrapped her arms around my neck, shifting her hips higher and providing tortuous friction, unknowingly shredding my restraint. “Please, I want to touch you. Let me touch you.”

The sound of her begging, the hot, searing contact of her skin, her greedy mouth, snapped my thin leash of control. I easily rolled Jenn to her back, shoving her away so I could slide my hand down her luscious body, so I could capture her nipple in my mouth.

She bowed and arched, straining beneath my touch; her nails dug into my back, anchoring us together.

“You want to touch me?” I growled, grabbing her hand, bringing it to the front of my boxers and under the waistband. I pressed her palm against my erection, wrapped her fingers around it, showed her how to squeeze and stroke. A rush of breath escaped my lungs, segmented and savage desires closed the curtain on rational deliberation.

I was lost to her, to the moment, to passion. My fractured thoughts all began and ended with need and want. My fixations focused on how to most meritoriously bring her pleasure, how to best guarantee she screamed in ecstasy. I couldn’t tear my mind from the preoccupation of her bare skin and the essential gratification of her fist around my cock.

I lifted my mouth from her breasts, relinquished her hand in my shorts, and slipped my fingers into the front of her underwear, combing through her curls, petting the soft hair until I found what I sought.