Thirty-Three: Not Over-The-Top

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BEAU'S FINGERS CURLED AROUND my bound wrists, pinning them to the bed as he began thrusting harder

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BEAU'S FINGERS CURLED AROUND my bound wrists, pinning them to the bed as he began thrusting harder.

Tiny pricks of pain got lost in overwhelming heaps of pleasure. He was so big, and he filled me so fully. I gasped his name, and he looked down at me, his hair hanging over his sweaty forehead.

"Is this how you wanted to be fucked, Collins?" Beau grunted before driving even deeper.

This time, I didn't just gasp; a strangled cry escaped my throat as something began to blossom inside me. Oh, God. It had to be too soon, though. Right? It felt so good, though. The rawness. The need to consume everything Beau had to give me.

And he was giving me anything.

"Collins," he groaned, slowing to a sensual pace that pulled me back from my orgasm. "Talk to me."

"Yes, this is how I wanted to be fucked," I managed.

Imagine that, almost ten words rolled off my tongue all while I could barely string one coherent thought together in my head.

Meanwhile, Beau kissed me abruptly in response. Roughly. A moan vibrated between our lips as he kicked up the tempo again.

"Good," he breathed against my lips. "I need to hear that. I need to hear what you're thinking when I'm inside you."

__

"You're not supposed to watch your date get ready for your date. It's just... not right."

Beau sighed and leaned back on my bed with a crooked grin. "But I live with my date, and I like watching her get ready."

His eyes skimmed up my body in a look so obvious it made my cheeks grow hot. I swallowed a groan and looked back at my closet, overflowing to the brim. I loved clothes, and even though I didn't have enough money to justify having such a stuffed closet, buying the occasional vintage piece was my guilty pleasure. But I worried none of it would be suitable for going on a date with Beau.

"If you're going to sit in here, can you at least tell me what to wear?" I complained with a sigh.

"Well, I'm wearing this," Beau replied, and I turned around to see him pointing at his plain white tee and jeans. His shirt rode up a tiny bit, giving me a peak of how his briefs inched up above the waistband of his pants and the fabric stretched across his chest. Ugh, it wasn't fair how effortlessly attractive he was.

"If you keep checking me out, we'll never make it out of here," Beau muttered, his voice suddenly several pitches lower. "And we have to get going soon."

Right. A date. An outfit. Sex with Beau afterward because he said he wanted to make a point that we were roommates who dated, and then we could have sex. So tonight—well, actually, it was still afternoon because Beau was eager—a date. And then sex.

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