Christina Lauren - Beautiful Beginning

I was trapped beneath him and he began to focus on my pleasure, pushing into me and against me, getting me there until I was clutching at his shoulders, digging my nails into him and meeting his thrusts from below. My back was sore and the countertop was stony and cold on my spine but the increasing urgency of his movements made me not care. I could be bruised from it, and it didn’t matter. I didn’t want anything else but to fall apart with him inside and for him to fall with me.

When my orgasm hit, the sensation that took over my body was a silvery thrill unleashed across my skin, sliding over and inside until I wasn’t sure I could handle the feeling of being filled, of being ravaged, and coming so hard I saw black. I screamed, pulling him tight, needing to feel the full weight of him over me.

His movements sped and grew wild and then he arched away. “Fuck!” he shouted, his voice echoing off the vaulted ceiling as he came, freezing over me and holding still. “Fuck!”

Despite the chill of the countertop, we were sweaty and breathless. Bennett pushed himself up, and continued to slide in and out, slower now. As if he didn’t want to stop even if he had to, he pressed and retreated, eyes moving across my flushed skin.

He’d come already, but he didn’t seem to be done. Instead, he looked like a predator who’d had a small taste and now wanted to take stock of what was in front of him before diving back in. I loved this side of him: the Bennett who seemed to barely grasp control, who seemed so unlike his composed, daylight self. His eyes were dark and almost unseeing. Hungry hands touched the friction-warmed place between my legs, up over my hips, up my sides to where they roughly teased my nipples. His hands surrounded my breasts and squeezed, plumping me for his mouth as he bent and sucked forcefully at my skin.

“Don’t leave a mark, you menace,” I said, and my voice sounded tiny and hoarse. “My dress . . .”

Pulling back, he looked at me and his eyes cleared at this reminder that we lived in a world with other people, and that we would be required to interact with these other people in the near future for our wedding. A wedding where I would wear a strapless gown that would show all of the bite and suck marks he was about to deliver.

“Sorry,” he whispered. “I just . . .”

“I know.” I ran my hands into his hair when he trailed off and pulled him over me, wishing we could stay like this forever: me on my back on the kitchen counter, him standing and leaning over me.

He exhaled deeply, pinning me beneath his weight. Suddenly he seemed exhausted. The last few months he’d not only helped with every stage of the wedding planning, but he’d also done everything he could to keep me sane and it had to wear on him. I ran my fingers into his hair and closed my eyes, loving this reminder of Bennett as mortal, as a man who could—and did—become worn-out or needed a reminder to be gentle. He was the perfect lover, the perfect boss, the perfect friend. How could he manage it? I’m sure some days he just wanted a quiet girlfriend, a woman who didn’t argue with every thought he had. A tiny thread of doubt slipped beneath my skin and wove its way into my brain, but then I stopped, feeling my lip pull up in a smirk.

Bennett Ryan was a perfectionist, demanding, stubborn, power-hungry asshole. Any other woman would last about two seconds with him before he chewed her up and spit her out.

And hell, some days I would love a pliant manservant, but no way was I trading in my Beautiful Bastard.

He stood, kissing down between my breasts and, with a reluctant groan, pulling out of me. Bending, he reached for his boxers and slid them back up before looking me over, eyes raking across bare, damp skin.

“I’ll finish the programs and tie the goddamn candy ribbons,” he said, running his hand over his face. “You’ve got a kitchen to clean up if you want more of that in our bed later.”

“Uh, no,” I protested, pushing up on one elbow. The kitchen was a disaster. “I’ll do the programs.”

“You’ll do the kitchen,” he said, voice firm. “And hurry, Miss Mills. Mustard stains.”

We’d been in San Diego exactly two hours and I was already regretting not taking Chloe up on her Vegas elopement.

As if equipped with some kind of Bennett mood ring embedded in her brain, the woman in question turned in the seat next to me. I could feel the weight of her attention, her pressing gaze as she watched me and tried to dissect each frown or sigh.

“Why do you look nervous?” she asked finally.

“I’m fine,” I answered, aiming for disinterested but failing spectacularly.

“The grip you have on the steering wheel would suggest otherwise.”

I frowned more deeply and immediately loosened my hold. We were on our way to dinner, where the majority of our two families would be meeting for the first time. They had flown in from all over the country: Michigan, Florida, New Jersey, and Washington, even some from Canada. A number of them I hadn’t seen in twenty years or more. In all, there were over three hundred and fifty people arriving within the next few days. God only knew what we were in for. On a good day I hated small talk. The week before one of the biggest events of my life, I was terrified I would be such an enormous asshole that everyone would leave town before the actual event.

Leaning forward so I would glance over at her, she asked, “Aren’t you excited for this week?”

“Yes, of course. I’m just dreading tonight a little, and wondering how I’ll handle all of the socializing.”

“My guess is ‘badly,’” she said, poking my shoulder.

I exhaled a laugh, giving her a playfully stern glance. “Thanks.”

“Look, just wait until you meet my aunts,” she said, leaning over and kissing where she’d poked me. “It’ll be all the distraction you’ll need.”

Chloe’s dad had traveled from North Dakota with his two very loud and eccentric sisters. They were both recently divorced, and Chloe promised me they had the potential to be the biggest disaster of the week. I wasn’t so sure we should give out that tiara just yet—Chloe had yet to meet my cousin Bull.

“You’ll forget about everything else and all you’ll be able to worry about is what they’ll do to get themselves arrested and how much it will cost you in bail money. Trust me, it’ll be very liberating.” She leaned over and began fiddling with the car stereo, stopping on a pulsing, high-pitched pop song. I slid my eyes over to her, concentrating a lifetime of disgust into the brief glance.

Satisfied that I was sufficiently annoyed, she sat back in her seat. “So what else is bothering you? You’re not getting cold feet on me now, are you?”

I leveled her with a look that was meant to imply Are you insane?

“Okay,” she laughed. “Then talk to me. Tell me what else is on your mind.”

I reached for her hand, twisting her fingers with mine before resting them both on my thigh. “It’s just the looming chaos,” I started with a shrug. “This wedding has turned into such a thing. Do you know I had fourteen texts from my mother waiting for me when we landed? Fourteen. Ranging from where to get coffee in San Diego, to whether Bull could get his back waxed at the hotel—as if I know! You said it yesterday: it’s become its own entity. I can’t believe I’m saying this but I wonder if you had it right when you suggested sneaking off to Vegas.”

She gave me her trademark gloating smile. “I believe I said ‘run.’ Run to Vegas. As in flee.”

“Right.”

“You know, we’re not that far from the airport,” she reminded me, motioning out the window to where we could still see planes landing and taking off. “It’s not too late to escape.”

“Don’t tempt me,” I said, because as much as I suspected we were careening headlong into disaster, I didn’t actually want to leave. San Diego had always been special to us: it was where I stopped being an idiot and finally let myself love her. It was where Chloe finally let me. And Jesus, had it really been over two years? How was that even possible? It felt like only yesterday I was covertly ogling Miss Mills’ ass as we checked into the W. Later, she’d called me by my first name, for the very first time.

We’d been back together one other time, of course, to select the location for this weekend. But that had been such a whirlwind trip, and this one carried a far greater weight. We were here for our wedding. Despite the way she’d crashed the bachelor party, the fact that we’d bought a Manhattan apartment together, or the ring on Chloe’s finger, it was this strange moment of nerves that made it finally sink in. We were getting married. When I left here again, Chloe would be my wife.

Holy shit.

I reached up, ran a shaking hand across my clammy forehead.

“You’re being awfully quiet over there. Can I take your contemplative silence to mean you’re actually considering fleeing?” Chloe asked.

I shook my head. “No way,” I said, tightening my grip on her hand. “We’re here. And there isn’t a chance in hell I’d miss seeing you walk down that aisle. I’ve fought way too fucking hard for you.”

“Knock it off, Bennett. You’re a lot easier to deal with when you’re being a dick.”

“And I put up with way too much of your shit,” I added, grinning when I felt her fist connect with my shoulder. “But I do feel I should warn you one more time. Some members of my family are a bit . . .”

“Nuts? As in, building a vitamin-manufacturing facility in their garage? As in, paying tens of thousands of dollars for advertising in the AARP magazine?”

I blinked over to her. “What? Who did that?”

“Your cousin Bull,” she answered, shrugging. “Henry told me some stories on the phone the other day. Apparently it’s his new venture. He’s going to make a pitch this week for some financial backing from Will and Max.”

“Why am I even surprised?”

She waved her hand dismissively. “Families are supposed to be a handful, Bennett. Otherwise you’d never leave them. And mine isn’t quite all there, either. You know my aunts are . . . let’s just say they’re really going to enjoy the Ryan family gene pool. I hope you packed your running shoes.”

“Well—” I began, but stopped as she crossed her legs in front of her. “Chloe?”

She picked some nonexistent lint off her nonexistent stockings. “Hmm?”

“What in the fuck are you wearing?”

“You like?” she said, lifting her foot and moving it from side to side. Her shoes looked positively dangerous. Spiked heel, deep blue patent leather.

“Were you wearing those when we left the hotel?”

“I was. You were on the phone with your brother.”

I wasn’t one to catalog everything Chloe wore, but the familiar stirring in my pants told me I’d most definitely seen these shoes before—over my shoulders, if I wasn’t mistaken. “Where have I seen those?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” She was a rotten liar. “At home?”

At home, in our bedroom.

The dirty little box we kept under our bed. The things we did when that box was out.

I remembered the night she wore them, almost two months ago. We hadn’t seen each other in weeks and I couldn’t get close enough, touch her enough, fuck her hard enough. She’d pulled out those shoes along with something new she wanted to try: a bottle of self-warming wax. I could still remember the heat as she’d dribbled it along my skin; the way goose bumps began at that warm puddle of wax and radiated out, spreading along my body. She teased me for so long I actually promised her I’d kneel and hand-feed her breakfast the next day. I came so hard I almost blacked out that night.

“You’re doing this to fuck with me, aren’t you?” I asked. “This is about the let’s-wait-to-have-sex-until-after-the-wedding thing, isn’t it?”

“Absolutely.”

We found a parking spot about a block away from Barbarella in La Jolla and I stepped out, walking around to open Chloe’s door. I took her hand and watched as she climbed out of the car—tan legs that went on forever, shoes you could easily impale yourself on—and shook my head at her the entire time.

“You’re a demon,” I said. “I feel like a bride guarding my virginity before the wedding.”

“Well, then feel free to give it up, Ryan,” she said, pushing up onto her toes to kiss me.

I groaned but somehow managed to pull away, both of us looking in the direction of the restaurant. “Here we go . . . ”