The tingling intensified. If the next touch of his tongue produced even a hint of a vaginal contraction, it was all over. She was going to explode.
She was gasping for breath, clawing at the cushions, and curling her toes. In other words, all of the stereotypical orgasm posturing was going on and then . . .
Beau stopped performing the soft fluttery licks.
Was he stopping? What was happening?
She grabbed him by the hair, slightly embarrassed by her desperation, but he was like a boulder. Immovable. He responded by calmly removing her fist from his hair and then effortlessly holding both of her wrists in his big hand.
“I’m in charge. And you’re going to come when I decide it’s time for you to come. Not a second sooner.”
That was a line from the book! And it was a line that had irritated the hell out of Alice’s feminist sensibilities. She’d found it to be completely ridiculous and annoying and downright offensive. Women were in charge of their own orgasms. She’d highlighted it so she could rant about it at book club.
Beau must have read it, because he winked at her. And it turned her into a mass of spineless, thoughtless, and inhibition-less jelly.
Beau delivered two soft licks, a kiss, and a short suckle before dragging his tongue lower. Alice tilted her pelvis to give him better access to . . . She didn’t even know to what. But her body knew. It absolutely knew what it wanted.
And so did Beau. He entered her with his tongue. Repeatedly.
He was literally—she searched for words and the only one she came up with was one she never used—fucking her with his tongue. And he was moaning while doing it, as if he were enjoying it as much as she was.
She wanted to grab his head. To pull him even closer. Or maybe it was to push him away. She didn’t really know. She just wanted to grab him. But she couldn’t because he still held her wrists in his hand and holy guacamole, that was hot. She gave a little yank, just to see if he’d yield.
He squeezed tighter.
Something built deep inside. It swelled and vibrated and Alice had no idea where it was going to go. She literally wanted to explode. “Oh, Beau. I think I’m going to—”
He stopped thrusting and gave one final lick to her clit.
That did it. Her eyes literally rolled back in her head as she climbed higher and higher, reaching for an unattainable crest, before boom! She exploded in wave after wave of pure pleasure. Her vagina clenched and contracted over and over, more intensely than she’d ever imagined it could, until she had the overwhelming sensation that she needed to sob, or possibly belly-laugh, which was something she never did. Beau gently bit the inside of her thigh, and she opened her eyes to see him grinning and looking exceptionally proud of himself.
That was fine. He’d earned it.
She lazily floated down the crest, noticing that sounds and sensations seemed far away, as if after all that stimulation, her body had decided to go numb. And she didn’t mind at all . . .
Beau abruptly lifted his head. “Did you hear that? It sounded like a car door.”
No, she hadn’t heard it. “Maybe it’s Dolly going somewhere.”
“It’s eleven o’clock at night.”
Woof! Gaston started going crazy in the guest room. His collar jingled and then he started to howl, something he only did around her mom, who encouraged it, calling it “singing.”
Oh, no! She slammed her knees shut, smacking Beau’s face in the process. “I think that might be my mom. She’s not supposed to pick up Gaston until tomorrow.”
There was a knock at the door, and since her mom tended to do the knock-and-enter, Alice hopped off the couch and grabbed Beau’s hand. “Come on!” she said, rushing him into her bedroom and closing the door.
“Anybody home?” her mom called out. “We saw your lights on and thought we’d pick up Gaston.”
We? It was both of them? “Hold on,” Alice called, grabbing her jeans off the bed.
Gaston howled from the guest room. “Oh, poor boy!” her mom said. “Why did your sister lock you in the guest room?”
Beau raised an eyebrow at Alice. “Sister?”
Alice rolled her eyes and slipped a T-shirt over her head. What was Beau thinking? His eyes were twinkling, so something about the situation was clearly amusing to him. But his brow was also creased with concern. “You know, Allie. For a minute there, earlier, I thought you were going to tell me you were a virgin.”
He had to bring this complicated subject up now? While her parents were standing in the living room? She wasn’t opposed to telling Beau about her lack of sexual experience, but now wasn’t the time.
“Are you? A virgin?”
She couldn’t say yes. “No, virginity is a social construct—”
Someone tapped on the bedroom door. “Alice, whose truck is that out front? And whose boots are these?”
Alice put her hand on the doorknob. “Put your shirt on.”
He shrugged with a grin. “I can’t. It’s in the living room, along with my boots and the sheer lacy thing you were wearing.”
Oh God. She looked at the window.
“I’m a twenty-eight-year-old man, Allie. I am not climbing out your window.” Beau stood behind her and gently squeezed her arm. “It’s no big deal, darlin’,” he said softly. “We’re all adults.”
He was absolutely correct, although she didn’t feel very adult at the moment. She grabbed his hand, and with a deep breath, she opened the door. “Hi, Mom. Hi, Dad.”
Her mom’s mouth formed a perfect o and her cheeks turned pink as Beau leaned against the doorframe. “Howdy, folks. How was your trip?”
The reaction her mom was having to seeing Beau Montgomery, shirtless and taking up every inch of the doorway, was apparently hereditary. Because Alice knew just how she felt.
Chapter
Twenty-Five
Alice opened her eyes. And then she shut them, because it was super bright.
Why? Why was it so bright? She opened
