Beautiful Beginning

Chapter Eight

Bennett helped me climb into the back of the limo and then slipped the blindfold over my face, tying it firmly behind my head. It was wide and tight; the bastard had anticipated my plan to peek, and the silken fabric covered half my face. I was left in total darkness.

But beside me, I could sense when he shifted closer, could smell the clean, crisp sagey smell of him when he leaned in, sucked gently on my collarbone.

“Are you going to fuck me in this car?” I asked, reaching out blindly for him. I found his arm and pulled it around me.

His rumbling chuckle vibrated along my collarbones, from one side to the other, and I felt him reach for the hem of my wedding dress and slowly drag it up my legs.

Bennett’s fingertips tickled their way past my knee, along the inside of my thigh and to the thin white lace barely covering my pussy. He slid a knuckle under the fabric, dragging it back and forth over the already-slick skin beneath.

“Fuck,” he hissed. “Goddamnit, Chlo.” He pulled back, sliding two fingers into me, pumping them deep. “I’m not feeling particularly gentle tonight.”

Arching my neck, I gave his mouth better access to the most vulnerable part of my throat, whispering, “Good. I don’t want you slow and sweet.”

“But it’s our wedding night,” he argued with mock sincerity. “Shouldn’t I gently lay you on a feather bed and bring you endless, loving pleasure?”

I reached for his hand, pressed it harder into me. “You can do that when I’m bruised and sore afterwards, in the middle of the night.”

His laugh was so dark, and communicated such barely restrained need that it sent shivers down my back. I felt his breath on my ear when he asked, “So I have permission to be rough?”

I nodded, my throat suddenly dry. “Encouragement, even.”

“Maybe a little filthy?” When I answered with a nod, he growled, “Tell me.”

I exhaled, a shaking, tense breath. “I want you filthy. I want you wild and impatient tonight. It’s how I feel.”

He twisted his wrist, and pushed a third finger into me so deep I felt the cool of his wedding ring against my skin, and I cried out from the sensation of the pressing metal, of being stretched tight. His thumb made teasing, maddening circles just around my clit, expertly never quite touching exactly where I wanted it. Traffic sounds grew to a crescendo and then ebbed into silence, and the steady thump of bridge spacers sounded beneath the wheels.

“Are we leaving Coronado?”

“Yes.”

“Are we getting on a plane?” I asked again.

“Does my hand not feel good?” Irritation simmering in his voice.

“. . . what?” I asked, confused.

“Are you distracted by the street, rather than the three fingers currently fucking you?”

“I—?”

He pulled his hand out and reached for my shoulders, pulling me off the seat and dragging me so I kneeled on the floor. I felt him shift around to pull me closer, and I realized I was positioned between his legs. The sound of his belt, his zipper, and his pants being shoved down his hips cut through the quiet.

“Come here,” he said on an exhale, cupping the back of my head. “Suck.”

Despite the single rough word, his touch grew careful as I began to lower my mouth over him, as if he wasn’t sure how to blend his pent-up need to come with the reality of our brand-new marriage. We’d talked for cumulative hours about how things would be in this very moment—the two of us finally alone, married, and faced with the reality that it might be different—but now that we were in it, I could tell Bennett was a little torn.

We’d said no way would it feel different: it was just two rings, just a piece of paper.

We’d said we’d never stop being hard on each other, or start having easily bruised feelings.

We’d promised anything could always happen between us in the bedroom. We swore we’d never hold back, or be afraid to ask for whatever we needed.

But as I worked his length with my lips and my tongue, I could sense that Bennett’s hands were fisted at his sides, not in my hair. His hips were pressed firmly into the seat beneath him, instead of rising up, arching toward my mouth.

So I did the first thing that came to mind: with a quiet sucking sound, I pulled my mouth off his cock and sat back on my heels.

His breaths came out in sharp gusts, but other than the sound of the road passing beneath us, the car fell silent.

Finally, his voice rose from the quiet in a controlled rumble: “What happened?”

What happened? So tame, Bennett.

In this moment, I hated not seeing his face, but I knew he understood the point I was making when he took a deep breath and asked, “Why the fuck did you stop?”

There he is.

“You know why.”

Strong hands lifted me off my heels and sat me back until my butt hit the floor of the limo and my spine rested on the seat opposite him. One of Bennett’s knees planted on the seat beside my head and without saying a word, he pressed the crown of his cock to my lips, forcing my mouth open.

“Suck,” he said, and this time the word was coated in anger and need. I barely had time to adjust to the feel of him before a tight fist curled in my hair, holding me steady as he began to move in short jabs, not going too deep, at least not yet. Finally, his hands released my hair and left me only long enough to frame the side of my face, holding me steady for his longer, deeper strokes.

The car rolled to a stop and Bennett slammed a palm on the intercom button, managing a sharp “Wait here” before returning his hand to my face, groaning hoarsely.

His rumbling “Fuck, Chlo” sparked my lust, and I reached up to wrap my arms around his hips, whimpering at the powerful snap of his thrusts, the hard contractions of muscles in his ass.

I couldn’t see a thing, but each time he moved deeply and I felt the soft hair against my face, I wanted to suck as hard as I could so that when he pulled back I would wring as much pleasure out of this moment as I could for him. I felt desperate to give him this.

“So fucking good,” he said, his voice raspy, and I could tell from his movements that he was growing close. “Those perfect fucking lips. Feeling your tongue on me.”

I slid one hand between us, cupped his balls, and stroked just behind, teasing.

“Yes,” he hissed, hips jerking.

With a final push inside, he came, cock rigid and releasing his orgasm down my throat. He cried out as I swallowed around him, slowing his movements until only the tip of him rested against my tongue. I tilted my head up to him when he pulled out, and felt the soft glance of his thumb across my bottom lip.

Wordlessly, Bennett reached down and adjusted my blindfold before bending and kissing me deeply, his tongue sliding over mine.

“Tell me you like my taste,” he whispered.

“I love your taste.”

And then he pulled my dress up, moving his hand between my legs and under the lace of my underwear, as if confirming what I’d said was true.

“I fucking love your mouth.” He leaned forward, laughing against my lips. “And I love fucking your mouth.”

His touch was gentler now, exploring rather than giving pleasure. He grunted quietly, moving his hand away from me, and I heard the rustle of fabric as he pulled up his pants, straightened his clothing.

Taking my hand, he murmured, “Come on, Mrs. Ryan. We’re here.”

We were definitely in a hotel. I could tell by the sounds of elevators, suitcases rolling across travertine floors. I could hear the way voices grow hushed as we walked past, and I imagined how we must look: Bennett carrying a blindfolded and barefoot bride in his arms and with a duffel bag full of who-knows-what slung over his shoulder, carrying me barefoot and blindfolded in my wedding dress.

“Are we in a hotel?”

“Shh,” he whispered, lips to my temple. “We’re almost there.”

He carried me as if I weighed nothing, his strides even and steady. I pressed my lips to his neck and asked, “Is everyone looking at us?”

He turned his head, laughing quietly in my ear. “Definitely.”

Once we stepped into the elevator, it smelled familiar. Was it possible we were back at the Hotel Del and he had just done an elaborate ruse to trick me? But if he did, why?

We rode up in silence and I adjusted my grip on his neck, trying to listen to the number of floors we passed, to any sign of where we were. Beneath my knees, his left hand squeezed me reassuringly.

“You okay?” he asked.

I nodded just as the elevator dinged and the doors opened, but Bennett didn’t move. I realized there’d been someone else in there with us. How had it been for them, I wondered, to be watching us as we went up to wherever our final destination was, knowing we were clearly headed to our wedding night?

When we reached another floor, Bennett stepped out and carried me down what felt like the longest hallway ever.

“I want you inside me,” I said into the warm skin of his neck.

“Soon.”

“You won’t make me wait?”

“I only want to get you there and naked. The plan beyond that is pretty self-explanatory.”

Something about the walk felt familiar, some turn and body position, and suddenly it hit me.

Of course.

Of course.

He came to a stop, maneuvered so he could pull a key from his pocket, and opened the door.

I didn’t even have to take off my blindfold to know.

Carefully, he put me down and I reached up, slipping the satin up and off my face. Yes. It was the room we’d stayed in at the W more than two years ago—the exact one. The same couch, the same bed, the same balcony, the same small kitchenette. Although, now it had a new, no-longer-broken desk.

The room where we first knew—really knew—that I was his and he was mine.

I could feel Bennett watching me, gauging my reaction, but I’d been so overwhelmed with emotion all week that I felt a little numb, almost as if on top of the family around us, the wedding, the vows, and how much I needed to feel him, my mind clamped shut and I started to feel dizzy.

He stepped behind me, kissing my neck. “You okay?”

“Yeah.”

“We never did lose what we found in this room,” he said, bending now and kissing my shoulder. “In fact, we turned it into the happiest hate-love of all time.”

“We sure did.” I turned to look at him, wondering if now was when he tore my dress off and fucked me facedown on the floor.

But his eyes were clear, careful. He stepped closer, bent to kiss my jaw. “You smell so fucking good.”

“What’s going on? I thought you were going to be rowdy.”

“Fucking your mouth in the car helped take the edge off.”

I closed my eyes, feeling memories storm into my thoughts.

“I’ve never done anything close to this and I don’t know how to navigate it anymore,” I’d said.

“I told you. I haven’t been with anyone else since we started this,” he’d said.

“That doesn’t mean you won’t take a room key if it’s put in your hand.”

“Let’s call a truce for one night. I just need tonight,” he’d pled, and given me three desperate kisses.

I opened my eyes. “How much of the first night in here are we going to re-create?”

He shrugged and when he smiled, he looked so young, almost innocent. “I think we’ll skip the fight in the bathroom, but I definitely hope you wake me up with your mouth on my cock.” He leaned forward, kissing me once and then pulling back to study my face. “Honestly, Chlo, I just want you out of this dress. I feel like we haven’t been skin to skin in months.”

I nodded without speaking, still overwhelmed and exhaling in relief when Bennett’s broad hands slid across my bare back, unbuttoning and pushing my dress down my sides, holding it up just enough for me to step out of the skirts. I turned back around to face him, wearing only a tiny strapless bra and the smallest thong I think I’d ever worn in my life.

Without a word, he reached for me with lightning-quick hands and shredded the panties, and then reached up to my chest, gripped my bra in one hand, and savagely tore it from my body. Reflexively, I crossed my arms in front of me, my pulse hammering.

“You had other things you were going to put on for me tonight?” he asked, nodding to the bag he’d dropped in the entryway.

“I did . . .”

He was already shaking his head. “You won’t need them. Maybe in the morning, but not right now.”

Bennett kissed my shoulder, running rough, impatient hands over my breasts, my hips, my thighs. “Undress me now.”

It was suddenly surreal to be standing bare before him like this. He’d seen me naked thousands of times, and God knows he’d bossed me around like this even more often. But this moment felt so loaded. It wasn’t the easy instinctual sex we had every night. This was Bennett, undressing me and demanding to be similarly stripped so we could have Married Sex in a Fancy Bed in an Emotionally Relevant Room.

The words wedding night, wedding night, wedding night pounded through my head. Maybe this is exactly what he felt in the limo: the pressure of doing it right, making it memorable.

I tried to ignore the way my hand shook when I pulled at his tie and slid it from his collar, but he noticed and he grabbed both of my wrists in one hand. The other slid down my front and between my legs, parting me, sliding a long finger over my clit and dipping into where I was wettest.

“Why are you shaking, Mrs. Ryan?”

With a flash of irritation, I bit his bottom lip when he leaned closer for a kiss. But then I closed my eyes, enjoying for a few moments the way he slid his finger back and forth over the rise of my clit before he stopped, patiently waiting for an answer.

“I’m a little nervous, Mr. Mills,” I admitted.

His eyes went wide, nostrils flaring as he released my hands from his grip. “You? You’re nervous?” He looked like he was on the verge of yelling or laughing, I wasn’t sure which. “You’re nervous with me?”

Shrugging, I said, “It’s just—”

“You’re nervous?” His tone had changed this time; amusement curled through the two, short words. He was definitely on the verge of laughing.

I removed his cuff links, dropping them on the carpet at our feet. “Are you making fun of me?”

He shook his head slowly, but with a devilish smile said, “Yes.”

Taking his shirt in my fists, I pulled it open, hearing the pop of the buttons as they tore free and skittered to the floor. “You’re making fun of your bride on her wedding night?”

His expression straightened and his brow smoothed as I ran my greedy hand down his chest. “Of course I am.”

“What kind of monster are you?” I teased, lightly scratching his stomach.

His answering smile tilted up one half of his perfect mouth. “The kind that’s going to fuck you so hard it’ll look like your legs were put on backwards.”

I laughed, playfully shoving him, and he fought his own smile before bending to kiss me roughly, pressing his tongue into my mouth, sucking, and biting at my lips. “Come on, Chlo. I think we both know I’m pretty easy,” he murmured. “Tend to my cock and the night is a success.”

I ran my hands down his torso, feeling every dip and hard ridge, and shivering when he bent and sucked my jaw, growling into my neck. I pressed into him, loving the feel of his hungry hands down my back, grabbing my ass.

“Get over your ridiculous nerves and fucking undress me,” he hissed, kicking off his shoes and bending to peel off his socks.

I gave his zipper an impatient tug and pushed his dress pants and boxers down to the floor. With his hands on my waist, Bennett backed me to the bed. And then he kneeled in front of me, bracing his hands on my hips and leaning forward to kiss my navel. His wedding ring winked in the dim light of the bathroom.

“We’re married,” he said quietly, pressing another kiss to my belly button. “I’m your safe place. I’ve always been your safe place.”

I slid my hands into his hair, pulling gently and knowing he was right. I’d been my best and worst self with this man, and he only loved me more the more real I was with him. No place was safer for me than with Bennett.

He moved his mouth from one hip to the other, up my ribs, tongue sweeping over my breasts, teeth pulling gently at their peaks. And then he rose to his feet as he kissed up my neck until he towered in front of me, hair hanging over his brow, eyes dark and predatory.

“How many times have we been together like this?”

I shrugged. “Maybe a million?”

“Are you still nervous?” he asked quietly, lifting my left hand and kissing my wedding ring.

I watched his tongue dart out, licking my finger, and whispered, “Not anymore.”

His expression grew serious. “Are you happy we did this?”

Nodding, I managed a hoarse “I’m giddy.” He bent, kissing me, and I said into his smiling mouth, “I think you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

“ ‘You think?’ ” Reaching up, he pressed both hands to my face, sliding a thumb inside my mouth. His lips twisted into a dark, teasing smile. “ ‘You think?’ ”

I nodded, pressing my teeth into his knuckle.

“Suck it,” he growled, and then shivered when I wrapped my lips around him, circling him with my tongue.

Between us, he was so hard his whole body was tense, hands shaking at the sides of my face. “Look at me.”

I shivered, unable to break my attention from where his cock arched straight up between us.

“Look at me,” he ground out.

I blinked up to him and he slid his thumb deeper into my mouth, pressing down against my tongue. He groaned quietly, watching as he slowly withdrew his digit; I bit down so his skin dragged against my teeth.

A calm silence settled between us. Bennett’s expression straightened and he simply stared down at me, studying every part of my face as he swept the wet pad of his thumb back and forth across my bottom lip.

“Married,” he said quietly, as if only to himself.

I loved his honest, expressive hazel eyes, his smart mouth, and his carved, stubborn jaw. I loved his tousled hair and the heavy dip of his Adam’s apple when he swallowed. I loved his broad chest, sculpted arms, and the world’s best naughty fingers. I loved his abdomen, his hips, and every long, thick inch of him pressing urgently between us.

But more than any of that, I loved his intelligence, his composure, his loyalty, his sense of humor. And I loved how he loved me.

Tilting his head, he asked, “What are you thinking, Mrs. Ryan?”

“I’m thinking how it’s a good thing I love your body so much that I can put up with your disappointing brain.”

He spread his hands around my waist and lifted me, tossing me onto the mattress.

“If you think I’m going to put up with that smart mouth of yours now that we’re married . . .” he began, crawling up the bed and hovering over me.

“Then I’m right?” I finished for him, reaching to wrap my hand around the back of his neck.

He bent to kiss me, giving me a lopsided smile. “Yeah, actually.”

I’d often had this feeling when I was alone with Bennett that time somehow melted and the entire world outside simply dissolved into nothing. I’d been nervous with the anticipation of tonight, but once his weight settled over me—and his mouth moved to my neck, my shoulders, my breasts—instinct took over. I slid my palms up his back and over his shoulders and gasped as he returned to me, his tongue touching mine, pushing and demanding. The sounds of his excitement vibrated inside my mouth and down my neck as he grew wilder, needing to kiss and taste everything, all at once.

I suspected I knew this man better than I knew my own mind. I knew how to touch him, how to love him, how to get him to do anything and everything to my body. And so when his hands spread my thighs apart, thumbs circling and meeting in the middle to glide over my clit, and his eyes focused on my face as his lips clamped over the peak of my breast—studying, commanding, hungry for my pleasure—I lost any sense of anxiety over the night and knew we would forever be the fevered combination of Bennett and Chloe. Mr. Ryan and Miss Mills. Mr. Mills and Mrs. Ryan. Husband and wife. Bastard and bitch.

Kneeling between my legs, his hands framed my hips and he watched as he slid over my wet skin, before resting the head of his cock on my navel. I could feel my pulse thundering in my throat, and I lifted my hips, suddenly impatient for this, wanting to feel his weight on top of me, hear his desperate sounds in my ear.

“Should I say something profound before we begin?” he asked, smiling down at me.

“You can try,” I said, scratching down his stomach. “But I wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself.”

With a light pinch to my nipple, he bent low, nipping at my jaw. “I love you anyway.”

As he slid into me, I shook, crying out sharply at the relief before gasping, “I love you anyway, too.”

“It feels so fucking good.”

“I know.”

I pressed my palms to his ass, feeling the contracting muscles, pulling him deeper into me and rising to meet his every push. Bennett’s lips moved across my cheeks, aimless, to my ears and my mouth. Down my chin to my neck. His words came out broken and desperate.

So much

Oh, God, Chlo, I don’t

Let me hear

Let me hear you

Tell me what you’re feeling, tell me

Tell me what you want

I sucked at his neck, watching his shoulders bunch as he moved and moved and moved over me. “I want faster. Closer. More. Please.”

He pushed up onto his knees between my legs, gripping my thigh and pushing my legs farther apart. “Fucking hell, Chloe, you’re so beautiful.”

I groaned, feeling the heavy drag of him sliding inside me; the pleasure was amplified by the way his eyes seemed to caress my skin.

“Reach down,” he whispered. “Feel where I move in you.”

I did what he asked, letting his cock move over my fingertip as he slid in and out.

He bent low. “Tell me what you feel.”

“Wet,” I answered, looking up at him. “Hard.”

His gaze burned and he stared down at my fingers on him. When he smiled, he looked dangerous, and it made my heart slam into my chest.

“I know,” he said. He took in my tangled hair, picked up one of my dirty feet, and slid my ankle up his hip. “You’re a mess, you greedy fucking girl.”

He slowed, pulling almost all the way out until I panicked and wrapped my legs around his waist. It felt like a match had been lit inside my belly and it burned, spreading like wildfire down between my legs, serving only to increase the impatient need I felt.

As if sensing how close I was, Bennett pushed back into me, focused now on getting me there. He was sweaty, his hair damp from exertion, and a drop fell from his forehead onto my chest, and then another.

“Tell me how good it is,” he said, his voice low and commanding.

“I . . . I . . .”

With a sharp jab of his hips, he thrust harder into me. “Tell me, Chloe, how good the fucking is.”

I couldn’t answer, already starting to dissolve. He was wild: rough touches and punishing thrusts, flipping me on the bed and taking, taking, taking. My eyes closed, my cheek resting against the cool blankets when his hands fisted in my hair, forcing my head back as his mouth found my neck, each labored exhale sending waves of warm breath across my dampened skin. He kissed along my shoulders, his tongue reaching out to taste me, his teeth nipping and dragging along my skin. I arched my back, angling my hips to meet each push of his hips. My arms reached out, hands twisting in the sheets, my entire body shaking with the need to let go.

But he didn’t give me what I needed. Instead, he teased and took, and took some more, and then finally, with a determined set to his jaw, and more desperate need in his eyes than I’d seen in days, leaned in close, circling over me and giving—giving, giving—me an orgasm so intense it left me shaking and near tears in his arms. What had built in my belly to a low, heavy ache exploded up my spine and spilled like liquid heat into my limbs until my toes were curling. Fuck, it had been so long since I’d felt that: my body coming around him, trying to draw him in, greedy for every commanding inch. I worried my heart might smash through my ribs with how hard it was beating.

The relief in the epiphany—he wouldn’t change, he could only ever be this greedy, demanding Bastard—was such intense relief that I finally did give in to my emotions, shaking in his arms, clutching him until I caught my breath. But when I asked him what he wanted, and he groaned, “I want you to take over. I want you to wreck me,” I smiled, slowly climbing on top of him.

He was sweaty, hair dripping onto the pillow beneath him, and muscles bunched and coiled beneath smooth, tan skin. His eyes saw nothing in the room but me, flaring hotly at the anticipation of what I’d do. I looked him over: freshly fucked hair, blazing hazel eyes, lips so wrecked from my mouth and skin they were red and chafed. His pulse hammered in his neck, and I dragged one finger down the sweaty center of his chest, over the vulnerability of his solar plexus, down to his belly button, and then followed the trail of hair leading to his cock, still wet from me, still hard and perfect and practically pulsing for my touch.

“No,” I said, running my hands back up his torso, reveling in the feel of him. It really wasn’t fair. In a perfect world, Bennett Ryan would be a manwhore so that more women would get to appreciate this body.

But let’s be honest: Fuck that.

“‘No’?” He repeated, eyes narrowing.

“You wore me out,” I said, shrugging. “I’m tired.”

“Chloe. Put the fucking dick in your mouth.”

“You’d like that?”

His nostrils flared, hips arching up into me seeming without intention on his part. “Now, Chloe.”

“Say please.”

Sitting up beneath me abruptly, he growled, “Chloe, please choke on my dick.”

I burst out laughing, curling into him and sliding my hands into that mess of sweaty, amazing hair. Leaning forward, I covered his mouth with mine, sucking and wet, hungry for the taste of him, the feel of his sounds. I kissed him for making me laugh, for making me scream. I kissed him for being the only person who truly understood me, for being so impossibly like me in some ways it was a wonder we ever agreed on anything. I kissed him for being Bennett Ryan, my Beautiful Bastard.

Against my lips, I felt him smiling, heard the quiet vibration of his laugh, muffled by my mouth. “I love you,” he said.

Pulling back, I nodded, whispering, “Me, too. I love you a scary amount.”

“Then seriously, Mrs. Ryan,” he said. “Put my dick in your mouth.”