Hopeless (Chestnut Springs Book 5)
: Chapter 17

I shouldn’t have dragged her into my arms. Not when we’re here, alone, in the dark.

Not when I’m unraveled the way I am right now.

Not when I can’t blame it on being for show.

Not when I want to do so much—

Bailey’s head turns and her lips dust across the hollow at the base of my throat. I swallow, Adam’s apple working as she kisses just below it again. Puffy lips press against my chest.

Awareness trickles in as her nipples harden and point against my chest.

I should stop.

My hand slides down her firm back, toned from long hours spent working, and my fingers dust over the thick elastic waistband that they meet.

I should stop.

She kisses me again. Same spot. But her tongue darts against my skin this time. Her back arches, pushing her tits down and her ass up.

“Fuck,” the word is a breath, a hushed curse marking me, knowing I’m about to go too far.

I should stop.

My hand travels further, and I grip her ass. It’s more than just fabric. The shorts have shifted, and it’s smooth skin. My fingers dig in, the tips of them dangerously close to where no man has gone before.

It’s her fucking moan as she presses herself back into my grip that nearly undoes me.

“Bailey.” I’m too keyed up. She’s too close. Feels too good. Smells too delicious.

She inches down, strands of her hair slipping through my fingers as she kisses lower on my chest. My hand is still kneading the flesh of her ass when she whispers, “Are you okay?”

“No,” I grit out. My dick swells at the nearness of her, the smell, the weight. The way she’s just here in the wake of me totally freaking out.

“Me neither.” Her hot breath fans against my chest.

I realize I’m holding her in place, one hand gripping her ass, the other with a fist full of her hair. My cock goes rock-hard faster than I can fight it off. The thought of filling her with it is more present than ever. Sᴇaʀᴄh thᴇ (F)indNƟvᴇl.ɴet website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

“Tell me how to make you feel okay,” I say, my voice rumbling across the top of her head. She hasn’t lifted her face, hasn’t chanced looking me in the eye.

I think we both might think more clearly if she did.

“Don’t stop touching me.”

My head tips back and I groan. The things this girl says.

Her lips move over my chest again. “How can I make you feel okay?” Her ass lifts higher, knees pushing into the bed on either side of my body. Begging me to explore her.

While I turn her question over in my mind, I let my hands roam along the smooth skin down the back of her thigh to the crook of her knee that she’s pushed up onto while straddling me. My nails rake over the skin of her inner thigh, tiny bumps crop up in their wake.

“Bailey … I should stop.” I say it out loud, the warning sign that’s been flashing in my head for the past several minutes.

Stopping feels like it would be pure torture right now, but I’d do it.

I should do it.

“No. Please.” The words rush from her, breathy and desperate. “Please don’t stop.”

My breathing grows labored, and all I’m doing is lying on my back. I trail my fingers over the gusset of her shorts, tracing the seam. I could reach beneath the fabric so easily.

Her head turns, cheek pressing against my chest. Face down. Ass up. Hands on my shoulders. Bailey begs me again. “Please … tell me how to make you feel better. But don’t stop.”

My fingers curl around the strands of her onyx hair, and I give a firm tug.

She whimpers and grinds herself against my fingers.

I don’t know how we got so far past the line of appropriate, so far past the line of faking. But the 2:11 version of me lacks control, and he’s the only version of me that’s here right now.

“I’d feel okay if you started sleeping in the guest room, Bailey.”

She nods, dragging my fist along with her head as she does. My dick juts up, bumping against her stomach.

“And I’d feel even better if you let me reach into these flimsy fucking shorts and make you come on my fingers.”

A breath rushes from her lips and sweeps across my chest.

I should stop.

“Yes,” she replies breathlessly. Her stomach presses into my length while my fingers curl around the curve of her ass, teasing that line between her thigh and her pussy. “Yes.”

“Fuck,” I mutter again, because no matter how many times I tell myself I should stop, I won’t.

My hand inches forward until I feel her wetness. I swipe through gently, my body almost shaking under the strain of holding back. The dark part of me wants to flip her over and fuck her. Impale her and listen to her scream my name.

But that’s not what this is. That’s not who she is. I want to handle Bailey with care.

Her hips push back, and the tip of my finger slides in.

“Oh god.” She rolls her forehead over my chest, and I’m pretty sure I stop breathing as she rocks herself against my finger.

“Bailey.” I groan her name and pull out to spread her wetness over her clit. Her legs tremble on either side of my waist as I do. “Fuck.”

Her lips land back on my chest, and one hand grips my shoulder while the other braces above my head on the bed frame.

I press in again, further this time, and feel her clamp down around my finger. “You’re fucking soaked.”

She nods once more.

With one finger inside her, the others explore between her legs. Lips, clit, sliding up and down her slit. “If it’s too much, you’ll tell me?”

“Yes, yes.” She chants the words, hot shaky breaths against my skin. “Do it again.”

“Do what?” I murmur against her ear as she writhes above me.

“Finger fuck me.” Her words are languid, not shy at all.

“Like this?” I slide in and out, setting an even and torturous tempo.

She lifts her head to peer over her shoulder. No doubt trying to see the way her body fits against mine, the way I have angled my arm around behind her. “Yeah, like that.”

My muscles burn, but I don’t give a fuck. It’s nothing compared to the way my dick is throbbing from feeling Bailey all tight and wet, riding my fingers.

“What about this?” I slow my motions and add a second finger to join the first, toying with her entrance before easing into her slick heat. A gentle twist of my hand has her crying out, and her head drops back down to my chest.

“You like that, Bailey? Are two fingers better than one?” I push in further, spurred on by the needy mewling noises she’s making.

A soft, “Yes,” spills from her damp lips before she drags them over my collarbones, up the side of my neck—while still avoiding my face.

“In and out only? Or with a twist? I want to know.” My utmost desire is to know absolutely everything that drives her crazy. We can learn it together.

“Twist.” She’s gone monosyllabic, and I take a perverse sort of pleasure in stealing her pleasure and her words.

I work both fingers in and out, slowly twisting, her wetness surging around me.

Her body trembles.

Her hips rotate.

Her body pulses.

Our breaths come out sharp and choppy.

“Look at me, Bailey. You gonna come for me, Bailey? Just like I told you to?”

“Yesss,” she hisses, now bucking against me as she draws back just enough to meet my eyes.

I shove in hard a few times, getting off on the throaty noises she makes. Then I pull out, sliding back and forth over her clit. It only takes a few times until she shatters.

“Fuck! Beau!” She yanks my hair, and her teeth clamp down on my neck. The soaked insides of her thighs spread as she tumbles down on top of me, chest to chest. Her knees give out and she loses purchase on my sheets, slim legs slipping as they clamp my sides.

Her pussy pulses and slides over the edge of my cock. Down the vein, right to the base, where she stalls, trying to catch her breath with my full, round head pressed to her navel.

The worst fucking tease.

It’s a temptation so fucking strong I gasp for air and extricate myself from her soft, needy body.

Away from the bed at last, I stand and run my hands through my hair, needing to step away from her so I don’t go any further than I just did.

Way too fucking far.

I promised her I wouldn’t fuck her. I promised to help make things better for her. And I meant it.

She’s young and sweet, and has her entire life ahead of her. I’m the last thing she needs complicating her situation.

This arrangement? It’s a glorified bet. And she deserves better.

I should have stopped.

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