my bound wrists, pinning them to the bed as he began thrusting harder.

Tiny pricks of pain got lost in overwhelming heaps of pleasure. He was so big, and he filled me so fully. I gasped his name, and he looked down at me, his hair hanging over his sweaty forehead.

"Is this how you wanted to be fucked, Collins?" Beau grunted before driving even deeper.

This time, I didn't just gasp; a strangled cry escaped my throat as something began to blossom inside me. Oh, God. It had to be too soon, though. Right? It felt so good, though. The rawness. The need to consume everything Beau had to give me.

And he was giving me anything.

"Collins," he groaned, slowing to a sensual pace that pulled me back from my orgasm. "Talk to me."

"Yes, this is how I wanted to be fucked," I managed.

Imagine that, almost ten words rolled off my tongue all while I could barely string one coherent thought together in my head.

Meanwhile, Beau kissed me abruptly in response. Roughly. A moan vibrated between our lips as he kicked up the tempo again.

"Good," he breathed against my lips. "I need to hear that. I need to hear what you're thinking when I'm inside you."

__

"You're not supposed to watch your date get ready for your date. It's just... not right."

Beau sighed and leaned back on my bed with a crooked grin. "But I live with my date, and I like watching her get ready."

His eyes skimmed up my body in a look so obvious it made my cheeks grow hot. I swallowed a groan and looked back at my closet, overflowing to the brim. I loved clothes, and even though I didn't have enough money to justify having such a stuffed closet, buying the occasional vintage piece was my guilty pleasure. But I worried none of it would be suitable for going on a date with Beau.

"If you're going to sit in here, can you at least tell me what to wear?" I complained with a sigh.

"Well, I'm wearing this," Beau replied, and I turned around to see him pointing at his plain white tee and jeans. His shirt rode up a tiny bit, giving me a peak of how his briefs inched up above the waistband of his pants and the fabric stretched across his chest. Ugh, it wasn't fair how effortlessly attractive he was.

"If you keep checking me out, we'll never make it out of here," Beau muttered, his voice suddenly several pitches lower. "And we have to get going soon."

Right. A date. An outfit. Sex with Beau afterward because he said he wanted to make a point that we were roommates who dated, andthen we could have sex. So tonight—well, actually, it was still afternoon because Beau was eager—a date. And then sex.

Not that I'd ever want to skip the date. After all, I was the one to bring it up a second time. Part of that was because Beau still seemed to harbor some kind of disbelief that I really wanted him. And the other part was because I was desperate to hold onto this suspended moment for as long as possible.

I couldn't help but feel like it was only a matter of time before everything came crashing down around me again, and I didn't want to miss going on a date—another one—with Beau Martin.

A breathy, nervous laugh flitted through my lips. "Sorry."

Beau sat up straighter.

"Don't apologize. Just, you know, go easy with the hot stuff there, sweetheart. I'm easily burned." He gave a pointed look at the bulge in his pants as if it weren't already clear what he meant. "Wear something comfortable, Collins," he added with a reassuring smile, reminding me what we were doing here. "Something you feel good in."

Of course, he would say that. Totally not helpful, but definitely sweet.

Seeing my expression, Beau approached my closet to stand beside me, and I couldn't help but pout even though I knew it was ridiculous. Beau brought that side out of me, though. The playful one. The one that was a little childish, and it felt oddly good.

Folding my arms over my chest, I glanced over at Beau. Fluttered my lashes once or twice. "Last time you took me on a date, you gave me options."

Beau tossed his head back and laughed before rolling up pretend sleeves and hip-checking me out of the way.

"I was trying to be chill like you wanted. But if you want options, I'll give you options, baby girl. Sit on the bed and let your man work."

My laughter was so deep that it mixed with the butterflies in my stomach. Walking to the bed, I flopped onto it, switching positions with Beau as he went through my closet. It wasn't more than a minute or two before he returned with his arms full of hangers and outfits, and soon, clothes covered my bed.

"Take your pick," he said with a sweeping arm before walking away to skirt the edges of my room, looking out the window while I surveyed my choices: a few casual dresses, a romper, and a pair of black pants with one of my strappy tops. And a couple of sweaters thrown on top. Excellent options and I wasn't the least bit surprised. Though I was surprised about how Beau had immediately excused himself from the moment, like he was nervous I wouldn't like his ideas.

My adorable man.

It didn't take me long to settle on the romper—black, basic, and easy to match with an oversized cardigan. After making my selection, I pushed a protesting Beau out of the room.

"You can pick me up in ten minutes," I said with an almost cheeky smile. "You know, like this is a real date."

"This is a real fucking date," Beau said with a scowl before stalking off, muttering beneath his breath.

Ten minutes later, on the dot, the doorbell rang. Of course. I hadn't meant he needed to go outside, but then again, this was Beau. Slipping on a pair of white sneakers, I grabbed my purse, swung it onto my shoulder, and skipped to the front door.

There he was, leaning. His arm rested above his head on the door frame, and his grin invaded my heart. As handsome as ever, with eyes that gave me a slow, heated appraisal.

"I'm here to pick up my date," he said. "You know, because it's real."

With a giggle, I walked through the doorway and straight into his arms, letting him give a sweeping kiss before tugging me off the porch.

"You're especially adorable tonight," he murmured as we walked to his car. My stomach tied up in knots. "Pretty, too."

Before I could respond to that little bit of heart-thumping flattery, Beau kept talking.

"It's about a ten-minute drive, so not far," he said, peeking over at me. "But we could also walk if you'd rather."

Something about how he was looking at me told me he knew—he knew that I would usually rather walk. Which was amazing because I hadn't ever talked to him about that. About how cars made all my nerve endings feel short-wired.

But I'd learned that being in the car with Beau made it seem like my faulty connections were suddenly properly secured. And besides, something told me that by the end of the night, I'd be too impatient to get home to walk. A ten-minute drive equated to at least a twenty-minute walk, right? Likely more.

"It's okay, Beau," I encouraged him. "We can drive."

After a nod, Beau opened the passenger side door on his Range Rover and gestured for me to get in.

He seemed to be taking my request for him not to go over-the-top to heart. And it made me all the more curious about where he planned to take me.

****

An airport.

Beau had taken me to a private airport, and when I'd stared wordlessly at him, he grabbed my hand to lead me onto the tarmac after flashing a sheepish grin. Too taken aback to even protest, I'd ended up on a small jet, surrounded by a friendly flight crew who Beau had known by name and an interior luxurious enough to make me feel ridiculously out of place.

Crystal glasses. Champagne. Plushy seats with throw pillows and silky blankets. Stacks of magazines with things in them that I couldn't afford.

"This is too much," I whispered, looking at Beau. He'd teased about doing things like this, spoiling me to this extent, but I never thought....I never really thought it would happen.

He didn't exactly fit into this lifestyle either, not really. The man lived in sweatpants, and he had to be the least stuffy person I'd ever met. Although he seemed like he belonged just because of how he carried himself. Beau, so at ease, so relaxed. He smiled and squeezed my leg. A kiss on the cheek and a murmur in my ear.

"For you? Never."

We'd been in the air for about an hour when a thought popped into my head.

"We're not going to Italy, are we? Because I definitely didn't pack enough, then."

He laughed, his eyes twinkling as he laced our fingers together. The wispy clouds passed by behind him in the small porthole windows.

"No, sweetheart. We aren't going to Italy tonight. Actually, we're about to land, I think."

As if on cue, the pilot came over the intercom to announce the start of our descent. After making sure my seat belt was fastened, I leaned over Beau to try to look out the window, curious. But we were still too high; all I saw were clouds and sky.

"Are you going to tell me where we're going now?"

I'd been trying to get it out of him since I saw the airport. And I'd been failing to get it out of him since I saw the airport.

"We're just going to the beach, Collins," he said with a casual shrug. "See? Low-key. Not over-the-top at all."

"Yeah." I snorted. "Flying to the beach isn't over-the-top at all."

Beau's lips pressed together in suppressed laughter, making me all the more suspicious.

"Is this beach special? Or did you just want to show off your private jet?"

As disgruntled as I was by how excessive this date was, a part of me was admittedly...tickled. With the whimsy of it. With the living dream. Who would have ever thought this would be my life?

"It's Momma Martin's private jet, baby girl. And to be honest, I haven't been to this beach. But they have this huge boulder along the shore called the 'Kissing Rock', so I thought it fitting. Since we'll probably be, you know, kissing."

"Probably?" I cocked a brow.

"Definitely," Beau amended. "This date definitely involves kissing."

There were tingles in my extremities, and Beau seemed to know it. He grinned, and his eyes wandered my face with a knowing expression that made me want to scream for all sorts of good reasons.

"We're landing in Oregon," he said finally with a laugh. "On the other side of the California border."

"Oregon?" I repeated, still a little stunned. I'd been a little stunned for about an hour.

Beau leaned toward me, and his voice softened. "You said once that you couldn't remember the last time you'd made it to the state line. So we're going to the state line, Collins. Over it, actually."

My throat tightened, clogging with emotion. He was right; I had said that, and it was true. Being at OSU had felt like an escape enough after how long I'd been swallowed into my life in Fresno and the things—the people—who kept me there.

And here Beau was, flying me out of all of that.

My eyes started to water, and Beau immediately cupped my face, shaking his head.

"No," he whispered. "No tears tonight."

I sniffed, nodding rapidly because I didn't have the words to express any part of how I was feeling right now. No tears. No tears. No tears. Beau hadn't taken me on a date just for me to cry the whole time.

But damn, he was making it hard.

The tightness in my throat wouldn't go away, not when we landed or when we walked onto the beach just before sunset. Huge boulders jutted into the sparkling sky, waves rocking against them in gentle swells. Long grasses swayed, almost in time with the ocean, before giving way to cool sand. There was a ruggedness to this part of the coast that was gorgeous and ironically peaceful.

After Beau kicked off his shoes and rolled up his pants, he held his hand out for me to take. He'd slung a backpack over his shoulder and tucked a small blanket beneath his arm before hopping off the jet earlier, and when we reached a spot of sand which he demeaned perfect, Beau dropped the backpack into the sand to begin pulling out the contents.

Sandwiches, fruit, cheese, wine—all the makings of a picnic, but in a simple sort of way. It was clear he'd thrown it all together. The sandwiches weren't cut in perfect squares, and the fruit wasn't chopped into asymmetrical slices. It was just...normal.

The wind whipped around us on the sparsely populated beach, and as we finished our sandwiches, I couldn't help but notice how Beau had completely avoided the opportunity for there to be any sort of bill. Any chance for me to pay for anything. He'd skirted right around that.

And he couldn't stop smiling about it.

To be honest, though, neither could I.

"Do you want to paint?" Beau asked as he poured Prosecco into a plastic cup for me to take.

Once again, I found it hard to breathe. "Paint?"

"Yeah." He nodded toward the backpack. "I packed a small canvas and just a couple color choices. I have no idea if they're any good, but I thought maybe...." A lift of one shoulder.

Beau could have packed the cheapest paint, the worst colors, and the crappiest canvas, and I wouldn't give a damn. But of course, he hadn't done any of those things, and within a few minutes, I was sipping wine while gently brushing quality orange and red hues onto a canvas, trying to capture the scene in front of me even though I was more attuned to what was going on right beside me.

"Do you want to try?" I asked, holding out my brush for him to take.

Beau shook his head, leaning back onto his elbows as he looked up at me with a sly grin. He took a sip of his drink, watching me over the rim of the cup. "I've learned that when we try to teach each other things, it gets a little carried away," he said eventually.

I laughed, returning to my painting while my cheeks warmed with the memories. "I don't think snowboarding got carried away."

The clay, on the other hand...

Beau made a choked sound that indicated he disagreed. "It was getting carried away in my head."

"Oh?" I bit down on my lip, holding myself back from asking for details.

"Oh, yeah," Beau emphasized. "Can you blame me? I'd spent the morning before that between your legs, and then I had to retrain my brain and my dick back into the friend mentality. All while your ass kept coming into direct contact with the latter."

I sucked in a breath. Well, when he put it like that...

"No," I said breathily, focusing on my brushstrokes. "I can't blame you. But I don't see how that could happen with painting."

When Beau was silent, I peeked over my shoulder to find him watching me, eyes simmering. "It could," he said, his voice carrying on the wind, caressing my skin. "Maybe I'll prove it to you sometime. But not here. Sand and sex don't mix."

I couldn't argue with him there. Even though I wanted to, just for my own curiosity. Maybe I'll prove it to you. I needed to know what that meant.

"I feel bad that you're just sitting there, though," I said, going back to dip my brush in the paint again. Beau had packed the palette that he'd gotten me for Christmas, and it was the first time I'd used it, making everything about this moment feel right.

"I'm not just sitting here," Beau protested. "I'm watching my pretty girl paint."

If someone, anyone, touched me right now, my skin would likely burn a hole straight through them. That was how hot I felt. Even though the air was cool, the ocean breeze sticking to my skin like a cold sweat.

"Beau—"

"And I'm going to read."

"Read?"

I looked back at him again, only to find The Princess Bride in his hand.

"I wanted to see about this page," he said, flicking it open to the spot I'd dog-eared that night. "The one we're on."

And without further ado, Beau started reading aloud from the book. It was the middle of the story, but that was kind of perfect, wasn't it? Beau and I weren't on our first date. It wasn't the first night we'd met. Tonight...it wasn't the beginning of us. We were somewhere in the pages, in the best part of it all. Where all the little details started to come together, and the characters began to fall. That was where we were.

With the sound of the ocean as a backdrop, with the sand in my toes and the Processo bubbles against my lips and Beau's raspy voice making my tiny hairs stand on end...with all of that happening around me, it wasn't tough to paint the perfect picture.

It was the perfect picture for the perfect page.

The sun was nearly gone when Beau finally made good on his promise to kiss me in front of the Kissing Rock. Actually, he dragged me down toward the water, splashing along the in the shallows until we came to the huge boulder, and then he pinned me to the Kissing Rock so he could crash his lips against mine.

When we finally came up for air, dusk had settled, and Beau's fingers tangled in my hair.

"How does it feel on the other side of the state line?" he asked.

"It feels really, really good," I whispered. "But mostly because you're here, too. If Beau Martin isn't in California, then I don't want to be either."

Beau grinned against my lips in reply.

****

"I can't believe you," I said for the millionth time when the plane reached cruising altitude on the way home. "Well, I can. I can believe it because it's you. But also..." I trailed off, shaking my head.

Beau shrugged—also for the millionth time. "It's not a big deal."

"Not a big deal?" I gestured to the plane around us. "This trip probably cost more than my college tuition in gas money."

Beau's response was noncommittal. He skirted around that little cost detail, saying, "We rarely use this thing, but tonight, the occasion called for it. I wasn't about to make you sit in the car for hours. I know how you feel about cars."

So he did know.

"You fooled me," I said, mumbling as I slid down into my seat. My warm, leather seat with cushy armrests. "I really thought we were just grabbing dinner somewhere local and coming home."

"It's kind of what I do best. Fooling you," Beau said with a wink before patting his lap. "Now get over here, will ya?"

I glanced around, feeling confident of what would happen if I did what Beau was asking.

"No one is paying attention," he added, lowering his voice. "They're busy."

He was probably right about that. There was a plane to run, after all. But still, I hadn't had quite enough alcohol tonight to dull my self-awareness.

Beau's puppy dog eyes were convincing, though, and I slid onto his lap, watching as contentment spread over his face as soon as his arms wrapped around me.