Hopeless (Chestnut Springs Book 5)
: Chapter 9

Lance: Where you at? Come have a drink.

Aaron: Yeah, we came looking for you, but you weren’t home.

I wake up held tight against something hot and hard. I rub my cheek against cotton, wanting to nuzzle back into one of the best sleeps of my life. A soft breeze fans over my cheek, and before long, I realize my pillow has … a heartbeat.

I freeze as my eyes snap open. The early morning sky has taken on a pale blue hue, and I realize that mine and Beau’s “practice” lasted all night long.

We’re clinging to each other. My cheek against his heart as he curls himself around me. Top arm caging me in like a shield.

I might as well be a teddy bear getting snuggled by the hottest super soldier of all time.

Correction: my fiancé.

My chin dips down, and I turn carefully in his arms, reveling in the heat of him against my back as I stare down at the diamond adorning my ring finger. It’s too much. It’s way too fucking much. Not only does it not belong on a girl like me, but it’s further proof that Beau doesn’t understand the way my world operates.

Nice shit gets stolen. End of story.

I don’t get nice shit. I wasn’t made for it. And it wasn’t made for me.

As soon as I’m done basking in the feeling of being held, I’ll tell him. I’ll force him to take the ring back. I’ll sit him down and make him understand that although we have an agreement, there is still a line in the sand between us.

One where—

He shifts, smacking his lips in an almost child-like way as his top leg hooks over me and pulls me closer while he …

Grinds his massive morning wood into me.

Now I really freeze on the spot.

A real man is pushing a real boner into me.

I’ve thought about this nonstop. What I’d do. How it would feel.

I’ve dreamed about this.

Being a twenty-two-year-old virgin makes me sound … wholesome somehow. Living in my head is a whole different story. Because, yeah, I’m a virgin, but I’m not desperate to hang onto my V-card. In fact, I’d say I’m eager to get rid of it.

I mean, have you seen my dildo collection? My YouPorn search history? A silicon vibrator I pretend is Jensen Ackles snagged my hymen years ago.

Nah, I’m not saving shit. I’m horny as hell with no one I like enough to work that energy out on. I am desperate to—

“Sugar tits, are you pressing your ass against me?”

My hips shoot forward, and I squeak as I scramble to create space between us. “You can’t call me sugar tits,” is what I come back with as I turn to face him, palms on my hot cheeks like it might cool them down. Or maybe like I have a rewind button there. That would be ideal.

Beau props his arm behind his head and grins at me. “That’s the part you draw issue with?”

I sniff, tipping my nose up, refusing to let my mortification make me feel small. I have years of practice holding my head up high when I should be embarrassed. I reach down to straighten my skirt.

“I was just lying here, keeping you safe. Sleeping. Quietly minding my business. And you were grinding against my—”

“Stop!” My hand shoots up, a physical barrier to cut him off. “Just stop. I was asleep,” I lie.

Beau grins bigger, like he knows I’m full of shit. And fuck, he looks beautiful. There’s sand in his hair, stubble on his face. His tan T-shirt has ridden up just enough to show a peek of bronzed abs.

“I didn’t even know I was doing it,” I say, attempting to weave the truth into what I’m thinking must be a very transparent lie.

He waggles his eyebrows at me.

“Ugh! Stop! You pressed your gigantic boner into me first!”

He laughs as he rolls onto his back, hands scrubbing over his face, which does nothing but make his forearms ripple.

But it’s the sound of his laughter that gets me. It’s warm and full. It vibrates through my body. It makes my stomach flip. It hits me with a jolt of lust right between my legs.

“Why are you laughing? This isn’t funny. It’s awkward as hell.”

“It’s funny because if you know that, you weren’t sleeping.”

Shit.

I brush the sand off myself, making a show of it to avoid having to look at Beau and his stupid, knowing smirk. “Well, if you know it, you were awake too,” I argue back.

“Yeah, but I was groggy. I haven’t slept that well in months. My body was celebrating.”

When I peek at him, he winks, and I’m a pile of nervous mush all over again.

“What’s your excuse?” he teases, still laid out flat on his back. It strikes me as an especially vulnerable position for a man like him.

I kneel at his side, taking in what has to be close to six feet, four inches of solid muscle.

His body is a well-honed machine.

I imagine it propped over mine. Thrusting.

“I’m horny,” I blurt, deciding I’d rather not lie. What’s the point? He sees through it anyway.

His gray irises latch onto mine for a few beats. I expected him to laugh, but he just stares at me.

“What? Is that so alarming to you? Is it because I’m a woman? I’m twenty-two, and I swear I’m almost at the point where I’d fuck anyone just to try it out.”

He groans now, hands back on his face. “Bailey.”

When my eyes trace lower, I can see his length straining against his shorts. With his eyes covered, I casually hold my hand out to compare sizes.

For science.

“You can’t fucking say things like that to me.”

“Why not?” I snort, a thrill racing through my body when I realize his dick is longer than my hand. “We’re engaged. I’m practicing, remember?”

“What are we practicing right now, exactly? Other than making my dick so hard it might burst?”

I nod, staring at his penis and feeling very mature and matter-of-fact about it. No, this is good. Normal. “We’re practicing talking about sex. I’ll need to be open about it one day when I do it, right? So I might as well get comfortable talking to a man about … ” I flail my hand around as I search for the right words. “Bodies. I should get comfortable talking about bodies. Seeing bodies.”

“Yeah?” He replies from behind his hands. “Then tell me about how wet you are right now.”

That brings my train of thought to a screeching halt.

He drops his hands from his face, now wearing an expression I don’t recognize. His eyes have gone dark, almost titanium, growing more turbulent the lower they travel. “Lose the sweater and let’s see if your nipples are hard.”

My mouth drops open, but I don’t respond.

“You want to practice talking about sex? Let’s practice.” His raspy voice vibrates across my skin like a touch. Somehow, his cock fills even more of his shorts.

I hesitate for only a second before I reach down and peel the sweater off, keeping it clutched in my lap. My fingers dig into it, using it as a shield for his question about … lower.

When I glance down, my hard nipples are pointing straight at him through the thin cotton bodice of my dress, like my body is screaming, This one! Do this one!

He seems momentarily surprised by my boldness before the expression slips away.

Then he growls, “Fucking knew it.” His tongue darts out over his lips, but he makes no move to change his position or reach for me.

I chance another look at his crotch and watch him reach down to adjust himself, a quiet groan escaping me as I do. My brain spirals. How must that feel? Taste? He does it so casually, with such surety.

I bet he fucks like that too. Like he just knows he’s good at it. No bumbling. No stuttering. sᴇaʀᴄh thᴇ ꜰindNʘvel.ɴet website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

I bet Beau Eaton knows how to handle a woman’s body like a pro.

“Are you wet, Bailey?”

Boom, there’s the proof.

A shiver races down my spine, and my eyes flutter shut. I squeeze my thighs together and press my sweater down harder over my lap, feeling the way my pussy slides as my hips twist ever so slightly.

“You are, aren’t you?”

I keep my eyes closed because I don’t know if I can handle seeing him right now.

“Tell me.”

I pant, my body going hot. It’s too much. Talking about sex is one thing, but I feel like I might combust. And the fact of the matter is, this seems like seriously blurring whatever lines Beau and I have laid out. I know I’m going to have to touch him—kiss him—but that’s in public. That’s for show.

Whatever this is right now? It’s none of those things.

It’s private. It’s intimate. And considering the fact that no one else is here … it’s not for show.

I push to standing and finally meet his gaze, one that’s now laced with confusion. “The only thing I’m telling you is that I’m going to go back to my trailer and get cleaned up so I can apply for jobs.”

His chest rises and falls, and he catches up to whatever whiplash I just put him through. But he doesn’t fight it. He blinks and his eyes clear, like we both just experienced a possession and are coming back to reality.

He props his hands against the ground and rights himself, unfolding long limbs as he comes to stand before me—towering over me.

He stares down at his feet, toes wiggling on the sandy ground. In the morning light, the damage to them is clearly visible. The skin stretched just a little too tight. Smooth spots. Bumpy spots. Spots that are redder, spots that are whiter. Just past the bridge of his feet, it swaps back to smooth, regular skin.

A border. One side holds all the pain, but if you cover it up? It’s like nothing ever happened.

I want to ask questions, but I don’t. Nothing worse than people rummaging through your trauma just so they can rubberneck.

I know the sensation, and I won’t subject Beau to it. If he wants to tell me his stories, he will.

He notices me staring, and he winces. I recognize the look on his face because I’ve experienced it.

Embarrassment.

I feel inclined to snap him out of it.

My gaze falls to the dog tags around his neck. I reach for them, the bumps in the chain sliding through my fingers, but his eyes stay trained on his feet.

I give the chain a tug, startling him out of his moment. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?” His brow furrows.

I tug again, pulling him closer. “Don’t play stupid. And don’t be ashamed.”

I try to step back, to give myself space, because the way he’s staring at me right now is disarming. But his big hands move fast, shaping my waist and gripping me.

Immobilizing me.

The low morning sun is blinding white over the tops of the trees, and I swear it gives him an otherworldly effect as he glares down at me.

He drops his head and brushes his nose against my cheek. My head tilts, and my fingers grip the tags tighter, tongue darting out over my lips.

Is he going to kiss me?

Our lips are almost touching, but I’m too stunned to move.

“Shame?” He hums the word but doesn’t press closer. I feel the warmth of his breath against my damp lips, the rumble of his deep baritone over my throat. “Rich coming from the girl who just refused to answer my question about her—”

I push away from him, chest heaving like I’ve just been on a run. My nostrils flare as I try to pull myself together. Again.

Composing myself, I brush at my dress and steer the conversation in a different direction. “Okay, well, I’m going home. I’ll see you around.” I give him a drive-by smile, one that feels forced and is only turned on him for a beat as I look around myself, settling on the ground like it’s super interesting.

“What about your brothers?”

He snaps my attention back up to him with the question and I wave him off. “Nah. They’ll be sleeping off last night. Without Dad around, they don’t even pretend to stay in line.”

He assesses me a little too closely. His jaw pops, which suggests he doesn’t believe me or doesn’t like the answer. The edge of anger emanating from him makes me nervous.

“Okay, well—”

“We need to tell my family soon. Would be weird for them to find out from someone else.”

“I’m off tonight. We could … ”

“Okay. I’ll see what I can pull together and let you know.”

He’s all business now. Except for the leaf stuck in his hair. My cheeks tug up at the sight.

I expected to feel uncomfortable around Beau, uncomfortable with this deal. But I don’t. I practically showed him my nipples, and now we’re standing here chatting like normal grown-ups who can easily talk about sex and bodies.

“Great. Well … ” I rock on my feet, searching for a way to end this conversation, not sure where we go from here. “Thanks for the … practice.” The word comes out on an awkward laugh, and I shake my head at myself, dropping my gaze again.

Only to see that the swelling in his shorts is still there.

This is fake, fake, fake.

Suddenly, I feel a lot less grown-up. I feel giddy and uncertain, and like I need to get away so I can squeal into a pillow and overanalyze every single thing that has happened in my life for the past few days.

So, I dart to the barely there path I’ve created up this side of the bank because I need to put a little space between Beau and his big dick and me.

A low chuckle caresses the back of my neck.

“Bailey, we’re going to need a lot more practice if we’re going to pull this off.”

“Why’s that?” I call over my shoulder, refusing to turn back to him.

“Because if you act all jittery around me, no one is going to believe we’re madly in love. And I need them off my ass.”

I bark out a laugh. This entire thing is ridiculous. “Well, just don’t ask me if my pussy is wet in front of them.” I hit the top of the embankment and feel more in control now that I’ve got room to breathe. Hands on my hips, I stare down at him, huffing lightly, sucking in the fresh morning air. “Then we should be fine.”

That mischievous smile pops up on his face again, but it’s not all play—there’s an edge of danger to it too. “But it will be, right?”

“No. Because this is fake, remember?”

He stretches now, hands behind his head, grinning like the Cheshire Cat. “You faked those hard nipples real well, sugar tits.”

I have most certainly bitten off way more than I can chew.

And all I can think as I stare down at this beautiful, broken, confusing man is …

What the fuck have I done?

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