Ensnared (Brutes of Bristlebrook, #1)(9)

The first suture drives all thoughts of his face from my head, and I cry out in pain despite myself. His lips compress and eyebrows lower, but he keeps going.

“Beau, you can’t torture her for not coming with us,” Lucky calls. “You know that, right?”

My gaze catches on Dom. I could have sworn he was watching me, but he’s so absorbed on re-loading his gun, I must have been mistaken.

I try to breathe through my nose until Beau pulls back to examine the tight, even stitches. When he’s finished, I let my pent-up breath out in a rush, and he quickly wraps a clean bandage around the area. He doesn’t leave, seeming to fight with something in himself.

“Beau—” I begin.

“Is the thought of it really so awful for you?” he asks, voice low and demanding. His eyes flick up and there’s a fire lit behind them, the gentleness gone. “Would it be so hard for you to give yourself to me?”

My breath catches when I realize his face is only inches from mine. I want to look away, but his gaze won’t release me.

“I— I just . . . it’s not that simp . . . ” Heat floods my cheeks. “I’ve never . . . ”

A different look crosses his face then; a calculating light enters his woodland eyes.

I shiver. “Beau—”

His hand slides from my shoulder up my neck and into my bound hair. The pressure yanks my head back, and before I can react, his mouth covers mine.

I freeze, then soften against him. Hot. His lips are scorching as they caress mine, and my breath hitches. My lips part on the sound, and he slides his tongue into my mouth, slick heat stroking mine. He tastes amazing—light and tangy and delicious—and his plundering kiss demands a response. Tentatively, I stroke my tongue back against him, and he groans against my mouth.

The steely strength of his arm locks around my waist, and he pulls me onto his lap. I can’t protest, don’t want to, can’t string together a thought complete enough to know where I’d begin if I did. I’m needy, out of control. He’s hot and hard between my thighs.

My blouse lifts with his grip, tangling precariously under my breasts as he grinds me against him, a parody of the close grip we shared earlier. I shift over his hardness, shuddering in shock at the feel of him pressing against my core. There’s almost nothing between us, just a few shifts of fabric and we’d be— Liquid heat floods me. I cling to his hard shoulders as the pressure on my hair makes my back arch. I press my chest against him, my hips down over him, shivering at the friction as he rubs his tongue across mine. His teeth catch my lower lip, and I gasp, arching more completely against him.

I burn. Ache. I have to do something to ease this terrible, incredible tension inside me. Mindless, I shift again so I can rub against him, panting against his punishing mouth.

“Fucking hell. Cool it, idiot. I’m not watching you fuck her on the bank.”

The snapped words don’t completely register; my fingers dig into his shoulders. He’s so much bigger than me. How can his lips be so soft and so hard at the same time?

Thoughts that aren’t really full thoughts swim blurrily in my head. Our mouths part for just a moment, and I run my tongue across his lower lip with a whimper.

“Beau!” the voice barks.

“Fuck,” Beau swears, breaking the kiss. His hand eases from my hair in a soothing stroke down my back.

My breath comes in hitching pants. My head is spinning. It takes so much effort to lift my heavy lids. Absently, I push my glasses back up. Sweet sunshine, what on earth just happened?

I want to squeeze my legs closed against the throbbing, wet ache between them, but it only serves to push my core against him again.

Beau’s gaze crashes against mine, dangerous desire turning them a darker shade of emerald, drowning out the golden flecks.

I stare back at him in shock, too stunned to blush, part of me wondering whether it would be impolite to tear open his pants and beg him to finish what he just started. I’ve never felt like this my entire life, and it frightens me as much as it thrills me.

He rests his forehead against mine as we both try to catch air.

“Come with me, darlin’. You don’t belong out here,” he murmurs, voice deep and cajoling. His grip around my waist hasn’t eased and he deliberately strokes himself up against my center, making me shudder. “You can leave any time. What would it hurt to try, hmm?”

“Beau.” The stern voice is warning this time.

I try to regain control of my thoughts. I’ve always been so good at thinking. How did he short-circuit my brain with his tongue?

“But it’s . . . it’s not just you.”

It’s too much. Isn’t it? How could I possibly do this with all of them? I’m no virgin, I’ve had sex before, but this kind of chemistry doesn’t just happen. Sex usually just sucks.

Beau presses his lips to my forehead. “What would it hurt to try?” he repeats against my skin.

I’m trembling. What would it be like to be with a man like Beau? Can I really walk away without finding out?

That thought makes up my mind.

As my stomach dips in nervousness, I nod.

A slow smile creeps across his face, and he drops a light kiss on my nose. “You won’t regret it, darlin’.” Pulling us both up, he calls to the other two, “She’s coming.”