Beckett is leaning against the wall opposite the door, staring right at me. I know he can’t see inside, but I still feel him looking at me.
He’s in a stark white t-shirt, his hands down in the front pockets of his jeans, and his brown, canvas jacket spreads over his shoulders, hanging loosely down his arms. He makes casual look impeccable.
The cut of his jaw and the jut of his angular cheekbones remind me of something off a magazine cover, and my insecurity about my own
uniqueness
reminds me of how unequal my footing is with him.
I’m once again shocked by the sight of him. The sheer volume of person that he is. I can feel him even through the door.
Damn it.
He has invisible tentacles that are already working and doing wonderful and wicked things to my body, spanning the distance and barriers between us.
“What
are you doing
?” Bruce shoves the coffee pot back into the maker, and the clank jerks my head back toward the kitchen.
“Nothing.” I hiss trying to keep my voice down.
“
Let him in
. He’s been out there since
4:30
.”
Bruce is fully dressed and ready to leave for Windfield. His years in the Army and his obsessive need to be at work an hour before First Shift have him rising obscenely early. He wrestles his jacket up over his shoulders, then screws the cap on his travel mug.
He shrugs at me with an unexpected level of exasperation.
“He was coming down the damn hall when I got the paper this morning in my boxers.
Let him in.
You need someone like him. Trust me, I know
men.
” His voice is a mixture of annoyance and compassion. “I wish I knew
him
.” He breaks into his signature snorting laugh before he strides past me and grabs for the door knob.
Why is he so cheerful so damn early?
“
Wait!
” I claw at Bruce’s arm.
It’s too late. Bruce swings the door wide.
“Morning, sunshine.” He greets Beckett in a sing-song tone, then shoots me a smirk.
“Morning yourself. Everyone’s up early.” Beckett nods toward Bruce as he strides inside the open door.
“Alright,” Bruce says. “You crazy kids behave yourself.” Bruce ushers Beckett in before closing the door behind him with a definitive click.
I am suddenly very aware that my fresh-out-of-the-shower attire is not all that alluring.
Beckett doesn’t seem to mind with the way his eyes gobble me up.
That will never get old. Being looked at that way. It’s not like anyone before. It’s deeper, steady and consuming.
Jeremy’s words suddenly start to knock around in my head. After I’d stopped sobbing last night, he made it very clear what he would like his position to be in my life as well as Jordan’s—and that he’s in a position of power to give me the one thing that trumps all else.
Jordan.
I had been prepared for Beckett to give me at least a pout for asking him to leave last night, instead he’s inside the door, and his hands are around my waist, and I forget whatever other thoughts I was attempting to form.
Rational thoughts.
Reasonable thoughts.
All. Gone.
“You look beautiful. I like the towel, but I like your hair better down.” He smirks at me and eyes the turquoise, terrycloth headdress-wrap I’m sporting.
“I just got out of the shower.”
Wow, really Captain Obvious?
“I guess I got here just a little too late. Showers are my specialty.”
Arms . . . tight . . . pulling me . . . against him.
Jeremy who?
I lay my head on his chest with a defeated sigh.
His Kung Fu is strong with me.
“Hey, watch that thing,” Beckett chuckles, low and sexy, as I bump him in the chin with the tower of towel piled high on my yard long hair.
“Sorry.”
“You have panties on under there?”
Yes, I have on chastity panties. I will defeat your super powers. . . . Say it. Say it!
“No,” I answer.
What?
Ug!
I can hear the rumble in his chest, and it’s impossible for him to hide the beast he keeps down below, now filling into an obvious erection and pressing into my belly.
What the hell happened to the lecture I gave myself from 1:12 AM to 3:36 AM? The one about how now is not the time to get involved. Jeremy’s here to help, and I have to achieve my goal—
blah, blah blah
. I can’t be distracted right now. I can’t push Jeremy away. I need him.
“Wow. As much as that has me ready to back you up against the wall, I have one order of business.” He clears his throat and shifts back an inch even as his arms stay circled around me. “I’m having a small service for my dad tomorrow. I want you to be there, eleven o’clock. You were a bright spot in his life, maybe the only one in years. Can you come?”
His voice is crisp and clear, and I don’t know if I could ever deny him much of anything.
“Sure. I don’t work my day job tomorrow; I’d love to be there.” I hate that I’ve forgotten all about Mr. Fitzgerald. Forgotten that Beckett must be hurting, too.
Then, I give myself an invisible palm-to-the-forehead, hoping my answer doesn’t lead to another question about why I felt the need to distinguish that Windfield is my “day” job.
Luckily, Beckett’s occupied with what his hands are doing, and I must admit, it’s distracting as hell. He’s playing with the hem of my t-shirt.
There are so many things I want to do with him. So many things I never imagined wanting with someone.
I want him to pick me up and carry me to my bed. I want this—his arms holding me next to him until I forget what it’s like to sleep in bed alone.
More than anything, I want to tell him the truth. Like I’ve never told anyone before. Everything. I want him to know everything and for him to still want to hold me.
I just don’t think he would.
No one would.
That’s why I can’t have all the things I want.
I never will.
“I’m a terrible person.” Beckett breaks into my depressing life reflection.
“What?” I crane my neck back, trying to see what his eyes are saying, and the towel is so heavy, it tumbles off my head onto the floor behind my heels.
“You lost your crown, princess.” He chuckles, and I feel myself smiling. It feels nice on my face.
“Why did you say you’re a terrible person?”
He lets out a deep breath, and I can feel the movement of his chest against me.
“Because. I’m standing here, my father just died, and all I can think about is what you taste like in the morning.”
The pressure from down behind his zipper quickly increases against my belly. My insides topple around and over each other, and there is a distinct gathering of moisture between my legs.
Pick me up. Don’t let me choose. Just take me.
“Come to the funeral tomorrow, please?”
“I’ll be there.”
“Good . . . But, this needs to go.” He takes on that low, commanding voice, and I turn into a puddle.
How he can change his voice like that, I don’t know, but I don’t ever want it to stop. He strips my t-shirt up and over my head, and I don’t have a second to protest.
Not that I would, but I feel like I should.
He takes a step back, his hands running from my back, swirling up from my waist, just grazing at the edges of my naked tits until his hands are on my cheeks.
“There are so many things I want to do to you. You know that, don’t you?”
I can barely nod as his eyes move over me. I love the way he doesn’t hide the way he devours me visually. My skin prickles everywhere he looks.
“Where’s your bedroom?” His voice is deep and firm as his hands move lower, around my throat, gently tightening then letting go, and my head is full of some kind of heavy mist because I forgot where my room is.
“Down there, on the left.” I hear my answer, not sure what part of my brain is actually still functioning.
“I’ll get you to work on time, but I need you right now, and you need me.”
His hands whip around and scoop under my arms, lifting me like a doll to cling to him face to face. My body feels weightless, and my ankles lock around his back.
The motion of his walk and the nearness of his lips turn the quivering between my legs into a craving.
“That feel good?” he asks, tightening his grip, pressing me into him. I can feel the fabric of his t-shirt against my clit.
The scent of coffee and something masculine and spicy is making me feel drunk. I bury my face in his neck and inhale. I love the texture of his fresh shave, just a hint of course beard creating friction against my cheek. There is a burning inside me, and I want it—
him—
to consume me. To keep me here, clinging onto him.
His hands play up and down my spine as I hear him kick open the door to my bedroom.
Shit. Wait . . .
But the pause in his step reminds me of why I don’t want people in here.
I hold my breath, waiting for his arms to loosen and my feet to hit the ground as he stares at the furious disaster that is my bedroom.
But, he steps forward without a word, his lips on my cheek. Three more steps and he lays me down gently on my bed, pushing my hands over my head before rising to full height. For a moment, I see what others see.
His face turns from that smiling Beckett that helped me find my own smile to this intense monster with a primal glare looking down at me like his prey. When his brow comes together, the light from behind those amazing eyes offset with the close cut of his black hair sends me spinning.
“So fucking perfect.” He tastes me with his eyes, and I can feel it somewhere inside me that is new. Somewhere I’ve kept sealed up. Sealed off. Because it’s the place he could hurt me most.
I bring my arms down in defense. He’s seeing things I don’t want him to see.
His eyes flash, and his face turns dark.
“Don’t fucking do that. Don’t ever cover yourself in front of me. Understand?”
He’s using that voice again, and I don’t know whether to be frightened or cum.
He leans down, becoming a bridge over me as I stretch my arms back up to where he’d placed them.
“That’s good. Keep them there.” His lips are perfect, and they’re on mine. Little pathetic noises escape me as his tongue glides inside my lips. He doesn’t rush, and I want more. I want fast. But, the way he’s looking at me, it’s clear—I’m not the one in charge.
I want him inside of me. It’s all I can think as our mouths turn and move against each other.
This is what a kiss is meant to be. Something as simple as lips touching can make me feel like we know things about each other no one else knows. I’m telling him so many things I could never say out loud, and his kiss is telling me he wants to know it all.
His lips move to my forehead, feather soft, knowing more new things about me, and it takes all my will not to bring my hands down to wrap around whatever part of him I can reach.
I have to concentrate to take each breath. Some are deep yet most are so shallow, my head is getting lighter and lighter until I feel like I’m floating. Or falling.
Right into him. Hoping he’ll catch me.
Both his hands move up and tangle in my hair, holding me firm as his warm mouth discovers my collar bones, and then moves down, sucking my tit so deep into his mouth, I let out a cry.
My sounds loosen something in him. I feel it.
His lips turn to teeth on my sensitive flesh, biting down until my cry turns to a scream, but my hips raise up, my body begging for so much more.
I want this; I want this pain because it comes from him.
And, it fills in parts of me that need filling.
He moves to the other side, dropping one hand from my hair and grazing down over my stomach.
I can feel his power as he releases me from his mouth, his hand flat on my belly and his eyes watching me as I lie quivering.
“Spread your legs.” It’s not a request; it’s clearly an order.
And I freeze.
I see the flash of his other hand just before I feel the sting.
The smack on the side of my ass jolts me, but my legs fly open. I’ve never had anyone look at me like he’s looking at me now. I’ve never had someone smack my butt like that either. If I didn’t know who he was, I would be terrified. He looks more bear than man—his mouth open, eyes dancing, brows deep without a hint of his usual humor. I see the glint of his white teeth as his breath quickens.
“Wider. I want to see all of you.”
The burn of his hand print on the side of my ass is turning hot, his other hand still warm and flat just above my pubic bone, owning me there until I do as I’m told.
“God damn. You are perfection,” he murmurs as if talking to himself.
Stars are dancing in my head, and I can’t form thoughts as he lowers his hand, fingers dancing on the outside of my lower lips. His intense gaze is almost more than I can stand, inspecting me like a prized possession.
“You need me to touch you.” It’s not a question, but I nod anyway.
His hands are quickly everywhere. Cupping my breasts, sliding down and holding onto my hips, over my belly, down each leg to my toes, then back up until his hands are entwined in mine over my head and his face is right above me.
“Who do you belong to?”
For a moment, I’m confused by the question. His eyes do not waver. His breath is heating my cheek as his hands pull my wrists upward, stretching me under him.
“I feel it. Tell me, Promise. Tell me you belong to me. I need to hear it.”
I completely lose myself when he lets my wrists go, his face lowers and his mouth comes down with gusto between my spread legs. I hear my own cry as his tongue goes deep inside me with such force, I cum with a spasm.
He does not relent. His hands are around my thighs, spreading me wide and utterly open for him as his tongue takes over and everything spins out of control.
In a million years, I would never have imagined being here like this. Last week, I was the girl who managed to keep everyone away. Especially someone like Beck. Someone that would want this from me.
His mouth is doing things I didn’t realize a mouth could do. He is like a ravenous dog feasting on me. I can hear his own deep, throaty sounds of pleasure, and I feel the tightness gathering again.