Giving It Up: Pushing the Boundaries, Book 1 (17 page)

“I was about to shower.” She took his hand, pulling him toward the bathroom. Once there, she turned on the taps. “I hate wasting water, so we’ll have to share. Take off the rest of your clothes and get in.”

He laughed at her words, at her silly excuse for why they’d have to shower together, and it made her smile. It was good to know he wasn’t so befuddled he couldn’t enjoy a few moments of happiness.

Behind her, she heard a rustling, and when she turned around, he was pulling back the curtain on the other side, stepping one long leg into the tub. He paused for a moment, watching her as she studied his body.

Damn, he was beautiful.

Without another word, she untied her robe and bared herself too, and they stared at one another across the space of her tiny bathroom, backgrounded by the sound of the water falling down behind the curtain.

Beatrice forced herself to jerk her head in the direction of the shower, gesturing to him to step all the way inside. And though he raised his eyebrows at her in mock challenge, he did as he was told, then pulled the curtain closed again. She could hear the drumming beat of the water change as he moved under the spray.

Outside the curtain, she had to count to ten, just to calm her nerves long enough to follow him inside the dark cocoon of the curtained tub. And when she stepped inside too, what she saw had her involuntarily moaning in appreciation.

Warren’s head was thrown back under the spray, water dripping down his strong features and spiking on his lashes. His eyes were closed, his mouth open, and he was running his hands through his hair as though rubbing at aches and pains on his head, reminding her that he had come to her for help, whether or not he realized it himself.

She stepped forward and pressed her naked body against his, letting the water cover them both. He shifted a bit to block the drops from falling onto her face, and she used it as an excuse to push up on her toes, lifting her face to his and letting his mouth take hers. Their tongues tangled, her hands roamed over his back and his cock rose between her legs, the hard bar of flesh rolling between her thighs and making her buck against his hips.

He reached between them, taking hold of himself and pulling away from her. “Something about you makes me feel like a trigger-happy teenager, Beatrice,” he said, punctuating his words with a wry laugh. “I’m going to come all over you if we keep doing this.”

Would that be so bad?
she wanted to ask, but she held back. She wanted to relieve him of his responsibilities for a while, not his dignity. So instead, she picked up the soap, sudsing it in her hands before wrapping her arms around him again and running her hands over his back, down his hard ass, between his legs, lingering in that soft spot of flesh behind his tight sac. Warren groaned and brought his hands up to cup and squeeze her breasts, circling the nipples before gently pinching and rolling them between his fingers, and she could now feel his cock pushing at her belly, hard and insistent.

Beatrice put a hand between them to wrap around his shaft, soaping and rinsing his cock with deft, gentle strokes. By the time she was finished, he was clenching his teeth and squeezing his eyes shut while making desperate, grunting noises.

“I think you’re clean now,” she told him. She reached past him to shut off the water. “Stay here.” She stepped out to grab a towel to wrap around herself before sliding back the curtain and using another towel to dry him off from head to toe.

“I’m not a baby, you know,” he joked, but he let her do it, and even let her wrap the towel around his waist and guide him to the bed, where she pushed him back against the pillows and kissed him again.

He needed her to care for him. She knew it.

He ran his hands over her body, over every part of her. It felt so good to have those rough palms against her flesh, something that had been missing for her those other times, as though she’d kept a part of herself back in that leather and lingerie. This time, he could touch her freely, and she reveled in it.

He played between her legs, sliding a finger back and forth and moaning into her mouth when it grew so slippery she could feel wetness on her upper thighs. She pushed down against him, sliding over his cock and smearing him with the slick heat of her arousal.

Warren grunted, grabbing her hips to stay her. “Beatrice,” he bit out, but she shushed him.

“We’ve already established that we’re both clean. And I’m on the pill. And…it’s not Wednesday,” she finished softly. She drew a deep breath before saying slowly, enunciating each word, “I’m going to fuck you now, Warren.”

He groaned and fell back against the pillows, letting her kiss him again, aggressively, even as she reached between them and positioned the head of his cock at her entrance. And then she was bearing down, taking him inside, both of them holding their breath at the sensation.

Oh Jesus, he was big and hot and hard. She pushed heavily, moaning as he went deeper than anyone had before, and still there was more to take, filling her, shoving into her, until at last she was spread completely open atop him and she could feel the wiry hair around his sex scraping her thighs.

He was practically shaking, letting out harsh grunts now and again as she stayed still, adjusting to his size. His fingers clenched in bursts around her thighs. He looked like he was being manipulated by a master puppeteer, unable to control his own movements.

After a while, she moved up experimentally, and he whimpered, his fingers flexing as though he wanted to take hold of her and move her hard and fast over him. But he didn’t. Instead, he stared up at her, nostrils flaring, and waited.

Good. He understood.

Of all the people in the world, Warren understood her.

Slowly, she swung one leg between his, feeling the squeeze of her body around his, then brought the other leg in, as well. Lying atop him now, her legs together between his, his cock packed tightly into her, she was finally where she needed to be. She pushed up on her arms, using them to propel her back and forth over his body, his shaft sliding in and out of the tight space between her thighs. He groaned as she moved over him, his big dick spreading her wetness that collected in his tight curls. The rough hairs felt so good against her sensitive mound. She worked him like that for long minutes, until her arms burned and her clit was swollen and needy, but still she labored over him, panting. Fucking him.

There wasn’t even really a start to it. One minute, he was lying back, letting her take him the way she wanted, and the next, he was practically shouting, bringing his knees up and squeezing his thighs around her to pull her to him, jamming his hips up and up. And then, right before the exhaustion and wonder of
How the fuck do men keep their bodies levered up like this all the time?
made her collapse, Warren dug his fingers into her ass and pushed her body down against his, grinding hard, putting pressure on exactly the right spot. Within seconds, he was moaning, eyes closed, neck arching back, as he pumped his climax as deep into her body as it would allow, and she could only cry out as she came in response, pleasure, pain, exhilaration, all twined so tightly together there was nothing left to do but cling to one another and hope neither would go stark-raving mad in the aftermath.

What the hell just happened?

Warren blinked up at the ceiling.

The day had destroyed him, and Beatrice had done everything to take the burden away. But it was almost as though the stone she’d rolled off his shoulders had allowed an entire wall to collapse, because he could feel himself coming apart. He could feel
tears
behind his eyes.

“Fuck,” he gritted out, knowing it was impossible to stop them, and trying his best to at least cry like a man. But even that didn’t happen when she realized what was going on.

“Oh!” she gasped, pulling him tightly to her and stroking through his hair, raining kisses on his temple, and Warren let go then, crying in earnest, letting great sobs shake his body and drain him of all the exhaustion, all the worry, all those lonely years…

She gave a cry of dismay. “Warren, I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

He grabbed at her, hard, and she got the message by shutting up and letting him cry it out. He felt like a loser. Goddamn it, he never cried. Even when he’d gotten electrocuted so badly during the disarmament exercise that for weeks afterward his arm had felt like an elephant had stomped on it, he hadn’t cried.

How could one woman have managed to break his life apart in so short a time?

“Fuck.” Warren wiped at his eyes, pushing the tears back in where they belonged. “Fuck.”
Great. Very eloquent, Davis.

He managed to calm himself enough to the point where his eyes were no longer leaking, just bleary-feeling in his scowling face, and Beatrice wiggled in his arms, making him release her.

“Stay there. I’ll be right back.” She pulled away slowly and slid off the bed, padding over to a cabinet in the kitchenette and grabbing a glass to fill with water. He watched her walk back, breasts bouncing along with the liquid, and the way his dick stirred at the sight at least made him feel a little bit less like a pussy. She pressed a glass of water into his hands. “Drink it and you’ll feel a bit better. I always do.”

He gulped down the water, feeling like he was being baptized by the burning fire of humiliation. And yet…he didn’t
feel
as ashamed as he kept
telling himself
he should.

She slid into the bed next to him and watched him with concern. He set the empty glass on the bedside table and pulled her against him, her body draped over his in the bed, and kissed the top of her head. He could feel her searching for something to say.

Finally, she asked, “Will you stay the night?” and looked up at him, tracing her fingers over his chest. He nodded, thankful she hadn’t pushed him to talk about what had happened, and they lay like that for a long while before Warren slipped into the welcome of sleep.

When he woke again, everything was dark. Beatrice must have switched off the lights at some point. He could feel her next to him, though, her side aligned against his, the even rise and fall of her chest making her body sway almost imperceptibly. He reached over to her bedside table, where he had seen a small clock. He felt it out with his fingers, pushed the button on the top to light it up. One o’clock in the morning.

He felt surprisingly alert for so late at night. Or early. Whatever. Apparently, crying like a sad loser had somehow invigorated him, because he was ready to go, in every way. Or, shit, maybe he’d cried precisely because of the way he’d come so hard in the first place.

And now he was so aroused that his cock was pushing the sheet up, the fabric tenting despite its weight. Maybe he could slip out of Beatrice’s bed and go jerk off in the bathroom again. It wouldn’t be any more pathetic than when he did it in his childhood home, with his sister’s face wash and his nephew’s toothbrush on the vanity next to the toilet.

Leave off, man
, he chided himself. Just because he’d had sex for the first time in years didn’t mean he had to act like some kind of sex maniac all of a sudden. He’d come more in the past few weeks than he usually did in a year. There was no reason to start masturbating left and right now.

He settled back against the pillows, willing himself to fall back asleep, but Beatrice stirred then, stretching out and making her body rub over his. He shuddered, trying to keep himself in check.
Control!
he snapped at himself. It was as though he completely lost it around Beatrice. No matter what had happened between them, he still wasn’t sure where they stood. He definitely didn’t have the
right
to reach down and palm and rub her breasts while she was still half-asleep.

As he was shaking his head at himself, though, she rolled to face him, nuzzling her face into his chest and sliding one leg over his body. Warm, soft skin brushed over his erection, the weight of her thigh settling over the hard ridge and making him suck in a sharp breath. At the sound, she shifted, angling her head back to look up at him.

“Warren?” Her voice was raspy with sleep. He felt like an ass even as he ran one hand down her arm, but she responded by stroking over his chest, scratching her nails lightly over the hair there, and he pushed his hips up, his cock pressing into the soft skin of the thigh she had wrapped over him. She hummed in approval, and began to slide over him, but he stopped her with a hand on her wrist.

He sat up and rolled her to her back before bringing his body over hers. He put his lips to her shoulder, nibbling at the pale curve as he settled himself between her legs. She was warm and languid and he didn’t care that neither of them had brushed their teeth before they’d fallen asleep earlier—he kissed her then, tasting the wild flavor between them and feeling her arousal rise. He ran one hand over her breast, loving the way her nipple felt against his palm and how she arched into the pressure. Farther down, she was so slick he was already sliding in easy, long strokes back and forth between her thighs.

“I need you,” she moaned, bucking up, making the head of his swollen cock dip just inside her entrance. Warren didn’t even hesitate. This was what he’d wanted from the moment he’d awoken, and he’d only been waiting for her to want him too. He pushed all the way inside on a single slow thrust. Tight, hot walls massaged him and he lay still for a bit, savoring the feeling of being held by a woman’s body.
This
woman.

“Warren,” she whispered, and he pulled out and thrust in again, deep, making her moan and clench tightly around him. After that, there were no more words, just the slick sound of bodies meeting until both of them again shuddered with release.

Chapter Nineteen

The next time Beatrice stirred, it was a little past six o’clock in the morning. Warren had practically jumped out of bed a moment before and she was startled awake, immediately bolting upright. In the dim morning light, she could see him already pulling on his uniform pants, and her heart stuttered for a moment, wondering if some terrible emergency had occurred that would somehow place him in danger, like another bomb he had to disarm that would end up going off, except this time he wouldn’t be able to get out safely and she would never see him again—

Oh God. Is this what it would feel like to be an officer’s wife?

And then, because it was crazy to think such a thing, she didn’t bother with a good morning.

“What’s going on?” she asked in a voice that was scratchy from sleep. And, ugh, her mouth felt sticky. Her hair was probably sticking up and she must look like a dying porcupine, while he looked like the very picture of scruffy, sexy male.

He paused with his shirt half on to smile at her, and any worry about her appearance fell away. She’d never get tired of seeing that smile.

“I have to go. Kelly has to go back to work this morning and Mom is going to be busy with Dad. She’ll probably need help now, even if she doesn’t want to admit it.” His shoulders drooped. “I’ve already taken too much time away. I’ve got to get back so Nate doesn’t end up by himself today.”

Beatrice stared at Warren for a moment, then dipped her head shyly. “Um, I was thinking…I mean, I know it’s a little strange, and I figure we can pretend this is an off weekend and doesn’t count toward our remaining Wednesday…but could I—do you want me to come with you? To help you? I’m happy to take Nate to the batting cages, or hang out or something. I can even show him how to work a camera. If you want, that is.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

She gave him a small smile. “But I want to.”

He hesitated, looking at her.

Say yes.

Finally, he nodded and a slow grin spread over his face. “Okay.” He nodded. “Come on, then.”

She wanted to cheer, but instead she forced herself to stay calm and focus on practical things, to keep from flinging her arms around him and kissing him.

He’d change his mind, then.

“I’ll get dressed.”

“Nothing fancy. Nate would get intimidated.”

She laughed and pulled on a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt that said
Nantucket
. She brushed out her hair and stuck it into a high ponytail, beaming at him. “Is this good? Or too un-fancy?”

“No. Very cute.” He leaned forward to kiss her, which turned into a long minute of roaming hands and soft sighs.

She could get used to this.

When he stepped away, he still didn’t completely release her, holding on to her hand as they left her apartment and headed out to his car.

“Wow, this is the first time I’ve ever ridden in a police car,” she practically squeaked.

“That’s probably a good thing,” he assured her, opening the passenger’s side door for her and making sure she was settled in before taking himself around to the driver’s side.

He pulled out from the curb and started driving east, toward an older part of town that had become almost like a suburb as the city had expanded, talking as he navigated the streets with ease. “I’ll warn you beforehand that we live in a decent neighborhood, but the house isn’t that nice. I try to keep up the outside, anyway, so the neighbors don’t suffer from our neglect, but the inside is in need of a renovation and—”

“It’s okay, you know. It’s not like I should care about your house.” She’d meant it to say that she cared about him, not where he lived, but he scowled even as he nodded.
Oh no, did I offend him?
“I meant that I care about where you live because you live there, but not for its financial value.”

His scowl only deepened, though, and she decided to simply keep quiet, rather than potentially make things worse by saying anything else. Still, she couldn’t figure out what she’d said to make him look so upset.

She decided to change the subject, and after about twenty minutes of easy conversation, they pulled up in front of a two-story house painted a clean white on the outside, with blue shutters and a dark green door. It was a lovely American Foursquare style house with a deep front porch, a steep-pitched roof and two chimneys.

“It’s beautiful,” she said, smiling. “This is where you grew up?”

He nodded. “Yeah. It looks okay, I guess. I-I don’t know. I guess I’ve been looking at it for three decades and it’s not really mine…”

He trailed off, and she didn’t push him. She knew the feeling. Even in college, living in the dorms, she hadn’t quite felt like she had a space of her own. Only when she’d finished school and gotten her own apartment—her tiny, shabbily-furnished apartment with the radiator that clanged in the winter and peeling ceiling paint—had she felt a real pride in where she lived.

He parked in the driveway and again opened the door for her, putting out a hand to assist her out. Beatrice used the opportunity to slip her arms around Warren’s waist, tipping her head up to kiss his chin. “Shall we go inside? It’s pretty early. I don’t want to wake anyone.”

“Kelly will already have gone. Nate might wake up in another hour, but if Mom is awake then I’ll have to relieve her for a bit. She’ll probably be sitting up with Dad, whether he’s awake or not.”

“Your mother sounds incredibly dedicated. A lot like someone else I know.”

He gave a half smile at that. “I’m not sure that’s anything to be proud of. Mom is running herself ragged. She’s only fifty-five years old, but she looks about ten years older.” He paused and looked up at one of the dormers on each of the four sides of the roof. “I’m glad we were able to hang on to the house.”

She heard the real words behind that statement.
But I wish I hadn’t had to be the one to sacrifice for it.

He stepped back from her and grabbed her hand. “Come on, let’s go in.”

No one was in the kitchen when they entered through the back door. The house was silent with the peaceful calm of sleep. Warren pulled out a tall chair at the kitchen island and gestured for her to sit.

“I’ll be right back. I’m going to go check in on Dad and see if Mom needs any help.”

He disappeared through a doorway and Beatrice looked around the kitchen. He was right about the house needing updating. The kitchen was wallpapered in a blue and white floral print, with oak-stained trim and one small window that looked out onto the backyard. The cabinets had wrought-iron hardware and the countertops looked like Nana’s Formica table. The linoleum was scuffed and scratched, making it look dingier than it really was.

There was a small dining table crammed into a nook just behind the island. Beyond that, through another doorway, Beatrice could see a formal dining room, though the lovely table in there had been pushed along a wall, and the section she could see was piled with books and papers.

But despite all of those superficial flaws, the house at least felt like a home. She could feel the
togetherness
of the people who lived in it.

It made her want to be a part of that feeling.

Warren returned then and shook his head. “Mom and Dad are both sleeping. I’m sorry I dragged you out of bed for this,” he whispered.

“I don’t mind. I offered. Besides, the bed wouldn’t be the same if you were gone anyway.”

Heat flared in Warren’s eyes, and he reached for her, making her slide off the chair and arch into him as he kissed her deeply, caressing her neck, fingers running through the soft hairs at the nape that had escaped her ponytail. She ran her hands up his abdomen, playing over his body, until he broke off, panting.

“I wish I had a place that was halfway private,” he murmured, dropping one last kiss on her lips before pulling away and walking to the counter. “Coffee?”

Beatrice nodded, sitting back down, and he set to work brewing a pot. He moved about like a man accustomed to working in silence, careful steps and measured movements.

It fit, given how his family must live. Besides, his expertise was in disarming explosives. He would certainly need to be cautious and tread carefully, lest he trigger a bomb that took a limb, or even his life.

Thankfully, there weren’t many bombs in the city.

Or
were
there? Suddenly, she felt fear rise.

“Warren?” she whispered his name, pitching her voice slightly louder than the percolating coffee.

He turned and approached her, kissing her before whispering against her lips, “Yes?”

“How often do you have to deal with explosives, like what happened on Wednesday?”

He was quiet for a minute, studying her. “Do you want to know how safe you are?”

She shook her head. “No. I want to know how safe
you
are.”

His expression shifted, but before he could answer, the sound of a heavy tread on a stairwell somewhere filled the kitchen.

“That’ll be Nate,” Warren said, pulling back and speaking in a level tone. “Now that he’s up, we at least don’t have to whisper ourselves hoarse. Mom and Dad’s room is at the back of the house, but Nate’s is at the top of the stairs.”

As soon as he finished speaking, the boy whom Beatrice had seen at the batting cages shuffled in, wearing basketball shorts and a T-shirt, and rubbing at his eyes. “G’morning, Uncle Quinn,” Nate said sleepily, but stopped in his tracks at the sight of Beatrice sitting at the island.

“Hey, I know you,” he croaked, and she couldn’t contain an amused laugh.

Warren cleared his throat. “Nate, this is Miss Lawrence. She’s a friend of mine who is going to hang out with us today.”

Nathan seemed to wake up a bit at that, because his expression changed, his face becoming more adult-looking as he came closer and put out his hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Miss Lawrence.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Warren nod in approval. She supposed he was proud of Nate’s maturity, and she decided to treat him like the young adult he was obviously becoming. She smiled, shook his hand and told him, “Please, call me Beatrice.”

He blushed a little at that, but nodded. “Cool.”

But then he seemed to run out of things to say next and started looking a little uncomfortable until Warren walked over and gave his nephew a strong side-hug, squeezing the boy’s shoulders briefly before dropping his arm.

Beatrice’s heart squeezed too at the sweet gesture. For all that Warren had seemed so intimidating for so long, he was a good, gentle man who really cared about others.

“What are we going to do today?” Nathan asked, opening the refrigerator and pulling out some milk.

“If you’re interested in learning how to take photos, Beatrice brought her camera along. She’s a photojournalist for the paper, you know.”

Nate snorted as he poured out some milk into a glass. “Of course I know. You have all those—”

“She was also the photographer at Ben’s wedding.” Warren broke in, cutting off Nathan and distracting him.

Beatrice wondered at the strange interruption. Usually Warren was so respectful of his young nephew. But Nate didn’t seem to notice, just turned and said, “Oh yeah. Grandma said you were a hot ticket.”

Warren groaned.

She couldn’t help but laugh. She wasn’t sure how to interact with a thirteen-year-old. He spoke and sort of acted like an adult, but he still had that baby-faced look about him, and there were no worry lines in his forehead. Not like his uncle’s. But he was open and sweet and she found herself really liking him. “Well, I don’t know about that,” she told him, glancing at Warren, “but like your uncle said, I’m happy to show you a couple of tricks for getting good pictures. Sound good?”

He looked at her over the rim of his glass of milk. “Seriously?”

She nodded, biting back a smile. “Seriously.”

He shrugged. “Then yeah. Cool. What should we take pictures of?”

Nathan moved as though he was going to leave the kitchen, but Warren’s big hand on the boy’s shoulder stopped him. “Before you run off, you need to eat some breakfast. Beatrice and I still need to drink our coffee, anyway.”

Nathan rolled his eyes, but he acquiesced quickly enough, grabbing some cereal and a bowl before settling at the small table near the kitchen island. Warren poured a cup of coffee and slid it over the island to Beatrice. She took it from him and stroked his hand when she did, and he flashed her a sexy grin.

“Cream?” he asked, and Beatrice blushed. How did he make everything sound suggestive?

Or maybe it was all in
her
mind, because he saw her reaction and gave a low laugh. “I’ll take that as a yes, now
and
later.” Beatrice flushed even hotter. “Sugar too?”

“You’re killing me,” she whispered, but nodded. “Both, please.”

He set them out for her and she fixed her coffee, then picked up the cup and moved to the chair next to where his nephew was sitting, crunching on his cereal.

“When did you start learning to be a photographer?” Nate asked.

Beatrice smiled. “When I was eight, my grandmother—I call her Nana—gave me a nice film camera for my birthday. You really can’t waste film, you know, not like you can delete pictures on digital ones, so you really have to think about what you want to photograph. And when the first set of photos came back, Nana told me I had a good eye and she bought me some books on photography so I could learn more.”

“Your Nana sounds cool. What did your parents say?”

She hesitated for a moment. They’d been reluctant because they hadn’t been sure whether photography was an appropriate hobby for a girl, but in the end they’d let her continue learning. They’d even let her take a photography class as one of her high school electives.

Her parents weren’t bad people. She had to remind herself of that regularly, but it was true. They were just
different
. Though they’d let her pursue her photography, they’d never really been interested in seeing her work or encouraging her to make a living at it.

How could she explain all that to someone as young as Nate? She wasn’t sure what was appropriate.