The Beau & The Belle

  I arch my back and brush my breasts against his naked chest. It’s underhanded and it makes us both shiver. Goose bumps ripple down my body.

  “I don’t want this to be a one-time thing.”

  His words tickle my cheek and emotions fly at me so fast I can’t decide which I’m supposed to cling to: hope, fear, elation.

  “Let’s just make it through tonight and then we’ll talk,” I say with a promise. “We can talk and talk and talk, but right now, I just—”

  He cuts off the end of my sentence with a kiss. It’s like he’s had it. He’s done being the responsible one. Whatever decorum there was before this kiss, there is none after. Our skin is slick with sweat. Our mouths are tangled. Tongues skimming. Lips crushing. He grips my breast in his hand and I think I’ll bruise. I want to bruise; I want reminders of this. His hand skims lower and my panties are brushed aside. He takes my hand and has me hold them against my thigh so he can dip a finger into me. My legs part and he slowly adds a second, pushing past his knuckles and curling up, sending little tingles spreading through me.

  He uses his thumb to rub me, and I last for two gentle circles before my orgasm is so close, I can hear its footsteps.

  “HOLY—”

  “Fuck.”

  “I’m so close,” I say anxiously. “But st-stop—I want to feel it when you’re inside me.”

  This time, he doesn’t protest. He reaches for a condom in his bedside table and rolls it on while I lie useless on the bed, watching his body in all its close-up HD glory. It’s insane, all of this—the way I feel as he bends down and tells me to part my legs even more, my thighs brushing against the cool sheets. I shiver. He positions himself, teasing a little. Up and down, he strokes himself against me, and it feels like I’m on fire. I’ll scream if he doesn’t push into me, and then he does.

  One excruciating inch at a time. I take him, and then I take some more. He sinks into me with a luxurious groan and I wrap my legs around him, securing my ankles like a twist-tie just in case he gets any ideas about pulling back out. He’s squashing me against the bed, and I’m keeping him there. I’ve never been filled quite this way before. I feel more emotions bubbling up inside of me, but then Beau starts to move and I can’t focus on a single thing outside of what we’re doing.

  He props himself up on his elbows and looks down at me. His eyes, through the magic of sex, have somehow gotten bluer than blue. Sweat glistens on his brow as he pumps his hips over me. He’s building the pace, rolling and thrusting faster and faster.

  “This is…I could…please…”

  I can build thoughts like bubbles as he drags back out of me, but then he thrusts and they vanish as if pricked by a pin.

  I clench around him and he curses. It’s the sexiest, most guttural sound—this giant of a man losing himself on top of me. I do it again and he starts pumping faster. I think he’s as lost as I am.

  His fingers lace with mine and he drags them up over my head. My stomach pulls taut. My breasts arch up toward him. He bends and licks one of them.

  “Oh my god.”

  I don’t know who’s speaking. My voice has never sounded so strained, so lust-filled and crazy. I think there are tears slipping down my cheeks, but I’m too consumed to care.

  He takes my breast in his mouth and his hips are pumping so fast. So powerful. The combined sensations are too much for me to stave off release any longer. I’m shaking. I’m finally, finally coming undone and he knows it. He’s relentless, rolling his hips smooth and deep and so fast that I wouldn’t be surprised if the friction tore all the way through the sheets and the mattress and the box spring. When we’re done, we’ll be lying on the floor.

  “Lauren,” he says breathlessly, and he’s groaning and shaking. His head is buried against my neck as he releases inside me. I’m kissing and spurring him on. His hands grip mine so tightly above my head that my fingers groan in protest, but it’s all so delicious, I’ll happily accept the damage done. Who needs fingers when there’s a man like Beau filling you up?

  We lie there for a short eternity, catching our breaths and floating back down to Earth. I don’t let him pull out of me right away. I like the feeling too much. If he could, I’d make him go again right away. We could live here. This room could be ours. He eventually heaves out a heavy groan and pushes off me, pulling out and standing up.

  I stretch luxuriously like I’m a little cat waking up for the day.

  He laughs and shakes his head, heading to the bathroom to dispose of the condom. I stare at his backside without a care in the world. There are glorious little dimples on his butt cheeks. I want to eat cereal out of them with a tiny spoon.

  “You are the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen.”

  “Same goes for you.”

  I laugh. “I’m the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen?”

  He peeks his head back through the doorway and drags his gaze down my naked body. “Easily.”

  I shiver. “Is it weird that I already want to have sex again? Did you slip me some Viagra when I wasn’t looking?”

  He laughs and disappears again. “Give a man time to regroup.”

  I tilt my head toward the window and am surprised to see how dark it is outside. We’ve been at it for a while. “What are we looking at? 10 minutes? 20? We should have stopped and picked up some of those energy packs runners use for marathons!”

  “Boost, maybe some Ensure.”

  “Sexy CamelBaks.”

  The shower kicks on and I scurry out of his bed as quickly as possible so I don’t miss a second of the show. His shower is glass on all but one side, spacious enough for an NFL football team. He’s standing under the hot water as steam rises and billows over the top. His head is bent. His hand is braced against the tiled wall. His broad shoulders are relaxed. He’s a hero, off duty, Batman without the suit and mask.

  I imagine him in that shower, thinking about me.

  So you’ve imagined our first time?

  Every day for the last few weeks.

  I WAS ON a plane once, headed toward LaGuardia. The pilot announced that we were about to hit some turbulence, but I didn’t think much of it. I’d felt those subtle dips and bumps before, no big deal, but all of a sudden, our plane dropped like a tether had been cut. Everyone gasped. A brief silence followed, and then all at once the cabin filled with tears and prayers as we careened toward the ground. I gripped the hands of the two women on either side of me even though we hadn’t spoken a word to one another the entire flight. Later on—after we’d landed and medical personnel had tended to the bumps and bruises—I learned we’d flown straight into a microburst. It’s the opposite of a tornado, though the scale and suddenness make them just as dangerous.

  That day, I learned what it felt like to hold on for dear life, to experience sheer panic: stomach bottoming out, heart thumping in my ears, throat raw with unshed tears.

  It’s the exact way I feel when I realize I’m in love with Beau Fortier.

  AFTER WE RINSE off, we head downstairs to see if our takeout is still sitting outside. Neighborhood cats are lazing on the stoop, picking apart our egg rolls. I swear one of them is using a spoon to sip hot and sour soup, and their lazy expressions seem to say, You’re late, do you want the leftovers? And next time, could you order shrimp?

  We close and lock the door, settling on peanut butter and jelly sandwiches in bed. I finish exactly one-fourth of mine before the excitement of the day catches up to me. I put out a fire! I had the best sex of my entire life! I fell in love!

  I think I fall asleep mid-chew. I don’t know for sure, but there is jelly on my cheek when I jolt awake at 6:00 AM. When I realize where I am, adrenaline seeps into my bloodstream. My eyes are wide open in the dark. I know immediately there’s no point in trying to fall back asleep.

  Beau is sleeping shirtless beside me on his stomach, the fluffy duvet bunched around his waist. I have a strange desire to roll over and cover his body with mine, to feel his skin on my skin.

&nb
sp; “Beau,” I whisper loudly.

  He groans.

  “Are you awake?” I ask.

  “No.”

  “If you don’t wake up, I’m going to snoop around your house and look in all your drawers. Cabinets are fair game too.”

  He reaches out and drags me toward him, dropping his heavy arm on top of me. I’m his captive.

  He kisses my temple sleepily. “Go to sleep, weirdo.”

  I poke his rib. “I can’t. It’s like I just took a shot of Red Bull.”

  He doesn’t respond. His arm gets heavier, his breathing evens out. He fell back asleep. Lesson learned: having sex with me is very tiring. I slowly peel myself out of his grasp and crawl off the bed. I’m barefoot in one of his t-shirts. On me, it’s oversized, and it’s super soft. A pair of boxer shorts is rolled up underneath. It’s not enough—I’m still cold. I pad quietly to his closet and add a pair of his socks that reach the middle of my shins. Next, I add an old LSU sweatshirt and some sweatpants that hang loose even after I cinch them up. Every article of clothing is steeped in his scent, and I contemplate continuing to layer until I look like Joey Tribbiani impersonating Chandler Bing. I’d have to walk by throwing my weight onto one leg and then teetering back and forth. His camel coat is hanging near the back, the one I love, and I bet he has some hats I could pull down over my ears. Instead, I settle on wrapping a navy cashmere scarf around my neck so I can dip my head and inhale any time I want. It’s like I have him completely wrapped around me. I tiptoe my way back through his room.

  I have the entire run of the house, so I head down to the bottom floor and stall on the last stair. I’m paralyzed with possibilities: I could pilfer his library, see how he arranges his spices, judge him for the current state of his junk drawer. In the end, I settle on making a breakfast fit for a king to make up for our dinner last night. I know how much he enjoys breakfast.

  His kitchen is over the top. There’s enough counter space to film a cooking show, and Wolf appliances have been custom designed for the room. Everything is gleaming, which tells me he either never cooks or he has someone come clean religiously. There’s a butler pantry and a separate space for the ovens. There are bells and whistles I don’t dare touch—I don’t want to lose a finger. Fortunately, it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out the coffee maker. I make a pot and then get to work.

  I’m at the mercy of his pantry and refrigerator, but fortunately there are enough ingredients for the things I want to make: scratch cinnamon rolls, scrambled eggs, and fruit salad to start. I’m searching for bacon in the fridge when Beau’s cell phone rings. I jerk and turn toward where it’s charging beside his keys on the counter. The ringing continues and I glance up to the ceiling, wondering if I should take it to him. It’s 7:10 AM; surely he’ll be awake soon.

  The ringing stops. I give up on the bacon hunt and fill my coffee cup again. The cinnamon rolls just went in the oven, but I don’t want to start on the eggs or they’ll be cold by the time he gets down here.

  His phone starts to ring again, and this time I look at who’s calling.

  MOM

  I panic. His mom is calling him this early? Is that normal? What if she really needs to talk to him? His phone rings again and again then goes to voicemail. I relax for a moment before it starts ringing once more and I imagine her frantic on the other end of the line.

  I reach for it and answer on a whim.

  “Hello, Beau Fortier’s phone.”

  Who am I? His secretary?

  Apparently, Mrs. Fortier thinks so.

  “Michelle? Is that you?”

  “Oh, no. Umm, actually it’s Lauren. Uh…Lauren LeBlanc. Is there an emergency?” I ask, somewhat hopefully.

  I cringe. What if he didn’t want his mom to know I was over here? It’s a little early for this sort of thing, isn’t it? I should have let her assume he was dead in a ditch.

  “Lauren!” Her voice is filled with shock. “What are you doing over at Beau’s this early?”

  The silence after that question could stretch across the Atlantic Ocean. There’s only one reason I’d be at her son’s house this early, and I know she realizes it when she does a little oh, silly me laugh.

  My cheeks are on fire.

  “Cooking…breakfast?” I croak.

  She has the decency to turn away from the phone and conceal her laughter as a coughing fit. “Oh, I bet he’ll love that. He and I were actually supposed to meet this morning, but I think that’s probably going to need to be rescheduled.”

  Because of me. She doesn’t sound too annoyed, but I won’t let things get shifted around on my account. Besides, my cinnamon rolls are delicious. She will love them.

  “No! Why don’t you just come here?”

  Turns out, Mrs. Fortier was already around the corner from Beau’s house. She knocks on the door and I answer quickly, steaming cup of coffee outstretched for her.

  She takes in my outfit with raised brows and a pleased smile. “You look…warm.”

  I forgot I’m covered in the many layers of Beau.

  She accepts the cup of coffee and we head back into the kitchen. The smell of baking dough makes my stomach grumble. She takes a seat at the bar and appraises me over her cup of coffee. I try not to fidget.

  “So you came over this morning to cook breakfast?”

  “It’s a long story. Basically, my oven caught fire at my apartment yesterday so your son let me stay here.”

  Her eyes are all-knowing. “How very selfless of him to invite you over.”

  Her sarcasm reminds me of why I like her.

  It’s been 10 years since Beau took me home to meet her, 10 years since I sat on her porch, completely in love with her son. I wonder if she can read the truth on my face now. I wouldn’t be surprised if the freckles on the bridge of my nose rearranged themselves to spell out his name.

  “Breakfast smells delicious.”

  “Cinnamon rolls from scratch,” I brag. “I was actually about to whip up some scrambled eggs to go with them, but now that you’re here, I might enlist your help. I still remember yours from that day I visited with Beau. They were so good.”

  She smiles. “The secret is to smother them in Havarti cheese. It’s Beau’s favorite.”

  I check the refrigerator, but Beau doesn’t have any. He does have an annoyingly large supply of pre-portioned protein shakes. I volunteer to go get some cheese from the grocery store a block over. She says not to bother, but I’ve been waiting 10 years to eat her eggs and I want them to be just right—for Beau, but more importantly, for me.

  “I’ll be right back! The cinnamon rolls have another 20 minutes, but if I’m not back in time, you can pull them out. They should be good. The cream cheese frosting is in the refrigerator.”

  It takes me 30 minutes to hunt down the right kind of cheese. The first store I go to didn’t have it. The second store did and I buy two packages. It’s overkill, especially considering I have no clue how many more breakfasts I’ll be enjoying at Beau’s house. If he kicks me out, I’m taking my cheese with me.

  When I make it back to the house, I kick off my tennies in the foyer and reach to unravel the scarf before deciding to leave it on. His house is nice and toasty now, but I like how soft it feels around my neck.

  I head toward the kitchen, wondering if Beau’s still sleeping, then stop short when I hear them talking. Eavesdropping! My favorite hobby!

  “You’ve loved her for 10 years,” Beau says to his mom.

  “Oh, don’t be silly,” she protests. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  He snorts in disbelief. “Do you remember when I dated Lesley a couple years ago? You would accidentally call her Lauren.”

  She laughs. “That was just a slip of the tongue. Their names are very similar.”

  “You ask me about her every time we talk.”

  “I do not. Refill my coffee, will you?”

  Beau passes in front of the hallway to get to the coffee maker and I press my body a
gainst the wall, trying to make myself as flat as possible. If I had an invisibility cloak, I’d don it.

  “It’s all pretty new and…unpredictable,” Beau warns. “I just don’t want you to get your hopes up. Sugar?”

  “Yes. Some milk too. What do you think I’m going to do?” She laughs. “Ask her what sort of wedding she’d like? If she wants children?”

  “Yes, exactly.”

  “There’s no point in asking. I want at least three grandchildren—you two don’t really get a say in the matter.”

  “Mom,” he warns.

  She’s really laughing now. “Oh you really are too easy to tease, just like always.”

  Beau passes in front of the hallway again and does a double take when he sees me lurking in the shadows. Oh dear. I try to play off my eavesdropping as coolly and calmly as possible.

  “HELLO! I JUST GOT BACK WITH THE CHEESE!” I exclaim as I lurch forward and present the grocery bag like it’s a fish I just plucked out of a river.

  “Are you crying?”

  I sniffle. “No. It was cold and windy out. Who’s hungry?”

  “I know you were listening just now,” he says, coming around the island to take the bag from my hand. He drops a kiss to my cheek and there is no getting this lunatic grin off my face. I try to wipe it away, but like a coiled spring under tension, it bounces right back.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Beau, may I have my coffee?” his mom asks, giving me a conspiratorial smile.

  He turns away. “I forget, did you want milk?”

  “Yes,” she and I both say at once.

  He shoots a teasing glare at me and a giddy laugh spills out of me. “I wasn’t listening, just a lucky guess! Mrs. Fortier, are the cinnamon rolls still in the oven?”

  “I pulled them out a few minutes ago and iced them. They’re just warming now. Here, Beau, hand me the cheese so I can make the eggs. Everything else is ready.”