Page 62 of The Suit

“Oh. My. God.” Her fragmented words broke the air before turning into a low, constant hum as I rocked inside her until I had the space to move more freely, rallying every shred of self-control I had not to give in to the pressure in my balls and come.

I needed to wait until I’d built her up again.

Gathering her hair in my fist I yanked her back, forcing the perfect curvature of her spine to arch so deeply I could feel it in every single nerve ending on the tip of my dick.

“Fuck, you look so good on your knees, except next time, it’ll be your smart mouth taking my cock, instead of your tight fucking pussy…”

At my words, said pussy clenched so hard around me I nearly collapsed against her from the force; but I also learned one more thing: Beulah Holmes liked the dirty talk.

I tipped her pelvis, her still-locked knees restricting her movements and keeping her so snug that I wasn’t sure I’d be able to pound her as hard as I needed to without causing some serious damage to my dick. But all thoughts of pacing myself were carried away with the breeze as her hips bucked onto me, setting her body on a course of trembling which travelled through to mine, because we were one. My grip in her hair tightened with the overpowering need for purchase so I could thrust into her as hard as we both needed, my spare hand digging into her hip to stop the shaking as it flowed over my body like electricity on water.

Her own fist gripped the lounger, her knuckles as white as the surf, as she held on while I pounded inside her for more than my life was worth, winding me with each stroke until there was no oxygen left for either of us.

“Rafe, oh... OH… Fuck. Rafe…”

I tried to hold on, but the second she moaned my name, like it was the only word in her vocabulary, deep and throaty and in a way I’d never heard anyone utter it before, ever, I was done for. I shot inside her with the speed and intensity of a rocket at blast off, which miraculously had her coming too. I prided myself on taking care of the girl I was with before I finished, and right then was the closest I’d ever gotten to not accomplishing that mission.

We collapsed onto the lounger, me falling to her side so I didn’t crush her with my weight. I released her from the prison of her underwear and kicked my shorts off at the same time, so we were naked together.

Even though we were outside, the air around us had turned humid from the heat of our sweat-soaked bodies as we replenished our lungs. We lay there watching the stars, now fully present in the night sky, and twinkling overhead. My fingers began mindlessly tracing along her spine, my mind blank of all thoughts until she sat up and turned to me, her face flushed and glowing.

“Thank you.”

I’d never been thanked for sex before, even though I probably should have been. But coming from her, with an expression so solemn and sincere, I instantly hated the words - along with feeling an almost overwhelming compulsion to scoop her back onto my lap and tell her everything was going to be okay.

That, however, I knew would not be well received. I needed to continue this game she’d started.

“Don’t thank me yet. Destroying your vagina means I get to fix it now.” I chuckled darkly, catching a bead of sweat right before it dropped between her breasts, then sucked it off my finger. “Mmmm.”

Even in the post-orgasm blush still heating her cheeks, her eyes flared at the prospect, and once more I wondered how the fuck I’d only just discovered we could be this good together.

* * *

Three hours later and another four orgasms between us, she lay next to me, as close as I could get her. A light breeze was coming through the open window, cooling our skin. Her breath was even enough that she could be asleep, but I wasn’t certain.

It had taken a car journey, a hot shower, a bottle of wine and a homemade pizza for me to realize something I may have always known. I didn’t hate Beulah Holmes… quite the opposite in fact.

And now I needed to do something about it.

Now I needed to get her to admit she liked me too.

Every so often moonlight flickered on the ceiling as the drapes blew gently from the draft, hypnotizing me with its bright strobes of silver. Her words played over and over in my mind, what she’d been through; it was no wonder she was so angry at the world, at me, at herself. No wonder she needed a fight. And I’d never admit it to him, but for the second time in as many weeks, Penn was right…

“I was only Number One because you pushed me. I’m the man I am today because of you.”

She didn’t say anything but with the way her breath caught before it settled into steady breathing, I knew she’d heard it.

I followed her into sleep.

12

Beulah

There is no reality which exists where someone could have told me I would be waking up next to Rafe Latham, and I’d believe them. Yet there he was, sleeping soundly right next to me. More than soundly, like the dead, and taking up most of my side of the vast bed, as well as his.

Not only that, it was the second time in a week.

A soft sigh as he turned his head toward me had me maneuvering my body so I could watch him sleep, because you didn’t know real beauty until you’d watched Rafe Latham sleep. I should know; I’d been watching him since the sun had risen. Thick black eyelashes flickered against his cheeks as he settled into his new position, one thickly muscled and tattooed arm tucked under the pillow, while the other had moved further across my stomach, where it had been most of the night.

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