Page 34 of Almost Enough

“Fuck,” Beau grits out, his eyes on mine.

I move carefully, a small roll of my hips, and he shudders beneath me. I feel it everywhere, the tension coiling through his entire body like a live wire. His cock throbs against me, hard and hot and so big it makes my pulse flutter in places I didn’t know could.

Liquid heat rushes between my thighs, and I move again, just to feel that friction. Just to make him groan again.

“Whitley.”

“Don’t,” I whisper, pressing both palms to his chest. His heart is pounding under my hands. “Don’t overthink it.”

His jaw ticks. His grip on my hips tightens.

I want the part of him he tries to cage. The part that grunts my name when I move just right. The part that wants to ruin me slowly.

His fingers flex again, dragging me tighter against him, until every inch of me is flush against every part of his body.

I roll my hips against him, chasing that perfect pressure, the friction that sends sparks down my spine. His cock is like steel beneath me, pressing right where I need him most, and I can’t stop the breathy moan that tumbles from my lips.

Then his voice cuts through the fog, sharp and commanding. “Stop.”

I go still. My breath stalls in my throat. “What⁠—?”

“Don’t move.” His fingers dig into my hips, hard and possessive. “Not until I say.”

My thighs tremble as I hold very still, every nerve ending screaming for friction, for more. His gaze pins me, all heat and unrelenting authority.

What is happening right now?

“Put your hands on my shoulders,” he says, low and steady, almost as if he’s expecting me to obey.

And of course I do. My hands slide up, fingers clutching his solid shoulders, anchoring myself.

“Good girl.”

Two fucking words that almost finish me. Is this what it feels like to have a praise kink? Because if so, hi, hello, I’m learning things about myself in real time, and I would like this man to narrate my entire life from now on. Grocery store? “Good girl, you picked the ripe avocado.” Tax season? “Good girl, you filed early.” Honestly, I’d walk into traffic for less.

One of his hands glides up my spine, slow and sure, until he fists the damp strands of my hair and gives it a sharp tug, tilting my head back just enough to expose my throat.

And that’s it. That’s the moment I die. Whitley down.

“You want this?” His mouth is so close, his breath hot against my skin.

“Yes,” I whisper, scarcely able to breathe.

His grip tightens, just enough to sting. “Say it properly.”

My body arches against him. “Yes. I want this.”

“Show me,” Beau commands, his voice dropping to a dangerous octave as his hand moves back to my hips.

The heat in his eyes burns through me, stripping away any defense I thought I ever had.

“Move, Whitley. Now.”

I grind down at his command, a whimper escaping my lips as the friction sends sparks shooting through my core. His grip tightens, controlling my pace.

“Slower,” he growls.

I comply instantly, dragging my hips in a torturous rhythm against him.