Be Careful What You Wish For: A Zombie Apocalypse
Chapter 509: The Best Type of Feast

Chapter 509: The Best Type of Feast

There was never going to be a perfect moment, he knew that better than most. So, instead of waiting for it, Beau decided to steal it.

The house was quiet. Hattie had gone upstairs not long after that final toast—to gluttons for punishment. It was fitting, after all. Beau never claimed that he wasn’t. And if Hattie was going to turn him down, well... he was also really bad about giving up the things that he wanted.

He lingered in the kitchen long enough to clean up the dishes, to give himself time to think, to plan. He was going to give up his soul, and while he knew that it wouldn’t kill him, he still didn’t know what he would do if Hattie rejected him.

Could she reject him? It was her soul he held inside of him. Still, he wasn’t overly anxious to figure out if she was the type of girl to cut off her nose to spite her face.

Taking in a deep breath, Beau slowly let it out as he wiped his hands on the dish towel. He had two choices: man up and face possible rejection, or turn tail and run.

Fucking glutton for punishment. Even if she rejected him, she would at least see him as he was. And there was a certain sense of accomplishment in that.

For too long, he stood back and watched while the others kissed her, touched her, ruined her in ways that he could only imagine. But it really couldn’t be all that easy for her, juggling so many men. It was understandable that a few balls dropped once in a while.

Only he was tired of his balls always dropping.

No. He wanted her to see him as he was. He wanted to taste her like the others had, he wanted to prove to Hattie that he could be everything she ever dreamed of... that he could and would bend over backward if it meant keeping her happy and relaxed.

He had no problem feeding her, even if he was shit at it at first, he would learn to do better. He would be better.

Just to have the chance to worship her, to give Hattie everything that he ever was, both the human and the demon side of him.

And the best way to start was by offering up his soul to her on a silver platter.

------

Beau walked into her bedroom, his shoulders back as he scanned the room for the woman who had his heart. Finding her curled up in a chair by the window, her legs tucked beneath her, staring into the dark like it held answers only she could see, a soft sigh passed between his lips.

Her head turned toward the entrance like she felt his eyes on her. "Can’t sleep?" she asked softly, almost like she could read his mind.

Beau smiled and shook his head. "Didn’t even try," he smirked, entering even deeper into her bedroom.

She arched a brow in response, a smirk playing on her lips. "You always try. You’re a glutton for rest," she pointed out, still soft and teasing. She was so relaxed that Beau couldn’t help by follow her example.

His shoulders dropped, and it felt like he could finally take a deep breath. "I can only sleep when I’m not starving," he purred, his body turning from a stiff soldier expecting punishment to a stealthy panther spotting its prey.

She turned to face him fully, something flickering in her expression. Beau couldn’t help the sense of accomplishment as she finally looked at him... saw him. The moment he watched her pupils expand and her mouth open slightly, he knew she understood.

He walked toward her slowly, giving her time to change her mind. But she never so much as flinched away from him. "There’s never gonna be a right moment, sugar. I realize that now," he purred, his voice taking on his old accent. "So I’m makin’ one."

Her tongue darted out, licking her dry lips, and Beau couldn’t help but follow the movement.

"For what?" she whispered, cocking her head to the side. However, his only response was to grin even more.

She didn’t say no.

In less than a minute, Beau was in front of Hattie, dropping to his knees in front of her. Pressing a kiss to her bare thigh, he let his voice drop low until it was little more than a growl.

"For this."

------

He didn’t ask permission, he didn’t fumble for consent like he was afraid of what he wanted.

Beau moved with the kind of confidence that came from knowing exactly what he was doing—and exactly who he was doing it for.

His mouth was heat and velvet, dragging up my leg, over my hip, under the hem of the shirt I’d stolen from one of the guys a few nights ago. He didn’t rush, but then again, gluttons never did. They savored every bit of their meal, whatever it was.

And right now?

It was like I was his favorite meal.

"You gonna let me?" he asked, breath warm against my pussy, his mouth mere inches away from my core.

I stared down at him, my fingers sliding into his hair. "What do you think?" I asked with a chuckle. Honestly, I didn’t think that Beau even saw me like that.

It was always like he was one of the Lost Boys, hanging at the back of the group, following because it was easier than going his own way.

I guess I got it wrong.

Letting out a soft hum, I nodded my head.

"I think I’m about to sin harder than I ever have," he muttered, voice wrecked with need. He pulled the shirt up and over my head, eyes dark and starving as he took me in.

"Look at you," he whispered, hands skimming up my ribs, over my breasts. "Like you were made for hunger."

"Then I suggest you stop talking and enjoy your feast," I said, dragging him up to kiss me.

"I plan to," he assured me just before he crashed into me like he’d been dying for this. Tongue slick, lips greedy, teeth nipping just hard enough to make me gasp. And when he pulled back, eyes glowing faintly orange, he smiled down at me. "I’m gonna make you forget your own name."

"Good," I said, breathless. "I’m sick of answering to it."

He laid me back on the bed with so much care it hurt. Like I was something holy. And then he tore into me.

His mouth moved down my chest, his tongue circling one nipple while his hand teased the other. Every brush was electric, every kiss deliberate. I couldn’t help but close my eyes and arch into his touch. He was everywhere, and I loved it.

He murmured things into my skin—praises, confessions, filthy poetry no one would ever hear but me.

And when he reached between my thighs again and tasted me, he moaned like a man being saved.

"Oh fuck—Hattie, sugar—" he groaned between licks, his fingers digging into my hips like he would never let me go.

He didn’t stop. Didn’t tease. He feasted.

"Mine," he murmured against my clit. "Every drop of you is mine."

When I came, I shattered.

And even then, he kept going.

Not once did he give me a second to breathe, and before I knew it, he slid up my body, kissed the hell out of me until I could taste myself on his tongue.

Pressing me into the mattress, he ground his hips against mine. "I’ve waited so long," he whispered. "And now I’m gonna ruin you for anyone else."

I reached between us, wrapping my hand around him. He hissed, shuddered, buried his face in my neck.

"You already did."

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