Page 24 of Beacon

“If you keep at it anymore, I’m going to literally pass out.”

That makes him let out a soft huff of amusement. He lowers me carefully to the bed, unhooking my legs from his shoulders before he collapses beside me.

I’m still desperately trying to catch my breath, and my entire body is throbbing with the lingering pleasure and exhaustion. But I reach out and fumble with my hand in his direction until it lands on his chest. I give him a pat. Then slide down to rub his flat belly. “You did good.”

He makes more of those hoarse huffs. Not his real laugh but at least some sign of amusement. “Glad you enjoyed.”

I’m still rubbing his abdomen as I blink up at the ceiling, and my hand accidentally slips lower and discovers he’s hard again.

“Oh, I didn’t realize that got you going.”

“No big deal. Think it was all that screaming in ecstasy you were doing.”

I gasp. “I did not scream!”

“Sure you didn’t.”

Still frowning with mild indignation, I start squeezing and pumping his thick cock.

He lets out a long, thick moan, and the bed shifts like he’s repositioning. Maybe arching up his back.

“I think my volume was entirely appropriate for the situation,” I tell him, intensifying the speed and force of my pumping.

“Screaming—” He breaks off to moan again. It’s the most carnal, sensual sound. He’s starting to rock his hips into my hand. “Screaming was appropriate for the… Oh fucking hell, Anna! …appropriate for the situation.”

I’m about to respond, but his cock starts to shudder under my hand, and his body jerks shamelessly through his climax. He doesn’t have much come this time. He’s panting as his body relaxes.

“There,” I say, giving his cock a few last squeezes. “That’s better.”

“Sure as hell is.”

We lie together for a long time, relaxing and trying to catch our breath. My arm is still slung over toward him, my hand resting limply against his groin since I never pulled it back.

When it feels like I’ve recovered, I turn my head in his direction. There are no lights on in the room, but the sun is starting to rise, so there’s some gray light coming in through the cracks around the curtains. I can see he’s not asleep like I suspected. His eyes are open and staring up at the ceiling like I was earlier.

“I was in your room yesterday to wash your sheets.” I speak the words without thinking.

He grunts. “Yeah. Thanks for doing that.”

“No problem. But I noticed the books on your nightstand.”

“So? I’ve been here for months. Not a lot to do but read in the afternoons.”

“I know. But I didn’t expect you to read Jane Austen.”

“Oh. I’ve just been reading through what’s here. Those books were next on the shelf.”

“She’s my favorite.”

“I know. I remember.”

His words are soft and uninflected, but they provoke a weird pressure of nostalgia in my chest anyway. I have to swallow a couple of times before I continue. “What do you think so far? Of Jane Austen, I mean.”

“They’re okay. A little slow but not too bad. Interesting how marriage is the most important thing in the stories.”

“Well, at the time she was writing, marriage probablywasone of the most important decisions in a woman’s life. It literally determined whether she would have a decent future or not.”

“Yeah. I get that. Makes sense. That younger girl in that one book—what a fucking fool.”

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