Before I go in to see her, I walk across the street to the truck Hunter sits in. He lowers the window when I’m close enough.
“What the fuck happened to you?” He notices my eye right away.
“You should see the other guy. Everything okay here?” I ignore his question and ask the important shit.
“Yeah, nothing happening.”
“Good. You can head out now. I’m in for the rest of the night.” I tap the top of his truck and turn to walk away.
“Oh, ya might wanna tell your woman, maybe not come out on the porch wearing what she’s wearing tonight.” I turn and watch him put his hands up in surrender, just like Baz did earlier. “Just saying, bro. Had both neighbors out earlier practically eye fucking her.” He starts his truck and peels down the street before I can tell him to fuck off.
Great. More shit to deal with tonight.
Thirteen
Mackenzie
I hear the rumble of his bike as he pulls into the drive and I race to the sofa, quickly opening my book and finding the page I was on, not wanting to look like I’ve been waiting for him.
Even if I have been.
It’s been just over a week since I moved in. A week of living in each other’s space. Of pure hell. Pure sex-god, hot-body, sexy-as-sin, beard-wearing, and fantastic hair hell.
The man is under my skin and living in close proximity is not helping at all.
Apparently, I didn’t think this through when I agreed to live here. Yeah, I admit there was something between Beau and I. Something pulling me to him. I don’t deny it. The kiss alone back at the clubhouse proved it, but I didn’t realize how intense those feelings would grow since living in his space.
After the first day of awkwardness, things just seemed to fit into place, both of us settling back into our relaxed way. We’ve always been able to talk comfortably with each other, even with the slight tension to begin with, and it is no different here than at the clubhouse.
Until it became complicated with what I’ve been calling the first incident.
It happened on day four. I had left my body wash on my bed before my morning shower. I didn’t realize until I had stepped under the water. I knew going by the first few mornings Beau didn’t wake until I had finished in the shower, so I decided to risk a mad dash back to my room in a towel. I made it safely, undetected. His door still firmly closed.
That wasn’t the problem. It was what I heard when I stepped into my room.
Moaning. A lot of freaking moaning. And my name. Beau moaning my name.
I nearly came apart right then and there. He was pleasuring himself, and calling out my name. At first I didn’t know how to respond. I knew we both were hiding our real feelings, but I never imagined it would come to this. It was almost like we were both punishing ourselves for no reason at all. Not sure how I felt about it, I grabbed my wash and raced back to the shower as fast as I could. I tried to push the image out of my head. It didn’t help. It’s all I could picture for the next two days.
Until the second incident played out on day six.
I was watching a movie on the sofa late one afternoon. Beau had been moving around the house for most of the day doing his thing and leaving me alone, until he came and joined me. I was lying on my side, taking up all the space. I moved to sit up and make some room for him, but he beat me to it and lifted my legs, planted his ass at the end then rested my feet in his lap.
“Stay,” is all he said when I tried to lift my legs. How was I going to argue with him? I couldn’t, so I gave up and forced myself to focus my attention back on the movie while he held my ankle in his hand and used his thumb to circle a soft pattern into my skin. At first I didn’t think anything of it. It felt nice and maybe I just needed nice for once. But then a hot steamy scene came on and the room reached sky-high tension. I felt it. He felt it. My vagina felt it. I’m sure Barry the old man next door I met two days ago felt it. I tried not to react. My eyes stayed firmly planted on the TV and I willed myself not to read into it.
But I couldn’t help it. It was like my foot didn’t want to listen to my brain and instead of keeping still it started searching. Searching for what, I don’t freaking know. He was getting hard. My foot apparently wanted more.
His thumb stopped stroking me and we both kind of paused. Then next thing I knew he was out of the chair, and heading to bed before dinner. I didn’t see him again until the next morning for breakfast.
I don’t know what’s worse. The jerking off or the erection. But both have messed with me.
Plus on top of those two major mishaps, I have taken to dreaming about him. Every night I find his beard between my legs. His tongue, which I have no idea how talented it really is, brings me to orgasm just as I wake.
It’s torture.
Pure torture.
I don’t know how to stop it or if I want it to.
“Mackenzie!” Beau’s voice fills the room cutting through my daydreaming.
“What are you yelling for?” I drop my book and stand when I notice his face. All thoughts of playing it cool fade away and I gasp. “Oh, God what happened to you?” I step forward, needing a better look. Blood has dried from his brow down his face and all through his beard.
“Nothing. What are you wearing?” He runs his eyes over my nightgown before coming back up to my face.
“Errr, my nightgown?” His lip curls at my reply and I take a step back.
Ummm, what the hell?
“Mackenzie, you can’t be wearing this shit here. Not out on the porch. Half the fucking street probably jerked off to the sight of you tonight.” I ignore the fact he just said men are masturbating over me and zero in on him using my full name.
“What’s going on, Beau?”
“You’ve got no fucking clothes on, darlin’.” I look down at the black nightgown I’m wearing. The man’s crazy. It’s not like it’s revealing. The length hits just below my knee. The neckline is a little low, but it’s not like I have a large rack to put on display. In the grand scheme of things, it’s barely risqué.
“This?” I look back up, waiting for him to tell me he’s joking around.
“Yes, that. You can’t wear it.” He drops his helmet to the table and stalks into the kitchen. Ignoring his ridiculous comment and pissed-off mood, I follow him into the kitchen.
“What happened to your face?” I walk to the cabinet where the first-aid kit lives.
“Had a disagreement,” he answers, searching the fridge for food.
“I cooked dinner.” I wait for him to turn and face me. “I’ll fix it for you if you let me look at your eye.”
“What did you cook?”
Damn, he’s stubborn.
“Chicken pot pie.” He huffs then moves to the table with a beer in his hand. My pie’s clearly good enough to have him caving. I follow him over and open up the kit.
“Some disagreement then?” I lean down to have a closer look. He moans almost like he’s in pain and I step back.
“What? I didn’t even touch you.” He doesn’t say anything; instead, he takes off his cut and pulls his black shirt over his head.
“Put it on.” He offers it to me.
“You can’t be serious?” I scoff, caught between the thunderous glare he’s giving me and checking out his naked chest.
Seriously, this man.
“Darlin’, I’m fucking wired right now. Your tits are in my face. And this fucking sexy getup leaves nothing to the imagination. I’m not sure I’ll be able to hold it together.”
“Beau?” I take another step back at his tone. I’m not sure if I’m turned on or scared. He’s never been this intense before and I take a minute to calm my breathing.