The words were barely out of Samara’s mouth when Beckett moved. He scooped her into his arms, his hold sure. Her stomach erupted in butterflies, and she didn’t have a chance in hell of keeping it out of her voice when she said, “What are you doing?”
“No time like the present to settle the debate on who’s taking whom to bed.” He grinned. “For tonight, at least.”
He’s talking like he means more than tonight. Hope unfurled cautious wings inside her. Even as she called herself seven different kinds of fool, she wanted him to stay. To carve out a future with her.
To love her.
You are in the middle of a crisis and that is where your focus should be. She swallowed hard. “You’re going to break your leg trying to get out of this shower, and then we’ll have to spend the night in the ER.”
“You know what your problem is, Samara?” He opened the glass door and snagged two of her fluffy pink towels.
“I bet you’re going to tell me.” She dried off absently, watching him do the same. Beckett was…Beckett was obscenely attractive. He’d always been handsome, but grief had created a rough edge that called to her like a siren song. It was more than the seemingly permanent scruff on his jaw or the fact that his muscles were ridiculously defined. The events of the last week had honed the steel within, leaving him as something stronger. More determined. Infinitely sexier.
“Damn right I am.” He grabbed her around the waist and hauled her over his shoulder. Her world turned upside down, and the spectacular view of Beckett’s muscled ass wasn’t enough to detract from the fact that her ass was in the air.
“Hey!”
“Oh look—I’m taking you to bed.” He dumped her on the bed and snatched her ankle when she raised her foot. “I think that settles that argument.”
She glared, but a grin kept slipping through. “Pretty sure you’re not playing fair.”
“Pretty sure you’re right.” He grabbed her other ankle and flipped her onto her stomach. “I’ll tell you a secret.”
Samara shivered and tried to keep her mock anger going. “Fine, I guess I’ll settle for a secret.”
His low laugh rolled down her spine. “I’m never going to play fair where you’re concerned, Samara. Not if it means I have you like this.” The bed dipped as he leaned onto it. “Especially if I have you like this.”
He adjusted his grip on her ankles and pulled her until her hips hit the end of the bed. “You are so fucking beautiful, it takes my breath away.” Beckett lifted her hips with firm hands. He dragged his mouth along the curve of her ass, pressing open-mouth kisses every inch or two. Worshipping. “You were there for me tonight. Let me be there for you right now. I’ve got you.”
“Beckett.” The comforter muffled her saying his name, but he seemed to hear it despite that.
He shifted down to lick her clit, long and slow. Again and again, as if he was savoring her taste. That, more than anything else, had her fighting not to move. She wanted to arch into him, to ride his mouth to orgasm, but he was in the driver’s seat—for tonight.
He didn’t make her wait long.
Beckett’s mouth disappeared, and she couldn’t hold back a moan of protest. And then his hands were on her hips, urging her up and spreading her legs wider to take him. Through it all, he didn’t say a single word, and she couldn’t see his face to gauge his mood.
“No condom.”
His grip tightened on her hips. “I wouldn’t ask that of you.”
“I’m on birth control and clean.” It was easier to take this jump with him when she couldn’t see his face. “Please, Beckett.”
“I’m clean, too.” Still, he hesitated. “You’re sure.”
“I’m sure.” She wanted this closeness, this truth between them. Rationally, she knew this wouldn’t be some magic thing that sealed them together, but she craved the connection all the same. You are not alone, Beckett. I’m here. Feel me. Let me feel you.
She held her breath as he notched his cock at her entrance and pushed into her, inch by inch. His hands trembled against her skin, just a little, and his breathing hitched as if he was fighting with himself for control. “Samara.” In that tone of voice, her name became something more. Something profound.
His cock filled her, stretching her, and she gripped the comforter, fighting for her own control. To not slam back and take him fully. To savor every second of this. To memorize the feeling of his hands sliding over her hips and up her back as if he sought to imprint his own memories with this moment. As if he cherished her.
Beckett withdrew, and she couldn’t stifle her cry of protest. He didn’t make her wait long. One moment she was facedown on the bed, the next he’d grabbed her right leg and lifted it to prop her calf on his shoulder, turning her onto her side. He slid her further on the bed and knelt between her legs. As he slid his cock into her again, the new position had his thigh rubbing against her clit with every movement.
Better yet, she could watch his face as he fucked her.
No, not fucking. It stopped being fucking when we were in LA.
This was more. So much more. The truth was written across Beckett’s face as he watched her. Possessive, yes. But it was the thread of tenderness that did her in. As if he wanted to take care of her the same way she’d taken care of him tonight.
He leaned down and kissed her. His tongue seduced her slowly even as his moves became rougher. He slammed into her again and again, each stroke hitting her cervix and driving her pleasure higher. All the while he kissed her slowly, softly.
She writhed for him, soaking in the feeling that
