Wrong then Right (A Love Happens Novel Book 2) (23 page)

“You’re playing with fire, honey,” he warned, but his hips surged into her hand as she steadily stroked his considerable length.

He didn’t try to stop her. Instead, he reached down and put his hand over hers, showing her without words the rhythm he preferred. A long stroke, then a shorter one, then long again. The feel of him, hot and heavy against her palm, vulnerable to anything she might do, was heady. Powerful. And she was a quick study based on his choppy breathing and hooded eyes.

“Hope.” He groaned against her temple, her name a rough plea that hung in the humid air of the closed up car. “Stop. Or you’re gonna get more than you bargained for.”

When she smiled at his glazed expression and lowered her head to his lap, the plea turned to an all out warning. “Honey, no...”

“Don’t bother fighting it, Beck. This is happening.”

He made a garbled choking sound. “I’d laugh if I wasn’t trying so hard not to come.”

Not a single tip Val had given her came to mind, so Hope just went with her gut. Thank God for women’s intuition and reruns of Sex and the City, because it gave her enough confidence to muddle her way through without looking like a bumbling spinster. Pushing his shirt up, she did something she’d been dying to do since he took his clothes off that night at the Vistancia. Placing her open mouth over his navel, just below his belly button and right where a perfectly formed happy trail led south, she kissed him, tasting warm skin and tense muscle and pure masculinity on her tongue. His abs contracted as she explored the patch of fuzzy softness before making her way lower, his breath hissing sharply in the quiet car as she nuzzled along his imposing erection.

Gripping the base in her fist, she stroked him, her tongue flicking gently at first, then more firmly around the swollen head, tasting the bead of moisture clinging to the tip.

Swift and steady, she remembered with sudden clarity. And a lot of spit.

He let out what she would proudly describe as an ardent grunt, his head falling back as her lips closed completely over him, enveloping him in hot, wet suction. Her hand matched the movement of her mouth and she took him as deeply as she could, then released him, inch by tantalizing inch, lavishing attention on the underside of his plum shaped head.

Roughly pushing her long hair back, Beck exposed her to his hooded view, proving that men did indeed like to watch. Her core clenched in response, a steady throb setting in.

Proof that women liked it, too.

Circling him with her tongue, she lowered her hand between his legs, gently cradling him as she suckled steadily. Rumbling his pleasure, he tugged on the hunk of hair wrapped in his fist and lust sizzled along Hope’s nerve endings, a gush of wetness rushing between her thighs. He didn’t force her to take him deeper into her throat. Instead he let her set the pace, complacent as she kissed and licked and sucked, savoring him.

“Stop,” he croaked suddenly. “Now, Hope. I’m not kidding.”

She didn’t and within seconds he groaned, his hips jerking as he pulsed into her mouth. His back bowed as she continued her firm suction, her tongue teasing and lapping, not releasing him until every last tremor left his body.

Rising up, she buried her face in his neck when he wrapped his shaky arms tightly around her, his large hand cradling the back of her head. She, innocent little Hope Coleson, had the power to reduce Beckett Smith into a quivering, helpless mass of fine male flesh. And now that she was armed with that knowledge, she promised to use her newfound superpower only for good. And often.

“How do you do that to me?” His question was muted, mouthed against her hair. And not meant for her ears.

Lifting her head, she stared at his fathomless eyes. “Do what?” He shook his head, averting his gaze as he gathered her closer. “Do what?” she repeated, pushing away from him. “Did I do it wrong?” It was just spit and suction, right? And a squeeze and tug, here and there?

“God, no.” Cupping her face in his hands, he bathed her in teasing soft kisses. “Fuck, no, you didn’t do it wrong,” he added, on a choked laugh. “You did it just right.”

“Then, what do I do?” she pressed, refusing to be distracted by his mouth.

“I just can’t believe how you make me feel,” he said, finally.

She searched the green depths of his veiled eyes. “How do I make you feel?”

The pad of his thumb swiped across her full bottom lip. “Alive,” he said softly. “You make me feel alive.”

How do you do that to me?
Beck didn’t know he’d spoken the words out loud.

The power of speech had left him somewhere between her agile hand in his pants and her warm mouth on his belly. And how could he answer her truthfully when she called him out on the accidental admission, anyway? What could he really say? That she made him come harder than he ever had in his life? That she, a novice when it came to sex, made him feel more aroused, more masculine, than any other woman on the planet? That he felt like he could fuck her forever, like he could make love to her for the rest of his natural life and never get his fill? Never stop wanting her? And that the profoundly honest confession scared the shit out of him in a way nothing in this fucked up world ever had?

He didn’t want to feel alive. Sure, he wanted to live. He wanted to go to work every day, shoot the shit and some automatic weapons with Nolan and the boys, put a bad guy or two in the ground, hit the gym hard then the bottle harder, then dissolve into the false bliss of sleep until he could do it all over again the next day.

Living, at least the way he wanted to, was a far fucking cry from feeling alive. And there was no room for Hope Coleson in that equation.

Except that here she was, her index finger hooked into the belt loop on the back of his jeans as she followed him through his darkened house and up the stairs to the master bedroom with a trust that he wasn’t worthy of. Beck had never invited a woman into his bedroom. Hell, he’d never invited one into his house. It was cleaner that way. Someone with more self-awareness than him might even admit it was safer.

Hope was the first.

A shocked laugh rumbled inside his chest, threatening escape. She was a first for so many things. The first woman taking up residence in his private space. The first taking up residence in his unmovable mind. The first worming her way into what could best be described as his cold, dead heart.

“I was worried you had a waterbed up here,” she said, standing in the middle of his sparse bedroom, moonlight filtering through the windows and casting a muted glow on her perfect profile. “With several notches dug into the headboard and handcuffs dangling from the posts. And women’s underwear flung on the ceiling fan.” Looking back at him, she shrugged. “Turns out you’re pretty tame.”

His chest tightened, an odd warmth blanketing his heart. Guess it wasn’t so cold and dead, after all. Dismissing the improbable reasons behind his physical reaction, he steered his thoughts right back to where they should be.

“Speaking of beds, I’m about to toss you onto it and have my way with you. Then you can decide if I’m tame or not.”

“Oh,” she whispered, looking from him to the bed in question, biting her lower lip. “Okay.”

“Yes or no, Hope?” Because she didn’t sound sure. Half of him hoped she’d back out and head for the guest room. The other half, that happened to reside below his waist, berated him for bothering to ask.

“Yes,” she said, with a small laugh. “Hell, yeah. Pretty please. I’d say, with a cherry on top, but you took care of that already.”

She’d barely gotten the last word out when he reached for her, picking up her light, lithe body and tossing her onto his bed as promised. Before she bounced, he was on her, the fire she’d ignited in him, first on the stage and then in the car, raging back to life. As if he hadn’t just come, hard, twenty minutes ago.

Lips on hers, he slid his hand up under her shirt, running his palm over the thin silk of her bra, feeling her pebbled nipples. She gasped into his mouth at the touch and he pulled back, peeling the shirt over her head and then tugging his own off in a rush. Barely able to concentrate, he bent to kiss the plump curves of her creamy breasts, overflowing the edges of her lacy red bra. Not the one she’d worn on stage, but just as sexy. More so, because he was the only one laying eyes on it.

“Love your skin,” he said, nuzzling along the silky fabric, and before he could cringe at his unintended use of the L word, the bra was gone. “You’re so fucking soft.”

Flicking her pretty pink nipple with his tongue, he sucked it hard into his mouth until she was writhing beneath him.

“It must be Bridget’s shower gel,” she said, around a moan, one hand cupping his head to her breast, the other running up and down the curve of his spine. “Or the bubble gum body oil.”

A vision of her naked body slicked up with oil made his head spin. “Who’s Bridget?” he asked distractedly, licking circles around the hardened tip.

“The stacked blonde at the club.” She said it like he was daft.

Who? “Don’t know who you’re talking about. Don’t care, either.” Moving his mouth to the other pouty breast, he slid a hand down her flat stomach, his fingers dipping into the front of her pants. “Mmm, you’re soft here, too.”

“Oh, my God,” she whispered, with awe.

“I know,” he agreed wholeheartedly, feeling bare skin and creamy goodness.

“No,” she said, on a breathless laugh. “I mean, oh, my God, I can’t believe you didn’t notice the other girls tonight. Especially Bridget.”

“I was too busy noticing that every fucking guy in the place was noticing you. A little too much for my liking.”

She pushed at his chest and he lifted his head from her nipple, meeting her vivid blue eyes, bright with lust and amusement. “Really? You were jealous?”

Not sure how much honesty that question called for, he nodded reluctantly, figuring the truth was his best option if he wanted to keep his hand in her pants. And he did.

A wondrous smile crossed her face, prompting his own question. “And that turns you on, honey? Knowing I was jealous?”

“Yes.” She cupped his cheek and stared at him deeply. Too deeply. “Everything about you turns me on.”

“Well, we’re even then, because you turn me on, too.” Taking her hand, he placed it over his throbbing erection, showing her just how much. “We’re done talking now.”

Her laughter made him grin. “Now, there’s the Beck I know and love,” she quipped, and he ignored the jolt of happiness that pierced his heart. She was joking. This wasn’t love. This wasn’t even for real. This was for now.

To prove it, he tugged her pants off then rose from the bed to shed his jeans, stripping down to nothing. She stared at him and he stared back, the sight of her, spread out on his bed in moonlit silhouette, shaking him. Naked except for a tiny pair of red panties, she was nothing short of gorgeous, that went without saying. But the contradicting mix of vulnerable woman and sexual nymph struck a chord deep inside. The air shuddered out of her in a gasping rush when he bent his head to her navel and kissed her, just below her cute belly button, then along the thin strip of hair exposed as he peeled her panties down.

“You are so beautiful, Hope. I might never get enough of you.”

She seemed to melt beneath his touch, mumbling incoherently. Making himself at home between her thighs, he memorized the amazing view in front of him, taking so long she breathed his name in a long, impatient sigh. It was a sound he could hear over and over, every day of his life, and never tire of it.

“Pretty here, too.” Gently stroking along her seam with his thumb, he placed a soft kiss on her moist, sensitive skin, testing his ability to be patient. Knowing if he gave his body free reign, he’d be several inches deep in seconds, ramming mindlessly away.

With a groan of reverence, he ran his tongue teasingly across her wet folds and she writhed in response, clutching a handful of his short hair in her fist.

“I love how you taste,” he murmured, when her hips rocked against his mouth. “You get so wet for me.”

“
Ohmigod,
” she said, on an embarrassed groan. “I can’t help it. It’s too much, isn’t it?”

“What?” Was she fucking crazy? “Hell no, it’s not too much.” Sliding both hands beneath her amazing ass, he held her still for his ministrations. Laving his tongue over the crease along her inner thigh, he lingered, working his way inward as she shifted restlessly beneath him. “It’s like money. Or ammunition.” He brushed his mouth over her mound, kissing and nibbling, inhaling her intoxicating essence. “You can never have too much.”

Stroking his fingers through the lush wetness, he licked her again, sliding one finger into her and then another, feeling her clamp down. It was a damn good thing he was up one orgasm to nothing or that tight, pulsing clench might have sent him over the edge. She gasped his name again, chanting it repeatedly in that ego stroking, cock hardening way of hers.

“Good?”

She laughed breathlessly. “Better than good. More like awesome.”

“Good,” Beck declared, and gently closed his lips around her center. He anchored her lower body down when she would have lifted off the bed, not letting up as he sucked her rhythmically into his mouth.

“Beck. Holy mother...” she said, on a groan. “Do not stop.”

“Never,” he promised.

And he didn’t. Not when her hands tangled in his hair, tugging and guiding without thought. Not when she raised her knees and opened herself wider, granting him full access. Not when she cried out and came, shuddering endlessly beneath him, making him feel ten feet tall.

He kissed his way up her lax body, the sound of her shallow, muted whimpers making his blood boil and his cock throb. She tightened her grip on him, hugging him to her body in what felt like gratitude.

Nipping along his earlobe, she issued an order. “Inside me, Beck. Now.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Reaching over, he grabbed a condom from the nightstand drawer, groaning and cursing under his breath when she helped him roll it on.

He watched her movements as she stroked him from root to tip, then again, using a tight grip guaranteed to have him shooting in ten seconds flat. Stopping her, he entwined their fingers and brought their joined hands up to rest on either side of her face. Cradled invitingly by her open thighs, his erection nudged her opening, rocking into her tightness slowly, letting her body suck him into her wet passage inch by inch. She gasped and he stilled, not sure how much she could take at once. Dropping his forehead to hers, he closed his eyes and recounted the detailed steps to clean Steel Lucille, his trusty M4A1 rifle, as he gave her a minute to adjust. Apparently she didn’t need it because she hooked her legs around his ass, bucking hard against him, and his hips surged automatically. Sliding into her fully, he searched her face for signs of distress. There were none.