Page 79 of Almost Enough

I feel Beau’s eyes on me like a physical caress. There’s absolutely no nervousness in me, not with him. Just a buzzing excitement that makes my pulse sing. This is exactly what I want.

I reach behind me, fingers finding the clasp of my bra. I unhook it with unhurried movements and the bra falls away. My breasts spill free, the cool air pebbling my nipples instantly. I don’t cover myself or fidget under his stare. I just stand there, letting him look.

A muscle jumps in his cheek, but he doesn’t move from the doorway. His eyes are nearly black now, burning a path from my face down to my chest and back again.

“Keep going,” he commands, voice rough as gravel.

I hook my thumbs into the waistband of my panties, and his gaze drops, tracking the descent of lace down my thighs. I step out of them, kicking the scrap of fabric aside, and then I’m completely bare before him.

I don’t cover myself. I don’t look away. I meet his gaze and let him see all of me. There’s something exhilarating about choosing this kind of vulnerability.

“Look at you,” he groans, pushing off the doorframe.

He takes one step toward me, then stops. My eyes drift over the hard planes of his body, drawn like a magnet to the obvious bulge straining against his jeans. The outline of his erection is unmistakable—thick and hard and pressing against the dark denim with an urgency that makes my mouth water.

Heat floods between my thighs, wetness pooling there in response to the sheer visual of him wanting me this badly. I know without looking that he’d be able to see the evidence of my arousal if he glanced down.

He doesn’t look away from my face now, though. That’s the thing about Beau. He always meets my eyes first. Like whatever is going on inside of them is more important than the view.

“Lie down,” he says, his voice dropping to that devastating register that turns my bones to liquid. “Hands above your head.”

I climb onto the mattress, the cool sheets a stark contrast to my heated skin. I stretch out on my back, raising my arms as instructed. A sensation of safety fills me in the way of his watchful gaze.

He stalks toward the bed, his attention fixed completely on me. Each step sends a fresh wave of anticipation through me. I spread my legs, an unconscious invitation, and his gaze drifts down before dragging back up to my face.

“You’re stunning,” he says, voice rough with want as he reaches the side of the bed. He’s still fully dressed and towers over me. The power imbalance sends a thrill racing down my spine. “And soaked. So greedy for me.”

I shiver at his words, my body responding instantly to his approving gaze. He reaches out, one rough finger tracing a path from my collarbone down between my breasts.

“Perfect,” he praises. “Don’t move. Not an inch.”

He begins to undress, each movement unhurried. He reveals that broad chest I’ve been dreaming about. Then his belt slides through the loops with a soft hiss that makes my breath catch. His jeans and boxer briefs follow, and then he’s standing before me in all his beautiful, mouthwatering glory.

My eyes travel down his body, drinking in every inch of him. The defined muscles of his chest and abdomen, leading down to where he’s thick and rigid with desire. I want to take him in my hands, my mouth, wherever he’ll let me. It takes everything in me to resist the urge to reach for him.

His knee dips into the mattress as he climbs onto the bed, positioning himself between my spread thighs.

“Remember,” he says, voice commanding, “I want you to stay right there and let me decide what happens next.”

I nod, my breath coming in short, shallow pants. The anticipation is almost unbearable.

“Words, Red.”

“Yes, sir,” I whisper, the title falling from my lips without thought.

His eyes flash with approval. “That’s my good girl.”

He lowers himself, careful not to put his weight on me, hovering just close enough that I can feel the heat radiating from his body. When his lips finally touch mine, the kiss is unexpectedly gentle. Soft. Reverent.

But it doesn’t stay that way for long.

His tongue sweeps into my mouth, demanding and dominant, as his hand slides up my side to cup my breast. His thumb brushes over my nipple, and I arch instinctively into his touch.

He pulls back immediately. “What did I say about moving?”

“I’m sorry,” I gasp. “I can’t help it.”

“Do you need a reminder of the rules?”