Because Beards
Page 3
His deep, throaty chuckle tightens my belly with even more pleasure than his ministrations bring forth. “I thought being a writer you’d have a more elaborate vocabulary.”
“I like to get to the point.”
“I appreciate that. Let’s do that.” His hand vacates my panties and I almost whimper until they go directly to my shirt, pulling it up and over my head in a swift moment. I unhook my bra. He peels off his shirt. Which I’d love to replay in slow motion but I’m too occupied with kicking off my boots and shimmying out of my skin tight jeans. When the flurry of clothing settles we’re left naked and very much aroused.
And thank fuck he’s big and long and hard for me. I drop to my knees and relax my jaw, my lips falling open inches before him. My breath comes heavy and I glance up into his baby blues. The storm rages within their depths and hold me in place.
He palms his erection. “Damn, you’re gorgeous, Manda. You know that? You’re fucking beautiful on your knees for me. You want this cock in your mouth?”
My answer is a lick of my lips and a wide open mouth.
“Fuck, yeah, you do.” He holds his cock at the base and feeds it in along my tongue. I tighten my lips around it and moan. With our eyes still locked, his pleasure and control etch in the draw of his brow and the tightening of his own mouth.
I try to take him deeper but gag instead, and come off for a deep inhale before I do it again.
“Fuck, that’s sexy.” He thrusts his hips, slow and methodically, while both hands hold my head steady. “You like choking on this cock?”
I’d answer him, but my mouth is currently full. This time I’m determined to take him deeper, maybe not to the base, but close to it. I inhale and exhale through my nose, hold his stare and lean forward, relaxing until I do almost choke on the size of him.
“Fuck!” He shouts and steps away.
Shit. Maybe he’s not into that.
“Bed. Now.” He holds out his hand to help me stand, only to pull me into another of his battling kisses and backs me until my legs hit the mattress.
“You lose your words, too?” I whisper against his lips. He shoves my shoulders and I fall back onto the bed. The pale moonlight sneaks through the window and his beard pulls up at the sides of his face before I’m rewarded with his dazzling smile.
“Just eager to return the favor.” He drops to his knees and the pads of his fingers travel from the skin just under my knees to the tops of my thighs.
“You gonna suck my dick, too?” I retort before I even think.
His throaty chuckle causes my center to tighten with need and I attempt to squeeze my legs together as moisture, my own arousal, rushes between my legs. But Brax’s hands on my thighs keep me in place. He pushes my legs open and dips his head so his mouth is just out of reach.
“Oh, Manda. Manda, Manda, Manda . . . I love your dirty mouth, but I think I’m gonna like this better.”
Before I can come back with a smart remark his lips lock down on my clit and steal all words and thoughts. My senses overwhelm. The musky aroma of sex fills his room. The wetness of my pussy with the smack, lick, suck of his mouth. The stroke of his strong and steady touch all over my skin, rubbing, learning, enticing.
I’m so close to my orgasm, the taunt and teasing of the night building quickly at my core. I want to come, but I want to feel him break apart, too.
“Fuck me. Please, Brax.” I grab at his scalp and tug him to my mouth. He finally works his kisses over my body, from my belly to my breast, my shoulder to my neck, until they meet my eager lips. We kiss; all the while our hands grasp, caress, and scrape across skin. He’s close but not enough. I rock my hips but the weight of his body holds me down.
“Condom.” He croaks and scrambles off the bed in a flash.
I attempt to still my quickened pulse but he’s back over me, fully protected and ready, before I can catch my breath.
Our bodies come together in a rush. Heat. Need. I spread my legs wider. Lust. Pleasure. He shoves his cock into me harder with each thrust. Want. We’re both selfishly chasing our orgasm, but neither seems to care. He bites my shoulder with a groan. I dig my nails into his back. It’s a battle but no one loses.
“Fucking come on my cock, Manda,” he demands but his words are lost. I already am.
My body spasms in that most unattractive way it does when I come really hard, but Brax doesn’t seem to notice. His head is buried in the sheets while he braces his shuddering body over mine.
He lifts his head. “Fucking hell. Are all writers like this?” He pulls out and rolls to his side.
My heart hammers in my chest and my breath is ragged. I feel as though I’ve just run a sprint, when in reality he did most of the work. I turn to my side so I can better admire his naked body, and tuck one arm to rest beneath my cheek. “I don’t know. I’ve never fucked a writer before.”
“Fuck!” His breath heaves with the staccato rise and fall of his chest. “Well, you really should. That was phenomenal. You were a goddess.”
“Were?” I sass though I can hear the smile in my own voice.
“Are. Still are. Fuck.” He blows out a breath and twists his head to meet my gaze. “But good for you, too?”
Brax’s hair falls every which way, a delicious mess. His skin glistens with a sheen of sweat, and his lips, oh God, those lips are now even more plump in appearance than earlier tonight. But it’s the blue irises of his eyes that catch the only light in the room and appear so sincere, capturing my gaze. It’s endearing that he’s genuinely concerned about my enjoyment despite the fact we’re practically strangers.
“Good. More than good,” I manage as my heart rate picks up speed at his return smile. God, he’s handsome as fuck.
“Good.” He leans closer and his lips find mine in a taste so gentle it could be considered chaste, if only I didn’t smell my arousal on him. I lick my tongue along the seam of his lips and he opens for me. It doesn’t take long before our innocent kiss becomes hurried, passionate, and sexual. I nip his lower lip and am rewarded with another one of his growls—my new favorite sound. He flips me completely onto my back and when I lift my hips to grind into him I’m surprised to find him already hard.
“Again?” He asks the stupid question, rubbing his erection over my swollen nerves.
“Why not? I’m already on my back.”
“Not for long.” His body comes off mine in one fluid motion and before I can ask, the rip of another condom wrapper breaks the silence. I’m captivated and eager as he rolls the ribbed latex over his hard on. “Hands and knees, Miss Naughty Author.”
“Oh, what are we playing now?” I’m almost giddy as I crawl to all fours. The bed dips with his weight and I don’t know what exactly I expect, but a sharp smack to the ass is not it. I gasp at the sting of pain. His hands brace my hips and I gasp again as he fills me in one hard thrust.
His chest covers my back while one arm snakes over my breast and to my throat. He doesn’t squeeze, but instead pulls against my ribs so my body arches back against him. His breath is at my ear. “All the positions.”
“What?” I pant out as he holds me and thrusts in and out at a tortuous, steady rhythm.
“The game we’re playing. I’m going to fuck you in all the positions. Good?”
“Yes. Good. More.”
He really has reduced me to a woman unable to form proper sentences.
After our second round, a bathroom break, and picnic of cheese sticks, pretzels, and yogurt atop his moonlit bedspread, I’m totally spent in the best possible way, lying next to Brax and fighting the urge to give in to sleep.
While I did not fully expect him to deliver on the sex tonight, at least not to the extent he had, I’m also more than gratified from our exchange of banter, his humor and positive outlook on life, and the timbre of his voice and how some words twang in a manner particular to the south. God, I’m almost smitten. Must be sleep deprivation.
“Manda, darlin’ you are lookin’ rather sleepy. Did someon
e wear you out? Need a nap?” Brax props his head on his hand, his elbow against the pillow. His fingers skim across my shoulder, down the center of my chest and then brush over one nipple, causing goosebumps to scatter across my skin despite the warmth I feel down to my bones.
I glance over to the digital clock on his makeshift bedside table and cringe at the time. I’m not sleeping tonight. Not that I’m complaining. I just can’t believe how the past few hours have flown by with him. Conversation and making love—no, fucking—with my sexy bartender shouldn’t have lasted longer than an hour or two.
“I should probably leave soon. My flight’s in three hours and I need to grab my stuff from the hotel room before Lauren thinks I overslept.”
“Can your friend meet you? I’ll take you to the airport.” He braces his body over mine and scrapes his beard between my naked breasts. His lips sneak kisses, a soft, whispered tenderness that spikes need and lust at my core.
“You don’t have to do that.” My words lack conviction, though, and my fingers brush into his hair as he peppers kisses down my body and low to my belly.
He lifts his head, our eyes lock in the moonlight, and his honesty catches my breath. “But I want to.”
“Why?” I bite my lower lip because his own are dangerously close to where I already ache for him again.
As if he understands my need, his lips pull into a wide smile while his hooded gaze holds me in place. “Because I’m not close to being done with you. One night and I’m not close to having my fill. I’m not sure I could ever get enough of this pretty pussy.” He dips his chin lower and swipes his tongue over my clit. My hips lift, wanting and needing more, but his hands grip my body and hold me down. His fingers dig into my flesh when he licks me again and damn if that doesn’t turn me on even more.
“Maybe I need to schedule another event in Nashville. Sometime soon . . .” Fuck! He’s so good at this. I’d take notes for my next book, but it’s impossible to concentrate on anything other than the wet heat from his mouth and his tongue working in, over, and around my bundle of nerves.
“Oh, yes, Brax, do that.” I can at least be encouraging.
He sucks hard and then releases it moments before I’m about to break apart. I almost protest but he replaces his mouth with his fingers, leisurely working one and then two fingers inside me. I lean forward and rest my weight against my elbows so I can watch him better.
“If you come back to Tennessee I won’t be here. At least, I hope I won’t be. I’ve got big plans to get out of this town,” he says. His fingers pick up the pace, and the sounds of my heavy pants and the wetness between my legs fills the small room. It’s entirely erotic. Bold. Delicious.
“Well, if you ever find yourself in Phoenix, look me up. You can eat my pussy any day,” I sass and Brax uses the opportunity to flick my clit with his tongue again. “Fuck!”
“Maybe I will.” He lifts his lips for one brief moment before locking them down.
“Yes, yes, yes, yes!” The shouts leave my lips of their own accord, matching the desire that surges and pulses from my center. I’d be gushing wet if it weren’t for Brax’s lips lapping up my release as if it’s his favorite meal. And he’s made me a fucking liar. Because there’s no way any book boyfriend has ever compared to the way Brax just played my body. Working my clit with an expertise that should be illegal, it’s so sinful.
“Why are you so good at this?” I practically growl.
He smiles up at me with those ocean hued irises, wanting, needing, greedy. “It’s the beard.”
I tug his body over me and my lips find his. Our tongues battle and stroke, fueling my yearning until my legs fall open, willing and wanting all of him inside me again. He rolls on another condom and his rock hard length sheaths in my pussy in one hard slam.
My heart beats a little too quickly and it’s not only from his kiss. I’m afraid it’s more than a beard thing. It’s a Brax thing. God damn it. Of course. Only I would go and fall for a one-night stand. A man who lives nowhere close to the place I call home. Someone who makes me feel things while he rocks my world so hard I can’t see straight.
I spend the remaining hours relishing in his touch, his kiss, the rub of the bristly hairs on his cheek as they skim over my most sensitive skin. I get lost in his ocean blues, my heart a ship without anchor as we ride the waves of pleasure and desire into the early dawn.
When my alarm signals it’s time to leave, I dress in last night’s clothes, my body sore and completely satisfied, but my heart squeezes with an unfamiliar pain. It’s not shame. It’s not doubt. Not even regret. It’s dangerously close to a feeling of love. Which is crazy because I’ve only known this man for one night.
Love doesn’t happen that way. Not in an instant. I must be mistaken.
But my heart begs to differ.
Damn. Joke’s on me.
About Kacey Shea
Kacey Shea is a mom of three, wife, and indie author who resides in sunny Arizona. She enjoys reading and writing romance novels as much as her son loves unicorns, which is a lot. She has an unhealthy obsession with firefighters. It could be the pants. It could be the fire. It’s just hot and on occasion she has been known to include them, without their knowledge, in her selfies outside the grocery store. Kacey’s contemporary romance novels are a mix of humor and heat, all the while weaving a story that brings readers joy and keeps them guessing every turn of the page!
Website www.kaceysheabooks.com
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Oh, no he didn’t.
Antonia climbed out of the rental car, pulled the sunglasses from her face and dropped them on the seat. She couldn’t believe her eyes.
During the six-hour drive from Seattle, she imagined her boss brooding in a rustic cabin on a hilltop where no one could reach him without four-wheel drive. Or hiding out in his fancy Airstream by a river. Maybe staying low in a cozy bungalow near a famous bike trail or something.
But not this.
Justin Faber had swiped her dream. That hipster-genius-CEO-millionaire took her vision and made it his reality.
It probably didn’t occur to him she’d find out, or that she’d ever track him down. No one else had a clue where he’d taken off to, and his hiatus was supposed to end the Sunday before last. However, Monday morning came and she was told he’d sent a message to Chloe, his assistant, that the date of his return was currently “indeterminable.”
Most of the employees at It’s Handled were unfazed by his prolonged absence.
But then there was Antonia. Furious, agitated, and done with his bullshit.
She’d asked Chloe to have him call her, but although her message had been relayed by the assistant, it had been ignored by the CEO. So were her emails.
After fuming for a week, she decided to go to him, and there she was, standing in front of a beautiful glass house on a raised platform with a glittering, private lake behind it.
She stared at the magnificent but modest-sized structure in awe, shut the car door, and walked up the broken seashell path.
She had the right place; his Range Rover was parked near a shed with a gleaming, brand-new Airstream hitched to it.
With no doorbell in sight, she knocked. The sound seemed foreign in such a serene environment.
No answer. She knocked again. Because of the curtains, she was unable to see inside.
With a frustrated sound, she marched down the steps and went around the deck to the rear of the house. Checking her cell phone, she cursed when she realized she had no service that far away from civilization. Apparently, her network carrier didn’t bother putting any towers out this far in Washington state.
She rounded the deck, mouth agog. There were no curtains blocking her view of the interior now.
It was an open floor plan, with gleaming wood floors, chrome paneling, and a primarily neutral palette of crème, tan, white, an
d gray. A California king-sized bed was positioned on one end, and a social area with a couch and coffee table in the middle. There was a fireplace and dining table on the other end, stacked with books. A modern glass desk was littered with gadgets and monitors. The kitchen had beautiful cherry wood cabinetry, stainless steel appliances, and a glass-door fridge.
She sighed with envy, then went down the back steps and roamed around the massive backyard, when she heard the buzzing of an engine in the distance. Raising a hand to shield her eyes from the sunlight, she saw a boat heading to shore.
Her heart skipped a beat.
Justin.
At the helm of a cruiser boat, wearing a blue flannel shirt unbuttoned with its tails flapping behind him, the sleeves rolled to his elbows, was the ruggedly handsome owner and CEO of It’s Handled.
Not only was he smart as a whip and insanely successful, he was also hotter than a ghost pepper, and probably just as dangerous to touch…and taste.
Dios mío. He’d grown a beard.
He didn’t appear to see her while he switched off the engine, jumped onto the dock, and pulled the boat over to secure it.
She swallowed, heart beginning to pound, neck heating up, breath shortening. Justin’s two-month absence somehow made her forget that being in his general vicinity evoked physical reactions she could never control.
What the hell was she going to say to him? Why was she there, exactly? Justin had a low tolerance for people who came to him unprepared, or for those who spoke impulsively. That wasn’t him. Every word out of his mouth seemed to come out as though he thought of them five minutes before you finished speaking.
He hopped down, swiped his hands on his cargo shorts, and headed in her direction with that notable swagger. Then he looked up, and halted.
Those soulful, hazel eyes locked with hers. There was no surprise. No shock.
She raked her gaze over him, raising a brow at his…casual appearance.
At the office, he never appeared unkempt. Every day he wore his signature vests, ties, and custom-made shirts. The poster child for the hipster entrepreneur. Yet, he was just as devastating in a flannel shirt and shorts that looked like they’d been plucked from a crate at a fisherman’s market.