Page 51 of Beau Pair
Gordon
Elsie sits in a corner, all her toys spread out around her, but instead of playing with them, she’s watching Beau and me fiddle with all the suit parts.
I can’t say it’s not arousing having Beau do my buttons up or help me into my jacket. But thank God Elsie is here or we’d never get anything done. I’m actually dreading her leaving on the weekend.
Beau and I haven’t beenalonealone in this house since the first time we hooked up, and that’s kept us somewhat tame in our activities, usually keeping our hands off each other until Elsie was in bed and snoring.
What cohabitation will look like with her gone for two whole weeks is a different question. Maybe we won’t ever leave the bedroom—although Beau tends to enjoy the other rooms too—or maybe he will get bored of me and push me away.
Either could happen. And I’m too afraid to ask where this is going. I don’t know why. I’m an adult. I’m more than an adult. I’ve handled big sharks and lethal financiers. Why can’t I handle a simple question?
Beau pats and smooths my shoulders, then turns me around.
“I think it fits,” he says, and takes a step back.
I can see his erection as clear as day. It’s those damn spray-on jeans that hug everything so neatly and tightly that allow me to see everything. Like his perky bum that makes me want a bite every time I sneak a glance. And, of course, it doesn’t help matters in the crotch area, leaving very little to the imagination.
He checks me out, top to bottom, his eyes trailing over every detail of my body, and I don’t fail to notice him biting his lip.
“Damn. You fill the suit quite nicely,” he says, and glances at me. “How does it feel? Is it comfortable?”
I manage to pry my gaze away from him and move my arms and legs in a stupid dance.
“It feels… tight. But also not. Like I can move and I’m comfortable, but I still feel like I’m going to rip some seams,” I tell him, and he hums.
“Don’t be afraid. The fabric is quite stretchy. You’re not breaking any seams. But if you do, like during class or on campus, give me a call. I’d love to see your butt hanging out in public.”
I huff and he cracks up, which in turn makes Elsie crack up as if she understands the joke.
Dear God, I hope she doesn’t.
“I’m just messing with you. Nothing’s gonna rip.”
“Don’t be so sure about that,” I tell him in a low rumble, and he meets my gaze with curiosity. “If you wear something later that you don’t care about being destroyed… it wouldn’t hurt.”
His jaw drops open and then closes again, his lips forming a sexy smile.
“I like the way you think, Professor,” he says. “Now, you still haven’t told me. Do you like it?”
How stupid of me. I seem to be full of stupid things around him. I look at the striped fabric of the jacket, the smoothness of the cotton, how perfectly it hugs my body, and I smile. But for extra measure, I cast a glance at the floor to ceiling mirror on the wall that’s right by the hallway and I look like a different person. I almost don’t recognize myself.
“The stripes are much more subtle than they looked when I picked them. I like the effect. They give me a nice silhouette. I don’t think I’ve seen my legs look so… defined in a suit before,” I say, and I keep looking. “And my butt. Even I want to touch that.”
Beau smiles and approaches me from behind. I look at him through the mirror as he puts his hands under my arms and rests them on my chest.
“So… you like it?” he says with some hesitancy that makes me want to turn around and give him the biggest, warmest hug I’ve ever given him.
“I love it,” I tell him through the mirror before I turn around and do just that.
Elsie cries something, and we both break the hug a bit too soon and look at her trying to get up and walk through the mountain of toys in front of her.
“Ug. Ug,” she keeps whining, and as she almost finally breaks free of the circle, she trips on a toy truck and falls headfirst on the floor.
And that’s when the big ugly tears break out. I jump to action the minute I hear the thump and cross the room in seconds to get to her and make sure she’s okay. Her forehead is redder than the rest of her skin, and her eyes are big and tearful.
“Ouchie,” she keeps crying and points at her forehead.
“I know, sweetie. I know. You want daddy to kiss it better?” I ask her, and she wails a yes that breaks my heart.
