Call You Mine (The Baker’s Creek Billionaire Brothers #4) - Claudia Burgoa Page 0,83

control myself. I want this to last, for her to enjoy every second as I enjoy her.

Her melodic moans get louder as I lick her and nibble her clit.

“Faster,” she orders.

I want to continue with the pace, but I can’t wait any longer. As the seconds pass, I get harder and harder. It’s when I feel her inside walls squeezing my fingers that I lose control and thrust faster, lick faster, suck harder.

“Beac, now, please,” she moans my name, and it’s close to an angelical sound.

I stand up, push down my pants, and reach for the condom fast. I unwrap it, cover my length, and kneel between her legs.

I lean forward, pressing my cock against her entrance, and slowly enter her. Inch by inch. The warmth enveloping me fogs my mind, and I thrust myself deep inside her. I crush my mouth against hers as I roll my hips in and out. We find a rhythm. It’s nothing like what we’ve played before, but it’s so perfect.

There’s chaos, calm, fire, thunder. Everything inside us is in flames.

We burn.

We melt.

We fuse.

The sound of our hearts finally colliding against each other is the culmination of a sonata I never thought we’d compose.

“Gracie,” I groan her name as she bites my shoulder. “I fucking love you so much. I doubt I’ll ever let you go.”

“Promise you won’t do it again.” Her voice is so small, fragile.

“Never, baby. I—never again,” I repeat her words as I hold on to her.

My lifeline, my music.

My everything.

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Grace

The next morning, I wake up next to Beacon. Our arms, legs, and bodies are tangled with each other. I’m tucked safely next to him. My head rests on his chest. The thump of his heart is steady. Mine beats at the same rhythm. Who knew there could be a calm like the one we’re sharing?

Last night I felt like we traveled to a far-away galaxy. One where only we belong. I trace the lyrics on his chest. They go along with the notes of “Call You Mine.” It’s Too Far from Grace’s biggest hit. One of my favorite songs.

Beacon is a poet. His lyrics always hit right to the heart. I never looked into them closely, but as the song plays along in my head, I feel the heartbreak, his pain.

His fingers catch mine. “What are you doing?”

“This song…who is it about?”

He kisses the tips of my fingers. His focus is on the tattoo.

“Beac?”

“All my songs are about you, Grace,” he answers.

I close my eyes because it’s obvious that I wasn’t the only one in pain, and maybe he hurt for longer than I did. He never stopped loving me. Did I stop loving him?

What if that’s why I couldn’t be with anyone else?

I had my Beacon already.

“Forgive me,” he says. “I wasn’t trying to wound you but to make sure you were cared for.”

“There’s nothing to forgive. We were too young. It wasn’t an easy choice.” I kiss his chest, then his heart.

He pulls me toward him and says, “Why are you sad, gorgeous girl?”

“You hurt, and no one was there for you to make it better.”

“Being with you makes it better—always,” he assures me. “Call me a dreamer, but I always thought we’d find a way back to each other. Even if it happened in the afterlife.”

“You’d have waited that long for me?”

“An eternity,” he whispers, his lips caressing my jaw. “I think I’ve belonged to you since before I was born. Not sure if that’s even possible. If anything, I know that one day, you cut all the way down to my soul, grabbed my heart, and kept it.”

I lie on top of his chest. Our gazes are locked with each other’s. His hands cup my face. “I love you.”

“That song is wrong.”

He laughs, “Really?”

“I don’t think you ever lost me, or let me go,” I explain to him, as my lips dust kisses on his torso. “No, we just pretended for years that we weren’t together. I can see it now.”

“You do, huh?”

“I love you, Beac. More than I ever thought I could love anyone.”

I feel his length harden, growing, reaching toward my center. I slide my body down, position myself, and moan as he fills me all the way inside. Being with this man, sharing this moment, and loving him is the best feeling in the world.

“I saw you’re subleasing the house already,” Pierce says while we’re cleaning up the kitchen.

The chore board doesn’t care if these guys have a meeting or are wearing