Page 100 of Live for Me

“Abbie,” I grunted, pumping my hips slowly, filling her over and over.

“Beau,” she breathed, using everything she had to keep her eyes open for me.

“You ask me, I’ll do it,” I murmured, my eyes dropping to her lips. “I’ll fucking do it. I’ll give up my life for you.”

A single tear escaped her eye, rolling down her temple and into her hair that was fanned out over my pillow. She widened her legs, bringing her thighs up by my waist, letting me in deeper. Pleasure tingled at the base of my spine, my balls tightening as her walls massaged my shaft. Her body was begging for my cum, and I was fucking ready to fill her. “I’ll fucking do it for you, Wildflower,” I growled.

“I know you will, Beau,” she panted.

I picked up the pace then, slamming into her, her body pinned to the bed. “Do you love me?”

Her eyes rolled back. “Yes,” she gasped, her back arching as her climax hit her suddenly.

The sound of our bodies filled the room, and I wished I could stay here forever, in this moment, in her sweet cunt, in her confession of love. Her mouth opened as she cried out my name ,and I fell into pleasure with her, letting go of all my fears.

Even if it was only for a moment.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Abbie

“Beau?” I called softly, lifting my head up from his chest. He’d fallen asleep hours ago. I, however, had a mind that refused to shut off, continuing to race, tumbling over unansweredquestions. The calloused hand resting on my bare ass moved, his fingers squeezing my plump flesh.

“Abbie, I love having you in my bed again, but for the love of all that is holy…” he grumbled, keeping his eyes closed. “I know you haven’t forgotten how much a cowboy needs sleep, how valuable it is to him.”

“No, I haven’t forgotten that,” I admitted softly, running my fingers across his toned pectoral. “Which is why I also know you know when my mind is racing, I can’t sleep.”

In the moonlight, I watched him crack an eye open. “Baby, your mind has been racing for thirty years. I don’t think it ever had any plans on stopping.”

“I just—we never got to talk about earlier.”

“Earlier?” he parroted, both eyes open now, and in the pale light, paired with his tanned skin, his eyes looked…eternal.

“I went to the hotel today,” I told him, dipping my chin. “First of all, I want to say thank you—you know, for the wall in the Grand Room.”

Beau said nothing and honestly, I was too chicken to look at him. I’d come back to the bunkhouse earlier today, running on nothing but blind rage and after everything he’d done for me, I tossed his honor into the dirt and stepped on it.

“Why were you at the hotel in the first place?” he finally asked, his voice quiet in the room we decided to call ours.

“A story.”

Suddenly, I was on my back, and his hips fell between my legs as he hovered over me, his jaw tight. “You trying to tell me your fucking boss put you on a fucking story while there’s a damn stalker after you?” That velvet voice was no longer quiet and sweet. It was filled with malice, and it should’ve scared the shit out of me.

But this was Beau.

My Beau.

“My boss may be a money hungry sort of asshole now, but once upon a time, he was just like me, always searching for a story. He told me about a possible story and offered it to me. He gave me the choice, Beau. He didn’t assign me to it.”

“Why in the hell would he offer you a story in the first place?” he clipped, his hands on either side of my head now, flattening my fluffy pillow.

“If you ruin this pillow, my neck will hurt in the morning,” I mumbled.

“If you don’t start talking, that sweet ass will hurt in the morning,” he threatened.

I reached up, cupping his strong jaw, feeling the anger and fear beneath his scruff. “He knew I needed the distraction. After, well, after everything with the asshole stalking me, my house being broken into, my art being destroyed, I just…” My words faded away, a lump forming in my throat. I kept my hand against his face, stroking his cheek, using this touch as a way to keep me grounded. I hadn’t given myself the chance to think about all the art my stalker had damaged because that would be a hole I’d never crawl out of.

My art wasn’t a hobby; it was an expression of my soul.

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