Owning Beauty (Taking Beauty Trilogy Book 3)

by Nikki Wild

  “Oh, your little friend probably gave you all you needed to know,” I sneered at her from the sofa. “Trust me, I read those conversations through and through, and enough times to see how you had it all planned out every bloody step of the way! It’s one thing to get played like a chump, but then to see the step-by-step instructions.”

  “Jesus Christ!” she exclaimed, throwing her hands up in the air. “I didn’t write those e-mails! And neither did Jen! How many times do I have to say it?”

  “Until I can actually believe it!” I shouted back, getting up to stand in front of her, my face inches from hers. I dropped my voice to what must have been a dangerous level, because I caught the uncertain look in Liz’s eyes.

  “Do you even know what that felt like?” I asked her. “To have proof in your hands that the one person you opened up to in your whole damn life has been playing you this entire time? You ripped my heart out, girl. I was warned you would. But it wasn’t until I held those papers in my hands and read through every single line of them that I could believe what you’d done.”

  “I would never do that to you, Julian,” she whispered, staring unwaveringly into my eyes. Either she was one hell of a liar, or there was some truth to what she was saying, after all. “I wouldn’t do something like that to anyone. And do you know why?” Her face hardened. “Because I’m not a goddamn monster.”

  “And how in the world can I believe you?” I could smell her, we were so close. She smelled like jet-lag and ginger ale, either because she had trouble with planes or was still fending off morning sickness. A lump rose in my throat at the stark reminder that she was carrying my child. “How can I trust that you’re telling the truth? How am I supposed to just ignore all the evidence that’s been laid out in front of me, telling me that you were playing me the entire time?” My words had become less of a challenge and more of a plea. “Tell me how can I do that, Liz. Tell me.”

  “You need to trust what’s in your heart,” she said, tears starting to form at the corners of her eyes. I had tried so hard not to let myself get emotional, but the longer I looked at her and realized how much of a wreck we’d both become in such a short time, the more I wanted to reach out and take hold of her. Despite all I knew I should hate her for, I still wanted to tell her I loved her. “Deep down, Julian, you know I’m not the kind of person who would do that to you. You know me. It doesn’t matter how long we’ve spent together… I know you do.”

  I shook my head in an attempt to try and clear my thoughts. Maybe it was a bad idea letting her in here. Those eyes of hers held such sway over me, challenged everything I thought I knew to be true. “You tore out my heart, Liz… and then I had to show the world what you’d done—in front of the cameras, no less. I had to tell the world what a fool I’d been. You want the truth, love? I don’t know a bloody thing anymore.”

  “It wasn’t me,” she whispered, reaching down for my hands. I didn’t move. Frankly, I was too afraid to. When her skin brushed mine, the sensation went straight to my heart—and places more southern, too. “Whoever set me up to take the blame for this made damn sure that there was plenty of evidence. It’s all lies! Every single email!”

  Her fingers played on the outside edges of my own, tentatively grasping. Slowly, and against my better judgment, I reciprocated. I held her hand in mine and everything, absolutely everything, that we’d been through came rushing back to me all at once. Shame and regret slammed into my solar plexus in equal parts, knocking the breath from my lungs.

  I still couldn’t meet her gaze as she whispered to me, “I could never hurt you like that, Julian. I would never forgive myself if I hurt the man that I’m in love with.”

  “What?” I said, finally finding the strength to look her in the eye. “What did you just say?”

  “I said that I love you, Julian.” I felt the muscle in my cheek twitch as I stared at her, at her sweet, innocent, beautiful face, so open and earnest as her gaze held mine. “I said that I love you, and that I would never do anything to hurt you.”

  “Liz…” I choked. It was almost like time had stood still, and suddenly I felt like we were back in our hotel room together, beset by that same sensation of intimacy and knowing that I’d experienced with her there. I couldn’t stop myself. She was offering me everything I’d ever wanted on a silver platter, and maybe it was too good to be true, but…

  If I did as she said. If I listened to my heart. Then I knew it wasn’t all some illusion that would disperse the moment I got too close. This—what Liz and I had—it was real. And I’d almost thrown it all away, so eager was I to believe the worst in people. I hadn’t even given her the chance to explain…

  Just as I had back in our suite, I lightly grasped her by the chin and made her look up at me again. Her eyes were wide, her mouth just barely open, and the scent of her was thick in the air. There was a bit of fear in her expression, an uncertainty about what I was going to do to her. And yet she stood her ground, stock still and utterly unwavering, showing me the courage of her convictions. Showing me that the tightly wound accountant I’d met back in Billford Hills was finally ready to take a risk.

  And she was choosing to take it on me. Of all things, Liz was ready to gamble away her livelihood, her career, her future even… on me. Julian Bastille.

  I let my gaze flick down to her mouth. Then her throat, fluttering with an erratic pulse. Lower still, then, to the tops of her breasts, shuddering with each labored breath she took. And then I did what I’d been aching to do ever since we’d parted ways after the ultrasound. I leaned down, captured Liz’s lips, and kissed her.

  She moaned into me and I devoured it, savoring the taste of her joy and relief as she wreathed her arms around my neck. My heart was in my throat, pounding like a war drum as I slid my hands along her hips and up her sides. I hadn’t realized until that moment how much I’d missed her—not only emotionally, but physically. These past two days, I’d been languishing in the hell that was withdrawal. I was so damn desperate for a hit.

  “Julian,” she whimpered.

  “I believe you,” I replied as I leaned down to kiss at her neck, making her arch her chest into mine. I groaned, my cock stirring against the hard denim of my jeans. The sounds she made were already calling to the animal part of me that demanded to be satisfied. But as our lips met again, I felt so much more than just the lust and desire. I had missed Liz being beside me, missed knowing that she was there, and finally having her with me again brought me more comfort than any brand of alcohol ever had or could.

  “I missed you, love,” I told her, my voice barely above a growl as she started to slide her hands up under my shirt. Immediately her fingers found the koi and its scales. I pressed nearer, frustrated at having even an inch of distance between us.

  “I can tell,” she cooed, one of her hands coming to rest on the bulge in my pants. “I’ve missed you too.”

  “It’s more than that,” I said on the backs of breaths stolen between kisses. “I’ve been a wreck without you… and I can’t live like that. I need you in my life, Liz.” I peeled her jacket from her shoulders, letting it tumble to the floor in a heap. “A man needs his wife. Doesn’t he?”

  “He does,” Liz whispered in reply. She didn’t even hesitate, and that made me all the harder—to know she was eager not just to have me inside her, but to have me with her, at her side. “Just like a woman needs her husband.” She worked the button on my jeans, then the zipper. “In every conceivable way…”

  We undressed each other like snakes shedding their skin, separating only long enough to fuss with the more complicated aspects, like stepping out of underwear and discarding shoes. I would have taken her right there in my foyer, had she not looked so tired. And who could blame her? Poor dove had braved hell and high water just to get here.

  She needed a reprieve. She deserved one, and she deserved better than to be made to lie across the hard, cold tile while I doted on her. Careful to do so with my knees, I bent and lifted her up over my
shoulder, delighting in her shocked, and semi-indignant, squeal as her feet left the floor.

  “Julian!” she cried, and I chuckled, enjoying the way the long waves of her hair tickled my back as I carried her toward my bedroom. “Put me down! I can walk!”

  But I had no intention of doing that—especially not when I was in the perfect position to get a nice, ripe handful of her arse on the way there.

  Carefully, but not so much that it would rob her of the thrill, I tossed Liz down onto my bed on her back. I moved to crawl over her, seeking her lips again, but she turned over at the last moment, putting some distance between us on all fours. As I pursued, she looked up at me over her shoulder with one hell of a sultry gaze, potent enough to send me throbbing. Then she let out a soft, satisfied moan as she stretched out like a cat across my bed, teasing me with a wiggle of her tight back end. She was already glistening between her thighs.

  I rose up enough out of my crawl that I could grasp each of her hips. The sound I made in reply to her moan was full of yearning and appreciation.

  “Goddamn,” I whispered, palms roaming her arse, exploring the offering she was making to me. My pulse raged as she opened her thighs and the bouquet of her hit me, beckoning to my most primal desires. I think she expected me to take her then, to sit back on my heels and slot into her—and I did want to do that. But I wanted something else, first. For my sins, I wanted to pay tribute.

  There was plenty of room for me between her legs. She’d seen to that. And so I lowered myself, tipped my head, and with my fingers parted those silken petals of hers that I might slip my tongue in between them.

  Liz gasped, hips jumping as I darted in and out of her entrance with brief, flickering strokes. I felt her bury her face in the mattress, groaning in earnest now, those noises cutting off in hungry little whines that dampened the sheets. I closed my eyes, working my way, in due time, from that sweet opening up to her apex. I laved every inch of her on my journey there, those inner petals parting just as easily as the outer ones had. There was no part of her, it seemed, that wasn’t ready for more.

  “Julian,” she begged, and even though she spoke nothing else, I wanted to oblige her. Those three syllables lit a fire in me, and with a grunt, I twisted onto my back and under her, grabbing onto her exquisite rear and pushing to make her sit on my face.

  Liz made a cry, a breathless, “Oh!” and I held her tight to me, preventing escape. She wiggled, probably out of shyness—most girls were, the first time I proposed this. Only with Liz, I wasn’t giving her a choice. Better to beg forgiveness than ask permission, and all that. I glanced up at her over her mound, admired the pretty pink of her cheeks as she watched me settle in. It only took a few licks, and then a tease of her pulsing clit, for her to throw her head back and close her eyes, lips parted, nails dug into her own thighs.

  She was a vision, pure and simple. Her carnal throes started a simmer in my cock that soon roared into a vicious boil, but I couldn’t pull myself from her sweet, syrupy desire. Her hands found my hair, fingers winding into the dark strands to flex and pull, kneading my scalp. I doubled down on her with my tongue, making it roll, and hummed with satisfaction as she wailed for me.

  “Don’t stop!” I grinned when she said it. I couldn’t help it—they all got to this point eventually, where the pleasure outweighed their fears of being too heavy, too wet, or placed at too unflattering an angle. “Please, Julian. Please, please…”

  It occurred to me that I might hold her there, suspended in the purgatory that came before the descent into heaven, that I might lick and suck and listen to her holler until she slapped me and demanded I finish her. And oh, how part of me wanted to—but it wasn’t stronger than the part of me that wanted to indulge her. And so I gave in, burying myself in her, wrapping my lips around her little bud so I could flick, nudge, hold it oh-so-lightly between my blunt front teeth, and then relentlessly suck.

  She screamed my name then. It sent a vibration through me, a long, aching shudder. I didn’t mind. I wanted to see the animal in her and to indulge my own. I moaned as she came onto me, using my thumb to keep the pressure on her clit while my tongue jammed into her, determined to feel those wanton spasms I knew were ripping through her. God, I loved the way she flailed. It was breathtaking.

  Liz collapsed forward onto her hands, putting her in practically the same position we’d started in. Those lovely breasts of hers, perky yet pendulous, were awfully tempting to take into my mouth next—but I was dying for relief. And apparently, so was she.

  “Fuck me,” she whispered, biting her lower lip as she looked down the line of her body at me. “I want to feel you inside of me, Julian… I want to feel close to you.”

  As I said, I wasn’t very good at resisting Liz.

  I slipped out from underneath her, turning and rising so that my cock, hungry and fat, slid straight up against the center of her arse. That felt good, sure, and it made Liz quiver with anticipation, and I rather liked the way my come looked smeared across her delicate skin—and how the warmth of her pulled at my piercing—but it wasn’t as good as what lay below it. I pulled her nearer, dragging her back on the mattress until she was on my lap, head down, hips raised. She was so slippery from my saliva and her climax that my cock didn’t need any guidance. With one eager throb, my tip was pressing into the tight ring of her opening, and unable to resist temptation, I drove home.

  The way her heat surrounded me took my breath away. Oh, if the outside of her was silk, then the inside of her was wet, plush velvet, clutching at every inch of me like she could bring me in deeper all on her own. She let out a long, drawn-out curse as I drew her flush with my hips, savoring the sensation of completion—of having gotten so far into her that there was nowhere else to go but out.

  “You feel so good,” she moaned, and my mouth went dry. Good Lord, every word from her mouth, uttered in that deep, breathy tone, made my toes curl. “I missed you, baby. I missed you…”

  That nearly did me in, not because of her voice now, but because of what she said with it. That she missed me. That she wanted me around. No one had ever said that to me before and meant it. I lowered my head, dragged one hand down the pathway of her spine, and then began to move.

  We fit so easily together. We fit so well. There was something exotic about it, yet safe, a pleasant crossroads of new and familiar. I liked wild and dangerous as much as any other man, and we had that, Liz and I, but we had something else too. An undercurrent of trust, of devotion, that I’d never experienced with anyone else. Sex had been fantastic before her, but after her? With her? It was phenomenal. Unbelievable. A complete experience.

  Our hips worked in perfect concert. She ushered me deeper and deeper, making me range over her until the angle made her whimper with bliss. I buried a hand in the thick of her hair, seized, and pulled. It exposed her throat, and I grazed my teeth along her ear, letting her hear my own low, smoldering cries. Her flesh raised into goosebumps beneath me. The small hairs on her nape came to attention, and she shivered.

  “You like that?” I asked her, already knowing the answer. “You like hearing what you do to me?”

  Panting, she nodded, and when I snarled, those precious hips of hers began to buck.

  My balls tightened and pulled up, a prelude to an orgasm. The way she had me mounting her satisfied that beast I’d been trying to tame for so long, yet drove it to a frenzy that could only end one way. When Liz made small circles with her movements, my pace crescendoed into something more staccato and frenetic. I longed to hear the symphony of flesh on flesh, the wet beating of our bodies as I plunged so very deeply into her.

  “Look at me,” I rasped. She had her eyes closed, teeth embedded in her lip, long lashes fluttering with each of my strokes. “Look at me, love. Let me see you.”

  Liz turned her face, just a little. Her lids raised. Her hazy, love-drunk gaze met mine, and though her teeth didn’t leave her lip, the corners quirked up in a lazy, devious smile.

  Oh, shit. The
re was no resisting that look.

  “Fuck,” I grunted, pressing my forehead to her temple as my center gave way, spilling my contents into her in rapid-fire bursts. Stars flared and died behind my eyelids and I kissed Liz’s cheek, breathing every one of my moans right into her skin. I twitched hard inside her, hard enough that she gasped and flinched with surprise. Each torrent of it nearly took me off my knees, threatening to bring me to a state of collapse. Liz shushed me softly, lips finding mine, kissing at the juncture of where my ragged breathing met my stubble.

  I held onto her for dear life. I needed to know she was there. I needed her to feel that I was, too. I needed both of us to believe that we would never be separated again. I needed this moment to last for as long as it could, forever if possible. Though even forever might not have been long enough. Not when it came to Liz.

  Slowly, seemingly of its own accord, the hand that wasn’t holding me up slipped out of Liz’s hair and down her back. Then around her side, crossing the expanse of flesh that sat between the curve of her waist and her hip, and finally, coming to rest upon her stomach. No, a bit lower that that—just under her navel. Where the ultrasound tech had pressed that wand and given me my first glimpse of our baby. The child that Liz—beautiful, brilliant, brave Liz—was nourishing and caring for even now.

  I wondered if she knew she did the same for me. I resolved to tell her. Lifting my head, I met her gaze again. But the gentleness I found in her eyes told me she already knew.

  So I said nothing. Nothing, as I rolled onto my side and pulled her with me, staying deep inside her the way I knew she liked. Nothing, as I drew her back against my chest and hid my face in the juncture of her shoulder and neck, inhaling the scent of her there. Nothing, as I wrapped one arm tight across her chest, between her breasts, to keep her pressed tight to me right where she belonged. Nothing, as I let my other hand remain upon her stomach, drumming out a beat I hoped the little one could hear. Its father was a musician, after all. It was in his blood.