In that moment, they weren’t Samara Mallick and Beckett King.
They were just a woman and a man who needed each other.
It matters who we are. It has to matter.
It didn’t.
Her true purpose for being there sifted through her fingers like smoke, insubstantial and gone in an instant. Reality faded, narrowing down to a pinpoint—this room, this bed, this man. The entire world ceased to exist in that moment, could be held at bay for the entirety of the night if she’d allow it.
Here, in this place, she didn’t have to be stronger, colder, hungrier than anyone else in the room. She could fall asleep in Beckett’s strong arms. With him holding her she could believe, if only for the night, that no matter how bad things got, it would all be okay in the end.
Samara dug her fingers into the headboard, the faint pain bringing her back to herself. No matter how tempting the lie, it was a lie. She couldn’t allow herself to fall prey to the intoxicating fiction Beckett wove around her. He might not be the enemy right now, but there was an enemy out there who obviously had no qualms about putting people in danger. Pretending there wasn’t was a mistake.
It’s only a single night.
“What do you say, Samara?”
Really, there was only one answer. “Okay.”
“Good. Then we can begin.” He gave her a downright wolfish grin.
What had she just agreed to? Samara couldn’t quite catch her breath. “It’s only tonight. Tomorrow we go back to…all that.”
“I don’t give a fuck about tomorrow.” He leaned down and pressed a kiss to one knee and then the other, just above where her panties were drawn tight by her spread legs. Beckett stroked his hand up her inner thighs, stopping just short of where she desperately needed to be touched, and then back up again. “Don’t move your hands. Don’t speak unless it’s to scream my name.”
She laughed, though the sound was more choked than mocking. “You can’t be serious.”
“It’s just a harmless game.”
It didn’t feel harmless. It felt downright dangerous to give Beckett so much as an inch. It’s just sex. It didn’t matter how many times she repeated the mantra to herself. It wasn’t any truer now than it had been the first time she thought it.
He shifted down to his stomach and dipped his head between her legs. She might have been having a hard time breathing before, but the image he presented—his mouth hovering over her pussy, her panties a bright banner above his dark hair, the hungry look in his eye reserved for her alone—sucked all the air out of the room.
And then his mouth was on her.
It had been good in the office—better than good—but it took her all of three seconds to realize that Beckett had been rushing then, as frantic for a taste of her as she’d been for his touch.
Now, he was taking his goddamn time.
Samara kept her grip on the headboard and forced her eyes to remain open so she didn’t miss a single second of this. He growled against her skin and pushed her legs wider yet so he could dip down and tongue her. Beckett fucked her with his tongue the way she wished he’d fuck her with his cock.
“You’re thinking so loud, it’s practically written in neon above your head.”
She pressed her lips together to prevent the reply demanding to be vocalized. Beckett, damn him, knew it. He grinned. “Almost had you.” And then his mouth was on her again, sucking her clit hard enough to make her cry out. She shifted, trying to get closer to him—if that were even possible—but he pinned her in place easily. Through it all, he never once stopped the onslaught.
She writhed. It was too much. It wasn’t enough. She didn’t know what it was because her entire world narrowed down to Beckett’s mouth on her pussy. “Beckett!”
Samara calling his name was the cue he’d been waiting for, but Beckett was enjoying her taste too much to stop. He wanted inside her so badly he was shaking.
But he wanted to taste her orgasm more.
He flicked her clit just like he knew she liked it. Even if he had unlimited access to her, he’d never get enough of going down on her. He craved her like an addict. Sex was fucking fantastic, but having her on his tongue and her thighs creating a vise against his head? Perfection.
He picked up his pace, responding to her cues, and then she was coming, crying out his name again. As tempting as it was to bring her again and again, Beckett had no illusions—Samara would make him pay for teasing her, with interest. It’d be fun to play with that kind of torture in the future, but that wasn’t what tonight was for.
Might not be a future.
Shut the fuck up. You have right now. Make it count.
Beckett sat back and yanked Samara’s panties off. Her dark eyes were hazy with passion, but she reached for him immediately. “Now. No more waiting.”
He couldn’t have said it better himself. He snagged a condom from the nightstand and put it on with quick, concise movements. Ensuring that it was on correctly was the only thing keeping him in check. Tonight was important. If he screwed this up, this would be the last time he and Samara would be together.
He grabbed her hips and pulled her down the bed to meet him. She was so fucking soft it drove him crazy. The woman beneath the skin was as hard-ass as they came, but her body welcomed him even if she didn’t always. He pushed two fingers into her, ensuring that she was ready, but the time for foreplay had passed.
He needed to be inside her. Now.
Beckett hitched her leg over one of his arms and positioned his cock at her entrance. “Ready?”
“Yes.” She arched up to meet him as he thrust forward. The move sheathed him to the hilt and he froze even as she