Page 51 of Tangled Rose

Chapter 26

Imust have fallen asleep in Beau’s arms because I wake up later with my eyes feeling gritty from crying, and it’s dark out—like the way-past-midnight kind of dark, all inky black outside. There’s not even a star in the sky.

My heart anxiously races while I try to remember what I’d been dreaming about, but I can’t bring it forth. Whatever it was has me unnerved again. No way am I sleeping now.

Carefully lifting Beau’s arm from around my waist, I scoot away from him to the end of the bed and tiptoe to my dresser. I don’t know if I’d thought the laundry gnomes would have somehow snuck fresh clothing into my drawers or if I’ve been in denial about how urgent the issue is, but I suddenly realize I can’t wait any longer. I’m quite literally out of clothing. I don’t want to sleep in my uniform, so I’d better get on it. Considering I can’t sleep, it’s as good a time as any to get this done.

Taking my laundry basket with me, I leave my room and go to Beau’s. Stripping out of my uniform and down to nothing, I set the skirt aside, knowing it likely needs to be dry-cleaned, and set my button-down, bra, and panties on top of the small pile.

In Beau’s closet, I choose from a billion T-shirts, dragging one over my head. It’s long enough to cover all my naughty bits, which is great since I’m about to wander through the house to find the laundry room in nothing but his shirt. At the last second, I grab a couple of Beau’s comic books from his stack, grateful I remembered to bring my phone. I can read by phone flashlight, if necessary.

It takes me several minutes, but I finally locate a door on the other end of the house and when I nudge it open, I find what I’m looking for: an industrial washer and dryer set, just waiting for me.

Relieved, and trying to be as quiet as I can, I set my basket down and start poking around. I find some of those laundry pod things and put my first load in. With a yawn, I sit down in front of the machine to wait, comic book and phone in hand.

* * *

I’m startled awake—I guess I fell asleep reading. At first, I think it’s just the washing machine ending its cycle that’s woken me, but then the door to the laundry room swings inward.

“Lyla. What the hell? It’s two in the morning,” Beau grumbles. “What are you doing sitting here in the dark?”

I hold up my phone and his comic. “Reading. And doing laundry?” Yep, that last part came out more like a question. I’m waiting for him to think it’s weird, but he doesn’t say anything. His eyes, instead, are on his T-shirt. I stand up, turn around, and flip the washing machine open. I take my time transferring my clothes to the dryer. I can feel his gaze on me the entire time and it makes me a little dizzy. I set the dryer to run, dump my whites into the washer with another pod, and start it before turning back around.

He rubs his hand over his jaw in a way that has my brain short-circuiting. A sudden surge of heat flows through me. Because I want to feel that stubble. Between my legs.

“That’s a comfy looking shirt you’re wearing.”

I smirk a little. “Sorry. I didn’t think you’d mind if I borrowed it.”

“Turn around for me.”

Surprisingly, I do it, willingly obeying his command.

With the way he’s staring at me, I’ll do any damn thing he wants. I lift my arms out to the sides as I spin, realizing too late that I’ve probably just flashed my lady parts at him.

He drags in a deep, deep breath. “Holy fuck, Seven. What am I going to do with you?”

I wrinkle my nose at the nickname, knowing I deserve it. After all, this time I swiped not just his comics, but also his T-shirt. “You tell me.”

“Come here.” His eyes rove over my bare legs, and he presses his hand over his chest, rubbing.

White-hot desire sizzles down my spine. Slowly, I walk toward him, my eyes flickering with uncertainty—which is pretty unusual for me in a situation like this. Everything about Beau is different from what I’m used to.

When I’m right in front of him, his palms coast down over my arms. He murmurs, “Do you know how often I’ve replayed in my mind the moments when you’ve let me touch you?” He swallows hard. “I’ve been dreaming about those little noises you make when you come. Been wanting to feel your pussy pulse for me again. Been wanting to make you feel so fucking good you’ll never look at another guy again.”

He backs me up against the wall opposite the washer and dryer and reaches back, grasping the shirt he’s wearing and pulling it over his head. He gathers the material of the one I’m wearing and has it off and on the floor in no time flat.

Beau’s big hands grasp my hips as he lowers his head, delivering a series of hot kisses to my lips—the toe-curling, lust-inducing kind. The kind that make you forget your own name. I moan when he maneuvers me to cradle his dick at the juncture of my thighs. He’s everywhere with those lips and that fucking talented tongue of his—my jaw, my neck, the valley between my breasts, my nipples.

And then he drops down onto his knees in front of me. I think I might pass out on the spot. The sight of him before me like this makes me shudder involuntarily with anticipation.

His tongue delves first into my belly button, then his lips sweep over my hip bone before stopping just inches from where I ache for him. He growls as his nose nudges the landing strip of hair and inhales deeply. “Fuck, I’ve wanted this.” He hikes my leg over his shoulder, opening me to him.

My heart frantically pounds as he studies me, his gaze hot and full of desire. I wait with bated breath for several seconds for him to touch me—but it feels like forever. I’m a puddle of need. A pool of desire. So when he lowers his mouth to my pussy and his tongue sweeps through my folds and dives directly into my center, I quake. I tremble. And I may have blacked out for a few seconds. Because I’m panting and weak in the knees and not at all sure I’ve ever felt anything so pleasurable in my entire life.

Beau licks, sucks, and kisses all my ultrasensitive parts. He watches for my reaction and groans in response to the way I’m moaning. And as if his mouth weren’t enough, he begins to tease me with his fingers, too, sliding them through my arousal, dipping them inside me, rubbing them over my clit until I’m really concerned with how loudly I’m going to cry out when I come.

The question is not if, but when I will lose control. Because he seems to delight in bringing me right to the edge, just like he’d done with his fingers in the theater room. Only this is way more intense. I mean, who doesn’t like having their pussy licked? I’m definitely a fan.

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