“You feel so good.” He settled his weight on top of her, bracing himself on his forearms so he could get the angle right. It felt good to be this close to her—as physically connected as two people could be. He kissed her because he craved being closer yet. It was too good. Too fucking perfect.
“You do, too.” She wrapped her legs around his waist. “I never want this to end.”
It doesn’t have to.
He kissed her to keep the words inside. He might want Samara, but that didn’t mean she felt the same way. All he’d offered her was one night of escape, and he’d give her exactly that. Trying to talk about the future, even while she clenched around his cock, would violate the terms of their agreement, and he’d be damned before he did something to make her leave.
Needing to feel her coming again, he reached between them to stroke her clit. “This is what you need.”
“Yes.” Her nails dug into his shoulders. “Yes, oh my God, yes. Beckett, don’t stop.”
“I’m not going to stop. I’m never going to fucking stop.”
She came with a sob, her body arching beautifully. Beckett tried to hold on, to hold out, but the truth was he needed this as much as she did. He buried his face in her neck and pounded into her, holding her close as he sought his own release. Pressure sparked through him, the pleasure too intense. He cursed as his strokes went jerky and he orgasmed hard enough to send black spots dancing across his vision. “Fuck.”
Samara squeezed him with her entire body and kissed his temple. “You’re right, Beckett. I think we both needed that.”
He turned and captured her mouth. “I’m nowhere near done with you yet.”
Chapter Twelve
Samara woke up to the smell of eggs burning in the kitchen. She rubbed her eyes and tried to make out the blurry red numbers of the clock on the other side of the bed. She froze when they finally came into focus. Oh my God, I am so late. On the heels of that, the truth washed over her. No, I’m not. I’m on forced vacation.
She threw back the covers and went searching for her clothes. Her panties were trashed, but she managed to find her bra.
Her pants and jacket were still in the kitchen.
She contemplated the door for a full thirty seconds before she dredged up the bravado to walk through it. Grabbing a towel or artfully draping a sheet around her body wasn’t an option. She wasn’t some demure virgin who was ashamed of being naked, and Beckett had reacquainted himself with every inch of her last night.
No, the reason she wanted something to cover her was because she wanted armor.
She and Beckett might have been on the same page last night, but they had a conversation ahead of them that might put them at odds yet again. The story of our lives.
There was nothing left to stall with. She walked out of the bedroom and down the short hall into the kitchen. It was only when she bent over to grab her pants and shirt on the floor that she realized Beckett wasn’t in the kitchen alone.
Reclaiming her cold mask was almost a relief at that point. She draped her pants over her arm. “Frank.”
Frank Evans very carefully looked only at her eyes. He lifted a coffee mug in a kind of salute. “Samara. Nice seeing you.”
“Uh…nice seeing you, too.” She tried to keep her face from heating, but there was no way she was pulling this off. Retreat gracefully…
Beckett turned from the stove and froze. “What the fuck are you doing?”
His blatant jealousy helped overcome the embarrassment of the situation. She shrugged, starting to enjoy this. “I needed my clothes. As great as last night was, you can’t keep me locked up and naked in this apartment.”
“My life would be a lot easier if I could.” His brows slammed down. “Get your ass in the room and get dressed.”
She shot a look at Frank, who seemed to find the ceiling very fascinating. “He thinks that tone is going to work with me. Not sure what kind of girls he’s dated in the past, but that’s not an acceptable way to talk to women.”
“Technically, you are one of the girls he dated in the past.”
“Frank, I don’t know what you’re doing with your life, but one night of hot sex does not count as dating.”
“I’m standing right here.” Beckett made a sound suspiciously like a growl and turned back to whatever horrific science experiment he was working on at the stove.
As fun as it was torturing him, she had absolutely no interest in standing there naked any longer than she had to. Samara headed back into the bedroom and dressed as fast as she could.
By the time she made it back to the kitchen, Frank was nowhere to be found. “You ran your friend off.”
“My friend was only here to drop that off.” Beckett nodded at the manila folder lying in the middle of the kitchen island. It had no markings on it, but she could guess what would bring Frank to Beckett’s home: evidence.
He leaned against the counter and crossed his arms over his chest. “Let’s get this out in the open and stop playing around, Samara. I enjoyed the fuck out of last night. We have unfinished business and I want you in my bed until we figure this shit out.”
Her heartbeat picked up even as she called herself an idiot. “By figure this shit out, you mean…”
“I mean Lydia. She’s neck deep in this mess, and I mean for her to see justice for any crimes committed.”
Lydia. Of course. He wasn’t here for Samara, and forgetting that only led to heartbreak. She wasn’t about to say that the amazing sex last night had suddenly changed her reservations about Beckett, but orgasms had a way of adding rose-tinted glasses to any situation.
There was nothing rose-tinted about theirs.
He was the CEO
