Don't Break This Kiss (Top Shelf Romance Book 5)

by Jessica Hawkins

  “Have you seen him since?”

  “No. If he’d come back, I think my mom would’ve killed him. She got so angry after he left. It flipped a switch in her. They married right out of high school, so she’d never been on her own. She thought we were going to lose the house, or they were going to take our car. She’d get really rundown from working so much.”

  “Sounds the opposite of my mom. When my dad died, she became helpless. I kept waiting for that maternal survival instinct to kick in, but it didn’t.”

  “I don’t even think it was maternal instinct for my mom. She just saw me as this little person who drained her meager bank account. Around seventeen, I moved in with some older kids. We partied a lot. The first night I went to Hey Joe, Johnny should’ve kicked me out because I was underage. Guess he took pity on me, though. He gave me a tequila shot instead.”

  “Or he was trying to get in your pants.”

  Lola shook her head. “We didn’t start sleeping together for a while, actually. And when we did, I didn’t take it seriously until he broke up with me.”

  “I see. Obviously that didn’t last.”

  Lola kept her eyes out the window. “He was sick of me screwing around. He gave me an ultimatum—grow up or get out. Quit the drugs, the partying, the—” She paused. “He saved me. Turned my life around. If not for him, I don’t know where I’d be.”

  “You should give yourself more credit. You’re a fighter. That much is obvious.”

  She finally looked at Beau. “If you’re fighting against the wrong thing, the only person you’ll hurt is yourself.” The digital clock on the dashboard changed. “I’m sure this isn’t how you want to spend your precious few hours,” she added.

  He looked at the clock too, then out the windshield. He turned the car around. “What happened to your mom?” he asked.

  “Oh, she still works there.” Lola turned her face away when he peered at her.

  They didn’t speak again until they were on Santa Monica Boulevard. “How many women have you done this with?” Lola asked.

  “None.”

  “You expect me to believe that?”

  “Why would I lie?”

  “To seem like less of an asshole.”

  Beau chuckled. “What does it matter if you think I’m an asshole? I already got you here. If you don’t like me by the time we’re done, it’s all the same to me.”

  Her eyes drifted to the clock again. She assumed they were now going to the hotel, but she didn’t ask. Beau had his own agenda. “If you don’t care either way, then I could be anyone.”

  “That’s not true at all.” He sighed and shifted in his seat. “I’ve met a lot of women over the years. All kinds—blonde, brunette, athletic, short, sweet, married, single. Something’s different about you, Lola.”

  Lola didn’t think of herself as the same as or different from anyone. But she could guess the things she was compared to Beau’s usual women. For one, she didn’t go for bullshit, but his world turned for it.

  “Something’s different about you too,” she admitted. Lola wasn’t proud that she’d pegged Beau as another corporate asshole during their first meeting on the sidewalk. He’d proved her wrong during their darts game, but that’d only lasted until his proposition. Then he’d been worse than an asshole in her eyes. She worried he was proving her wrong again. That would make the evening entirely different. The Beau she’d agreed to spend the night with was the repugnant one who’d offered money for her body—not the sexy one she’d known before that.

  “It’s always been my opinion that different is good,” he said. “I hope you agree.”

  “You know, you aren’t the first man to try and sleep with me behind Johnny’s back.”

  “Did you?” Beau asked.

  “Did I what?”

  “Sleep with them.”

  “No,” Lola said emphatically.

  “Good.” He hit his blinker and slowed for a light. “I don’t like cheating. It’s for people who don’t think they can win. If you don’t believe in yourself enough to play by the rules, you aren’t worthy of the prize.”

  “Are we still talking about sex?”

  “Cheating is always weak, no matter the circumstances.”

  “Beau, some people—lots of people—might call this cheating.”

  “I don’t. And I didn’t try to sleep with you behind his back like you said. It all happened in front of his face. Johnny’s aware of everything. He had his chance to put a stop to it.”

  “Have you ever turned down a million dollars?” Lola asked wryly. Beau had been desperate before. Had he already forgotten how that felt?

  “Sure I have,” he said. “When the company on the table was worth more.”

  “I’m not talking about business, Beau. We’re people. I’m talking about lives.”

  He didn’t speak. Money, sex, worth, people—it all shaded into a gray area for them. Had anyone asked her before all this, she would’ve answered that a dollar amount couldn’t be put on a person’s life. She still believed that, but the concepts were no longer completely unrelated in her mind.

  “Let’s not argue about it,” Beau said, sighing again. Ahead, they were entering Beverly Hills. “I don’t want you wasting any more energy. You’re going to need it soon.”

  Chapter 12

  On the sixteenth floor of the Four Seasons Los Angeles at Beverly Hills, Beau and Lola exited a gold elevator. They’d been quiet since the car. To their left, a large window showcased the dark sky and the faint silhouette of mountains on the horizon. She followed him the opposite direction past the elevator bank to a hallway. At the end of it was a single black-lacquer door with a knob in the center. The corridor was long and carpeted, muting their steps. Her heart beat faster. It’d been nine years since she’d been with a man other than Johnny. And about that long since she’d wanted to.

  Beau pulled out his key and unlocked the door with a click.

  Lola’s stomach was beyond butterflies—she was sure an entire zoo had been released inside her. She stared at the doorway, which was a threshold, a point of no return, a choice plain and simple. Sweat beaded on her upper lip.

  “It’s too late to turn back now,” Beau said.

  She didn’t look away. “Not if I give back the money.”

  Beau let the door close. “I know what you’re doing.” He walked to her, his steps deliberate. “If I force you into that room, then it isn’t your choice.”

  “Nobody forced me here,” she said. “I made every decision. I had to. That doesn’t make my choices right.”

  “Lola,” he said softly. “You don’t have to put on a show. Tonight is about you and me only. Take control of what you want.”

  She glanced up at him. “You think you know what I want?”

  He moved forward until the wall was at her back. He pushed a hand in the neckline of her dress. “You’re right,” he said. “I have no idea what you want. Since your nipple isn’t hard between my fingers. And you weren’t wet earlier as you sucked me off.”

  “Just because you manipulate my body’s reaction,” her voice wavered, “doesn’t mean I want this. You can’t control my mind or my heart no matter what you say.”

  His hand stilled. The muscles in his jaw flexed. “You’re so fucking concerned about your heart? Keep it. I’ll use your body. I won’t be gentle. And when I’m finished, you can have it back.”

  He could take what he wanted. It wouldn’t mean anything to her. It shouldn’t. But his words were even more erotic than his touch. Her legs trembled from them, threatening to give out.

  Lola tried to push him off, but he grabbed her wrist with his free hand and pinned it above her head. “This is what you want, isn’t it?” he asked. “For me to take your choice away? Then no one will have to know that you want this just as badly as I do. That you wanted it the night we met.”

  She shook her head rapidly. His nearness smothered whatever sense she had left. She was becoming the puddle of desire she’d
been at the strip club.

  “Let me help you out,” he said when she didn’t speak. “You say, ‘Yes, Beau.’ Then I open the hotel room door. And every time I tell you what to do, you say…”

  She fixated on his bowtie, breathing hard.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch that. Can you speak up?” he asked.

  She looked up at the sharpness of his tone. “Yes. Yes, Beau.”

  “Good.” He released her and backed away. He opened the door again. The ghost of his grip pulsed around her wrist. “Ask yourself this,” he said. “Do you have to want this to do it? Or are you going to do it anyway?”

  She looked between him and the door. She was going to do it anyway. The decision shed a layer of resistance she’d been hiding behind. She entered the suite, where the only light came from the distant cityscape.

  “Wait here until I call for you,” Beau said.

  She didn’t move. Her nerves melted away. She was in Beau’s hands now and if the past few hours were any indication, it would be an experience she’d never forget.

  Glass clinked. The faucet ran. After minutes had passed, Beau spoke from somewhere in the suite. “Come to the bedroom.”

  “I don’t know which way,” she said. Directly in front of her was a piano and windowed door that led out to the balcony.

  “You’ll find me,” he said. “And you’ll do it on your hands and knees.”

  Her dry throat protested when she swallowed.

  That a tyrant in everything else would also be a tyrant in the bedroom didn’t surprise her—that there would be a show of strength, a struggle of wills, an expected submission—she might have guessed. But knowing and doing were two different things. She’d never lived it. She knew girls from the club who had. Some liked it, some didn’t. For most, it wasn’t that simple.

  Lola sank to her hands and knees faster than she would’ve thought. The tile was hard underneath her, but she was on the carpet soon. The dress caught between her legs while she crawled, slowing her down. Beau didn’t rush her. She went the opposite direction of a flat screen TV, past a round dining table with several chairs. As she got closer, warmer, her breath came faster and her legs seemed heavier—the tender place between them, specifically.

  She found Beau on the edge of the bed, still fully dressed except for his jacket.

  “Don’t stop now,” he said. “You’re almost here.”

  She didn’t remember ever crawling one day of her adult life. Inside she screamed at herself to get off the floor, but she closed her eyes, inhaled and quieted it. This wasn’t about her.

  Or was it? Beau had unusual power over her. She’d never been put in this position while someone else watched, nor did she think she’d allow it from anyone else, even with the money. She was still dressed, but she felt stripped and exposed. Crawling for him was a form of intimacy. She opened her eyes.

  “Your struggle is a thing to watch,” Beau said just loud enough for her to hear. “If I thought you’d respond honestly, I’d ask you how it feels to submit.”

  “It hurts my knees.”

  A corner of his mouth lifted. “Maybe you can give me something less tactile.”

  “I feel…helpless.” Vulnerability was rare for her. She’d learned young that it didn’t pay to be vulnerable. But with her helplessness came a relief that left her confused. She had no responsibility other than giving Beau what he asked for. No other choice. And it wasn’t a bad thing. “That’s what you want, isn’t it?” she asked. “Me, helpless?”

  “Don’t tell me what you think I want to hear. You can tell me if you hate being on your hands and knees. Maybe I’ll let you stand.”

  She stared at him, unmoving. He was going to make her say that she liked this out loud or he would take it away. She should’ve been thankful, but letting her stand felt like a punishment.

  “Lola,” he said. “Everything between us lives and dies in this room. It’s safe.”

  Her fingers curled into the carpet, but not with frustration. The slow throb between her legs was stronger. Could Beau see it? Smell it? He looked as if he knew. “I don’t.”

  “Don’t what?”

  “Hate it.” She couldn’t say much more without giving herself away. However gone she was, there was still a shred of Johnny in her she couldn’t bring herself to betray. “You make it not repulsive.”

  “Well, not repulsive is something.” There was such approval in his smile that she flushed. “But it’ll be hard to do anything to you when you’re so far away.”

  She finished crossing the room until she was at his feet.

  He removed one cufflink, set it on the nightstand, then the other. Lola’s heart beat between her breasts. Beau rolled up one sleeve, stood and leaned over her. He gathered up her dress and pulled it over her hips. He hiked up the panties he’d bought her, wedging them between her ass cheeks. His firm hand ran soothingly over her backside as if she were a treasured plaything. She bit her lip to keep any sounds inside.

  “I’m going to take you apart,” he said. “Find out what makes you feel so good it almost kills you.”

  “Don’t.”

  He stroked her skin until he brushed a spot that made her jolt. He made a deep, rumbling noise from his chest. “Then I’ll bring you back to life. Put you back together.”

  “Don’t do it like this,” she said. “Just use me and throw me out. I’m begging you.”

  “Let’s see how deep your protest goes.” He slid a fingertip under the elastic of her panties. “Mmm. Just as I suspected.”

  “What?” she breathed.

  “You waxed. She has a chink in her armor.”

  “I didn’t do it for you.”

  “Of course not.” His hand grazed down one thigh to the top of her stocking and up again. “And your legs are shaved. I suppose that’s not for me either.”

  She began to tremble lightly, alive with him so close to giving her what she’d been needing since the strip club—or longer. He circled her with two fingers and eased them in.

  Her head bowed to meet the floor, then gasped when he went deeper. He murmured her name, moving in and out. Searching. At least the tile would’ve been cool against her face.

  “Look at me.”

  She lifted her head.

  “Make yourself wet,” he said as he removed his hand and put two fingers to her lips. She opened, sucking him into her mouth and tasting herself on someone else’s fingers for the first time.

  He replaced them between her legs and leaned in to kiss her while rubbing her slippery clit from behind. When she convulsed and moaned, he took his hand away.

  “Why are you stopping?” she demanded through the ringing in her ears.

  “There’s someone at the door. Would you mind?”

  “What?” she asked.

  “Answer the door.”

  She got up from her aching knees and wrists. Her dress fell around her legs. The heat in her chest and face pulsed with every punch of her heart.

  It was room service. A young man wheeled a food cart into the living room, glancing at Lola from the corner of his eye. He positioned the cart and waited.

  “One minute,” she said.

  She went to the bedroom. Beau was standing in the same spot, one sleeve rolled up and his hand splayed. “Yes?” he asked.

  “It’s room service. He brought food.”

  “And?”

  “And…he needs his tip.”

  “So give it to him.”

  “You took my purse.” She crossed her arms. “I have no money.”

  “Ah.” He smiled and pulled his wallet from his pants. “Have him bring it in here.”

  “Bring it in here,” she called without uncrossing her arms or looking away from Beau.

  Beau blew out a laugh, shaking his head. “I suppose I could’ve done that.”

  When the cart was where Beau wanted it, the attendant took his tip, ducked his head and left.

  Beau picked up a bowl. Before he could ask, she went to him. �
�Strawberries,” she said. “Not very original.”

  “I’m not very original.”

  She picked one out of the bowl. He caught her wrist on the way to her mouth. She raised her eyes to him.

  “Aren’t you going to share?” he asked.

  She lifted it to him. His teeth bit down just before her fingertips. He had a sexy mouth made for eating strawberries—and other things. She also took a bite and dropped the stem in the bowl. They had two more this way—him holding her, feeding him, feeding her.

  He let go of her arm to pour them each some champagne.

  “We’re around the halfway point,” Lola said, her mouth fizzing as she took a sip. “You’re running out of time.”

  “We’ll get to that.” He took the champagne glass from her and set it down. “Hold your hands behind you.”

  She laced her fingers at the small of her back, jutting her breasts forward. Beau scooped whipped cream from the bowl with two fingers. He touched them to her closed lips. “How’s it taste?”

  She tested it with her tongue. “Light. Sweet.”

  “Have more,” he suggested throatily.

  She closed her mouth around his fingers and sucked him clean. “It’s good,” she said. There was grit in both their voices. “You should try it.”

  “I think I will.” He smeared some whipped cream on the skin above her neckline. He took his time cleaning it off with his tongue, no matter how fast her breasts rose and fell.

  He slipped one strap off her shoulder. “Keep your hands there,” he said when she moved. He released the dress to her waist, trapping her arms with the straps. He took both breasts in his hands through her corset. She gasped up at the ceiling when he squeezed them.

  “You like it a little rough,” he said.

  “I don’t know.”

  “You’ll know after tonight.”

  She swallowed, still looking up. “You said you wouldn’t hurt me.”

  “I’ll fuck you within an inch of your life, but it won’t hurt. It will calm you. Your only job is to do what I say. And, of course, enjoy yourself.”