Beautiful Bombshell (Beautiful Bastard, #2.5)

“I don’t remember what you said, either,” she admitted. “But I’m sure it took a lot of effort for me to look unaffected.”


“We left not long after that. Amber and I.” I smoothed a hand up Chloe’s body, over her breast to her face. I looked her in the eye and admitted, “I fucked her. But it was awful. You kept barging into my head. I would close my eyes and imagine what it would be like to touch you. I tried to imagine the sounds you would make when you’d come, how you would feel. That’s when I came. I bit the pillow to keep from saying your name.”

She exhaled sharply, and I realized she’d been holding her breath. “Did you go to her place or yours?”

I looked away from where my fingers ran over her jaw and met her eyes again. How was that relevant? “Hers. Why?”

Shrugging, she whispered, “Just curious.”

I continued to study her and could see the wheels turning, some private curiosity growing in her thoughts.

Bending to kiss her ear, I asked, “What are you thinking, little devil?”

She smiled up at me, caught. “I was wondering . . . what position you were in.”

Ice trickled into my bloodstream. “Do you like hearing about this because you want to imagine me with another woman?”

She shook her head immediately, eyes darkening. Her hands turned into tight fists around the knot of my shirt above her head. “I like hearing how you were thinking about me. I just . . . want to hear about it.”

“I was on top of her, like this,” I murmured, wary. “We only had sex that one time. I’m sure she found me wholly unimpressive as a lover.”

She wiggled, adjusting the position of her hands in their soft binding, watching me. Thinking, thinking, thinking. “Before you had sex with her,” she said, eyes on my mouth. “When you got back to her place. Did she go down on you?”

Shrugging, I admitted, “I think so. A little.”

“And did you?”

“Taste her?” I asked and Chloe nodded. “No,” I said. “I didn’t.”

“Did you wear a condom?”

“I always wore a condom,” I said, laughing. “Well, before you.”

She smiled and rolled her eyes. “Right.” But then her legs slid up around my waist. “Before me.” All I needed to do was shift my hips slightly and I would be able to press inside her. Yet somehow, talking about this naked and over her felt perfect. We had no secrets. “Did she come?” she asked.

Sighing, I admitted, “She faked it.”

Chloe laughed, head pressed back into the pillow so she could see me better. “You’re sure?”

“Positive. It was an impressive effort if not a bit over-the-top.”

“Poor girl didn’t know what she was missing then.”

“It was only a few days before the conference room,” I whispered, kissing the corner of her mouth. “I think I was probably already in love with you. So when I think back to that night with Amber, it feels as though I cheated. Given how you found me tonight—blindfolded, passively accepting an erotic dance—I want to air all of my potential sins. I guess that’s why I’m talking about Amber now.”

Her face straightened, eyes wide and earnest. “Babe. You didn’t cheat. Either with Amber or if had been another woman tonight dancing for you.”

“I wouldn’t, you know,” I said, my voice tight. Reaching above her, I untied her hands, rubbing her wrists carefully. “You saw that I wasn’t aroused until I knew it was you. I couldn’t be unfaithful to you.”

She nodded, and I kissed up her neck to her swollen lips. Swollen from the rough treatment I gave her not long ago. Holy shit she must be sore everywhere. Even still, she lowered her arms, reached between us, and rubbed me over the crease of her sex.

When she kissed me, she moaned quietly against my tongue. “You taste like me.”

“However could that have happened?” I asked, nibbling her bottom lip.

Angling her hips, she pushed up into me, suddenly demanding and urgent.

“Easy,” I whispered, pulling back and sinking into her slowly, groaning into her neck. “Don’t go too fast.” Fuck. She even felt like honey, smooth and sweet. “So good. Always so fucking good, Chlo.”

“How did you know?”

I paused for a moment as I pulled my hips back, interpreting her question. “How did I know you’re sore?”

She nodded.

It was her favorite game, the one where I told her every tiny thing I noticed. I paid attention; she loved it.

“You rode my fingers pretty hard earlier.”

She hummed, eyes closed and hands running down my back.

“And I wasn’t particularly gentle in the restroom.”

“You really weren’t,” she whispered, turning her head to suck on my shoulder.

I started an easy, steady rhythm moving in her. “So just now, when I put my mouth on you? I wasn’t surprised you were a little swollen.”

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