to fuck his face, by all means, I'd give him what he wanted.

His tongue speared inside me, and I used that opportunity and the need for friction to rock my hips up. Pushed further into my pussy, he groaned. And the vibrations from that made me arch my back and swear loud enough that it bounced off the walls of the hotel room.

When I momentarily stilled, Beau's fingertips dug into my hips, urging them to keep going. So I did, working in tandem with his mouth to satisfy the ridiculous amount of desire pulsing within me. He got me to tilt at just the right angle that something on that handsome face of his brushed against my clit repeatedly, and the combination of it all was quickly making me spiral.

With a desperation I barely recognized in myself, I grabbed Beau's hair. But instead of tugging on it, I used it to keep him there. Keep him positioned in just the perfect place while I rocked up over and over.

God, I wasn't sure how long we kept going like that. I wasn't in control of what I was doing anymore; I was chasing a high that I knew he could give me, and I didn't think I'd be able to stop until he did.

There were so many moments when I nearly let go. I was so close. So incredibly close.

And then I cried out his name as all my walls came tumbling down. A burst of pleasure so intense that I saw stars ripped through me, leaving me panting and motionless in the bed.

Beau lifted his head, pushing himself up on one elbow. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand before flashing a satisfied grin, and I realized just how much of a mess I was right now. My inner thighs were coated in wet arousal, and my tits were still covered in Beau's cum. The room smelled distinctly like sex, and we hadn't even gotten to that yet.

"You good?" Beau asked, his voice low.

I nodded, trying to catch a breath. "I'm good. You?"

"Good is an understatement." He licked his lips. "I want to live between your legs, baby girl."

—

"Where do you want me?"

By the mischievous glint in his eyes, Beau seemed to realize that his question was suggestive. Regardless of if he did it on purpose, though, it sent tingles down my spine.

Where did I want you, Beau? There were so many ways to answer that. Generally speaking...but also right now. I didn't think this through very well, how I was going to maneuver us in order to teach Beau how to use the pottery wheel. No matter how we sat, we would have to be close. Very close.

And while I didn't have a problem with that, I was also aware that when I was that close to Beau, sometimes I'd forget to talk. And talking was sort of essential for teaching someone how to do something.

Swallowing, I pointed to the opposite side of the pottery wheel from where I was sitting. I'd cleared a corner of my bedroom for my art supplies, and the wheel sat snugly by the window. But there wasn't a ton of space for us to sit, too. Outside the sun was setting, and it cast a golden glow over my room.

"There should be good. Just grab the chair from my desk."

With a nod, Beau obeyed, situating himself across from me. The setting sun streaming through the windows created a fuzzy halo around his head, and reaffirming my belief that Beau was a little bit out of this world. The wheel itself wasn't very large, meaning that our knees were knocking, and when he bent his head over the hunk of clay sitting between us, I realized how easily I could bonk my own against his if we weren't careful.

"Okay, I'm ready," he said, looking up with a smile. "Let's make shit."

I laughed and then realized how much I'd been doing that lately. Even though life at OSU wasn't perfect, and I still had my past to contend with, I was happy here. Fresno and Directions might have been my home, but it had been draining bits of me away. And with the distance, I was gaining little bits of myself back.

"It's not going to be shit," I pointed out.

"It's a saying, Collins," Beau said dryly, though his eyes were laughing.

"Still, you have to manifest your art before you create it, and I don't want you to be manifesting shit."

"Manifest my art?"

"Yeah, like picture it. Visualize what you want to create."

He closed his eyes and gave a perfunctory nod. "Okay, I'm visualizing the bomb ass mug I'm gonna make for my hot cocoa."

There was no one else like Beau Martin. He was one of a kind.

"Now what?" Beau peeked one eye open.

I fought a grin. "Now you're going to visualize the process."

"The process?"

"Yeah, the process. How your hands will...move. Create."

It was always my favorite part, honestly. Dreaming up a project was nearly as satisfying as making it. Creating often involved some level of frustration when things inevitably didn't go as planned. But in my brain, artistic mistakes didn't exist.

Sighing, Beau gave up and opened his eyes. "You gotta teach me how to do that first, baby girl. I'm more of a gross motor kind of guy than a fine motor dude."

"I don't know," I muttered, looking down to poke at the clay a little. "I think your fine motor skills are just...fine."

"Oh, yeah?" Beau reclined, hooking an elbow on the back of his chair as he watched me center the clay on the wheel. I'd already wedged it before having him join me in my room, making sure there wouldn't be any air bubbles. "Just fine, Collins?"

I looked up at him beneath my lashes, trying to push down the burst of heat inside me. "Well, let's see what you got."

Beau spread his arms out before him. "Ladies first."

Tapping my foot on the pedal to get the wheel moving, I gave all attention to the task in front of me, trying to ignore how I could feel Beau's eyes on me.

"Well, first, you need to center the clay." I dunked my fingers in the water bowl I'd set out. "There needs to be some moisture coating it, too."

"Moisture's important." Beau cleared his voice, and when he spoke again, it had dropped. "How wet, Collins?"

"I don't know," I squeaked out. "You just have to sort of dip your fingers in and then coat the clay until it's slick."

I absolutely refused to look at Beau, even though part of me wanted to. He made a noise in his throat to signify his approval, and God, it did something to me.

"Luckily, I have a pretty good idea of what slick feels like," he muttered.

Focus on the clay. Focus. On. The. Clay.

"You have to sort of tuck your elbows in, okay?" I continued, persistent on getting through this lesson.

"Tuck elbows in. Got it."

"With your left hand, you'll press into the clay and get it to rise like this." I demonstrated, still keeping my head down while I molded the clay with my hand, pulling it into a taller column. "It's called coning up."

Putting pressure on the clay, I worked it down again as it spun.

"Let me guess," Beau said, "that's called coning down."

I cleared my throat. "That would be correct."

Finally giving in, I glanced up. He was still slung back against his chair casually, but his eyes were as bright and powerful as the energy of the sun behind him. And they were focused entirely on me. My heart picked up its pace.

"Why don't you try? "I offered.

Beau bent forward with slow movements, sticking his fingers in the water dish before wrapping his hands around the clay where mine had just left. He wasn't using enough pressure to make a difference, though, so I circled my left hand around his, showing him how he needed to press in firmly.

My wet hands slipped over his, our fingers slick as they brushed against each other. I tried to keep my touches brisk and business-like, but pottery didn't work like that. It had to be felt. It had to be molded and sculpted and fused.

"Harder, Beau."

Out of the corner of my eye, I watched Beau's eyes flick up to my face while I felt him add pressure to the clay.

"This hard enough, Collins?"

My cheeks burns as I licked my dry lips. "Yeah."

"Good."

It was one word, but I felt it everywhere. His gaze fell back down, allowing me to breathe a bit again.

This was my fault. I should have known better than to say this was okay. Snowboarding was one thing. There were layers of clothes involved in snowboarding. It had been cold and wet—the uncomfortable kind—and tiring. But this? Bare skin, closeness, and a hot bedroom?

"Okay, now we need to open it up," I said.

Even to my ears, my voice sounded threadbare, as if I were barely holding on. As if I knew I was in danger of falling.

"Open it up?"

"Yeah." I nodded, pulling away to let him do it. "Dunk your fingers in the top and slide them down to the base to create an opening."

Beau was silent for a beat as he watched the clay spin in his hands. The whirring of the wheel only served to stir up the tension until it was nearly unbearable. But then Beau spoke in a soft hush.

"How many fingers?"

"I—"

My voice caught in my throat.

When I didn't respond, Beau's head lifted until he stared me straight in the eye. His melty dark brown gaze poured into mine as he slid his pointer finger into the middle of the clay. "One?"

I shook my head. No, he was going to need more than one.

Without breaking eye contact, he added another finger, driving it slowly into the wet opening in the clay. When it was knuckle deep, he rasped, "Two?"

I shrugged and leaned forward without thinking, my mouth opening and closing. Sure, two fingers could work. But...

Shifting in my seat, I wished that I could squeeze my legs together and relieve some of the embarrassing ache growing between them, caused by the stirring of memories. But the wheel didn't allow for that. Beau seemed to notice my little squirm, and a grin slowly slid into place on his handsome face.

"I know you can count, baby girl," he said in a gravelly voice I recognized from the thousands of times I'd replayed it in my head. "Tell me."

Somehow I managed a response. "Try three."

I'd expected his grin to morph into a smirk, but it surprisingly faded. Intensity filled his expression, and his jaw twitched as a third finger worked its way into the clay.

"How's this?" he asked.

Based on how sweat had gathered between my shoulder blades, I knew my body thought it was pretty damn good, but I wasn't about to say that. My heart thumped loudly in my chest as I racked my brain for a way to keep it from breaking tonight.

"Beau."

His name on my lips was barely a whimper, but Beau responded by swearing softly beneath his breath.

Leaning forward, he reached out to touch me. But it was the slightest of moves, and that was when I realized how close we were. How close I had moved toward him.

His fingers brushed the column of my throat thoughtfully. The wet clay was a cold caress, putting a damper on the fever he'd whipped up inside me. Beau's gaze dropped to my mouth, watching as I bit down on my lip to keep myself from saying something that would ruin this. That would ruin everything.

A groan disrupted the silence. "Collins."

Beau punctuated my name by wrapping his fingers firmly around my throat. A slight, desperate squeeze and an even slighter pull, and my lips were just a breath away from his. A hot, heavy breath. Thick but barely there. We exchanged air for a long moment before either of us dared to speak.

"I really want to kiss you," he said, inching closer.

My voice was barely audible. Barely believable. "Like mega-super-definitely want to kiss me?"

Beau shook his head, punching his next words out like a truth he'd been holding in far too long. "It's so much fucking more than that now."

Lips crashed against mine, breaking through the months of built-up tension, and I groaned loudly. Holy hell, he could kiss. I'd forgotten just how good he could kiss.

Beau made an appreciative noise at my overly eager response, and I realized we'd breached the walls we'd created. There was no going back. There was no stopping the flood of heat that flowed in the current of our kiss. From the minute that Beau aggressively urged my lips to part to create an open-mouthed connection between us, I knew that we were both so fucking screwed.

I strained to reach him, all of him, as I returned the rough kiss. It wasn't enough, though. I'd spend so long imagining how he would feel against me, and I needed more. I needed all of it. My entire body shook, and a whimper escaped me.

Beau moaned, filling my mouth, his tongue caressing mine. And I knew he felt the same.

His lips slid off mine with a gasping breath. "Shit, would you just get over here already."

Breaking away from his mouth, I stood on wobbly legs. Breathing heavily, Beau slid his chair back until it hit my desk behind him. He watched with a blazing gaze as I walked around the pottery wheel toward him.

"Off," he said, pointing at my jeans with his clay-covered hands. "If you don't want those getting dirty, take them off."

Flicking open the button and pulling down the zipper, I shimmied out of my pants without a second thought. I didn't really care if they got dirty. But I did care if they were a barrier between Beau's hands and...me. So in my thong and a plain white tee, an old one I liked to wear while painting, I stepped in Beau's direction.

He was waiting, all too eager, and before I could make it the rest of the way to him, he reached out to seize me by the hips and propped me up on his lap.

"This is where you fucking belong, Collins," he grunted before pulling me back down for another searing kiss. One of his hands curved back around my neck to my jaw, holding me there while he deepened the kiss, parting my lips so he could slip his tongue into my mouth again. Heat blossomed, even more intense than before, taking up every tiny part of me. He was taking up every tiny part of me.

Without thinking of the consequences, of the backlash my heart would feel, I circled my arms around his neck and continued to kiss him back enthusiastically. Ignoring how my hands were just as dirty as his, I snuck them into the hairs at the nape of his neck and tugged.

"Fuck," he grumbled into my mouth before clapping his hands on my ass and using his grip to pull me in closer. Close enough that I could feel how ridiculously hard and ready he was. His hand slipped its way back up to my hips, and I felt the slight smearing of clay, the little bit of moisture dribbling across my skin. It tickled, but in an arousing, satisfying way. Like a wet paintbrush on a canvas.

Beau was painting me. And there was something about it. Something about how every touch left a trace, a mark. Because that was how it felt to be with Beau.

And it was probably why I had never been fully able to move on. That night at the Cardairel Hotel, Beau had touched me everywhere. He'd left his mark everywhere. And now, there were hardly any parts of me that I didn't share with him.

"Beau, please," I gasped, rocking my hips against his needily. I couldn't help it; I was so desperate to feel the things that I had felt that night. It had been almost a year, and that was too goddamn long.

"What do you want, sweetheart?" Beau pulled back, brushing his lips against mine tenderly. "I'll give you anything."

That paintbrush of his, those fingertips, brushed against my heart this time.

"Your shirt." I fisted the hem of his black tee. "Off."

Beau laughed at that. "I was right, wasn't I? You do like me topless."

"I do," I admitted. I wasn't in the mood to deny it right now, not while I was hastily peeling Beau's shirt over his head. He gripped my sides while I leaned back to get a good look at him. The dying sun rippled over his muscles, making my mouth water. Dragging my dirty, clay-covered hands over his chest, I left streaks across his skin. I wanted to write my name there with my fingertips, even if it wasn't permanent. Even if it all washed away.

"Your side looks a lot better," I said, glancing at where very faint bruises still colored his skin from his run-in with the tree.

"Yeah, well.... " His lips danced along my cheekbones. "I had a pretty good nurse who made sure I didn't get an infection and die and all."

Taking a full breath was nearly impossible, but I tried. "How nice of her."

"Yeah, she's pretty nice." His eyes roamed my face. "Nice to look at. Nice to touch." He squeezed my ass again before running his hand up my back, skimming his fingertips beneath my shirt. I didn't even care that the sweat that had gathered earlier trickled down now. "Nice to kiss."

Catching his drift, I closed the space between us once more, trailing my hands up to wrap them around his neck as we pressed together. Beau tipped his head back, and I kissed him softly. Just a brush of lips against lips.

Beau's husky voice tickled my skin, unsatisfied. "I know what you can do with that mouth, so don't tease me. I've waited too long. Kiss me like you fucking mean it, Collins."

That rasp, that gravel in his tone combined with the reminder of everything that we'd done, made my toes curl. It made desire unfold between my legs. It grew like a wildfire, licking up my limbs until it consumed all of me. Without thinking of anything but how badly I wanted the guy beneath me, I smashed my lips against Beau's, kissing him hard, unyielding. Immediately, he parted his lips and kissed me back. And then I was lost.

The intensity of this kiss was like nothing we had shared in the past. This kiss was new. This kiss had a feeling I couldn't place. A kiss filled to the brim with longing that went far beyond how I wanted to rip his clothes off. It went far beyond the ache between my legs. It did something to that pounding thing in my chest, though.

Beau's hand cupped my face with a roughness that made me moan and lean everything I had into him. His tongue tangled with mine, pulling me down with him into a place I knew I'd never crawl back out of. I fisted my fingers into his hair and tugged, tilting his head back further, kissing him deeper.

In response, Beau's fingers dug into my skin and his hips lifted against mine in a sharp thrust.

"It drives me wild when you tug on my hair like that," he rasped against my lips.

"I know," I whispered, which caused Beau to groan and abruptly stand up, keeping me in his arms in a display of strength that frankly shocked me.

"I need to touch you."

I found his ear, breathing against it. "You are."

"No, baby girl. I need to touch you."

That was the only explanation he gave as he walked us out of my room and down the hallway. The bathroom door was cracked open, and he kicked at it so we could fit through the opening. And it wasn't until he sat me on the cold countertop near the sink and flicked it on that I understood.