Her orgasm took her by surprise. She cried out, her nails marking paths in his thighs. He kept going, pursuing his own pleasure even as he watched hers. She kept her eyes open through it all, memorizing every line of his face, the vulnerability of his brown eyes as he lost control, the way his lips curved when he said her name as he came.
No matter what happened in the future, she would always have tonight, and the unnamable thing that lay between them. He slid down next to her, his arm a comforting weight across her stomach and his harsh breaths making the sensitive skin on her neck tingle. She couldn’t quite catch her breath. There was no chalking her reaction up to the amazing orgasm. This went bone deep. “Beckett—”
“Not tonight.” He pressed a quick kiss to her lips. “We’ll have that conversation soon, but not tonight.”
He was right. She knew he was right. But that didn’t change the fluttering in her chest. She didn’t recognize the sensation, couldn’t tell if it was hope or despair. He’d blasted through every boundary she’d thrown in place between them, and now she felt like she was wandering in an endless fog without a signpost in sight.
I love you, Beckett King.
She couldn’t say it now just like she hadn’t been able to say it last time. “You’re right. Not tonight.” She kissed him. The orgasm had only sharpened the edge of her need, her desire to show him exactly what he’d come to mean to her. “You took me to bed. Now it’s my turn.”
“Insatiable.”
“Only for you.” She nudged him onto his back and straddled him. “You called me beautiful, but I think you might be more beautiful than I am.” She leaned down and kissed his scar, tracing its edge with her tongue.
Samara took her time exploring his body the same way he’d done to her in the past. She nipped the carved muscle of his pecs and trailed open-mouthed kisses down his stomach. His abs clenched with every swipe of her tongue, and she grinned against his skin. “Ticklish?”
“Woman, if you think I’m worried about being ticklish in our current position, then you’re out of your damn mind.” He cupped the side of her face with one big hand. “Come here, Samara. Let me make love to you again.”
Make love.
She held his gaze as she turned her head and captured his middle finger between her lips. Samara sucked him deep, flicking his calluses with her tongue. His eyes narrowed. “Get your ass up here.”
She released him. “Beckett—”
“Don’t care. Need you.” He hauled her up his body and took her mouth. She forgot all about arguing as he reached between them and eased two fingers into her. He stroked her as leisurely as he’d kissed her before. She quivered with the need for more, more, more. Beckett gently bit her bottom lip and then soothed the ache with his tongue. “Stay with me, Samara.”
She could almost hear the rest of what he wasn’t saying. Stay with me after this is all over. Stay with me forever. Or maybe it was her own feelings talking. “Yes.”
“Ride my fingers. Take what you need.”
“What I need is you.”
The only warning she got was him removing his hand, and then he flipped them. And then he was inside her again, thrusting slowly as he framed her face with his hands. “Have me, Samara.”
She twined her legs with his and rose to meet each stroke. Their earlier frenzy allowed for something slower, deeper. They shared breath even as their bodies moved in perfect coordination. Sweat slicked their skin, adding to the decadent feeling of friction between them, and she fought the pleasure spiraling through her, wanting to make this last as long as possible.
That moment. That place. Them together.
Perfection.
“Let go,” Becket murmured against her neck. “Give it all to me.” He slid his hands beneath her ass and lifted her against him, controlling the rhythm. It was too much and it might never be enough. Her desire for him—her love for him—rose from a well with no end, engulfing Samara completely.
She came with a soft cry, clinging to him even as he followed her into oblivion.
Samara would have given anything in that moment to make the night stretch onward for an eternity. If the sun never rose, they’d never have to take the next steps that led out of her home, into the dangers awaiting. They never had to deal with reality crashing into the fantasy they’d built together, never had to fight to keep from having everything fall apart around them.
Time marched on, whether she wanted it to or not. The sun would rise and they would rise with it. Tomorrow, for better or worse, everything would change. She was sure of it.
But tonight wasn’t over. Not yet.
Chapter Twenty
Beckett managed to slip out of bed without waking Samara. A quick glance at the clock proved it was early, but not indecently so. He poked around her kitchen until he found coffee, and got a pot going. Then he sat down to check emails.
Three from his bank, all notifying him of attempted charges that had been denied, thanks to the holds he’d put on the accounts. He smiled grimly. Gotcha, Lydia. She hadn’t been able to resist that little dig the other day, and he was glad he’d trusted his gut.
Next up, he answered the few emails that were urgent, and had his HR director post internal job openings for the employees Lydia had poached. It would take time to fill those positions, and it couldn’t wait until he’d had it out
