Chapter 21
Hennessy
The ride back to Beckham's apartment is so tense I can practically taste it. It’s like metal and testosterone and something darker that makes my thighs clench together.
“You're seriously not going to talk to me the entire ride?” I ask, watching his profile as he drives. His jaw is locked so tight I'm worried he might crack a tooth, and his knuckles are white on the steering wheel. “Beckham?”
Nothing. Not even a grunt of acknowledgement.
“Fine,” I sigh, turning to look out the window. “Be that way.”
When we pull into his apartment complex, he circles the truck in three angry strides, yanks open my door, and practically lifts me to the ground.
Beckham slams the door to his apartment with his foot, the tree balanced in his arms like it weighs nothing. He stomps across the hardwood floor, his jaw clenched so tight I can see that muscle twitching from across the room. The one that tells me he's barely holding onto his control.
“Where do you want this?” he growls, his voice rough like gravel.
“By the window would be perfect,” I say, trying to sound cheerful despite the tension crackling in the air. “The stand is in that bag.”
He grunts in response, dropping the tree with a loud thud that makes me wince. Pine needles scatter across his pristine floor as he kneels down to set up the stand, his movements jerky and forceful. I watch as he positions the tree, tightening the screws with way more aggression than necessary.
“Beckham, I really think we should talk about—”
“No.” The word cuts through the air like a knife. “Don't.”
I bite my lip, torn between pushing him and giving him space. I've never been good at the latter.
“Look, I know you're upset, but—”
Before I can finish my sentence, he's on his feet and crossing the room. His hands grip my waist, lifting me up. I instinctively wrap my legs around him.
“Beckham!” I yell, grabbing onto the back of his shirt as he strides toward his bedroom. “What the fuck?”
He doesn't respond, but I can hear him muttering under his breath as he carries me. “Mine. Fucking mine. Should have killed that punk-ass kid. Touching what's mine.”
A thrill runs through me at his words, they’re primal and possessive and it shouldn't turn me on as much as it does. Every time he tells me I’m his, I believe it a little more. And god help me, I never want to stop believing.
My core clenches as he kicks open his bedroom door and deposits me on his bed with surprising gentleness compared to his current mood.
“You're mine,” he says, voice low and dangerous as he looms over me. “Do you understand that?”
His hands are already working at the hem of my hoodie, yanking it up and over my head before I can respond. My t-shirt follows, tossed carelessly to the floor. His eyes darken as they rake over my dark pink lace bra, pupils blown wide with desire.
“Beck—” I start, but he cuts me off with a shake of his head.
“No talking,” he growls, fingers making quick work of my jeans button. “Just feel.”
He tugs the denim down my legs, taking my panties with them in one smooth motion. I lift my hips to help, suddenly desperate to be naked beneath him. He stands back, breathing hard as he stares at me sprawled across his bed.
“Well, this definitely isn't taking it slow,” I manage to say as he tears his own shirt off, revealing his tattoo-covered chest that makes my mouth water.
“Fuck slow,” he snarls, unbuckling his belt with quick, efficient movements. “You're fucking mine.”
“And you're mine,” I interrupt, sitting up on my elbows to hold his gaze.
His hands freeze on his zipper, those stormy eyes locking with mine. Something shifts in his expression—surprise, then satisfaction that makes me want to scratch my name into his skin.
“Say it again,” he demands, shoving his jeans and boxers down in one smooth motion.
I swallow hard at the sight of him—all muscle and ink and that thick cock already hard and ready. “You're mine, Beckham Kingston. Just as much as I'm yours.”
A growl rumbles from his chest as he climbs onto the bed, his powerful body covering mine completely. One hand tangles in my hair, tugging my head back to expose my throat.
“Mine,” he repeats, biting down on the sensitive spot where my neck meets my shoulder. Not hard enough to break skin, but definitely enough to leave a mark.
I arch against him, gasping at the delicious pain. “Yours.”
His mouth travels down my body, leaving a trail of bites and kisses that will definitely show tomorrow. I don't care. I want his marks all over me, want everyone to know I belong to him.
“This pussy is mine,” he says, roughly spreading my thighs with his hands. “No one else gets to touch it. No one else gets to taste it.”
Before I can respond, his mouth is on me, tongue licking a hot stripe up my center. I cry out, my hands flying to his hair, gripping the short strands as he devours me like a starving man.
“Fuck, Beckham!” I gasp as he sucks my clit between his lips. “Yes, right there!”
He groans against me; the vibrations sending shockwaves through my body. His stubble scrapes against my inner thighs, the slight burn only adding to the moment.
“You taste so fucking good,” he murmurs against my flesh. “Could eat this pussy for hours.”
I'm already close, my thighs trembling as he works me with his tongue and fingers. But just as I'm about to tip over the edge, he pulls away, leaving me whimpering.
“Not yet,” he says, crawling back up my body. “Want you to come on my cock.”
“I need you inside me,” I gasp, reaching between us to grip his cock. It's hot and hard in my hand, the skin so fucking soft. “I need to feel you stretching me open.”
He positions himself at my entrance, the thick head nudging against me. But instead of thrusting into me like I expect, he just dips in slightly—barely an inch—before pulling back out.
“This is just like that first night, trouble. You were sleeping so fucking pretty,” he says, pushing in another inch before pulling out again. “I couldn't help myself. I just slipped the tip in...”
He demonstrates, making me gasp.
“…and shot my load deep inside you while you were dreaming.”
“Fuck,” I moan, the confession making me impossibly wetter.
“Your pussy is getting so wet just thinking about it. About me claiming what's mine even when you didn't know it.”
“Please, more.”
He dips in again, just enough to make me feel the stretch before pulling out.
His large hand presses down on my stomach, holding me in place. “So fucking tight. So perfect.”
“You're being cruel,” I pant, my body trembling with frustration.
“I'm being thorough,” he corrects, leaning down to bite my earlobe. “Making sure this pussy remembers who it belongs to.”
“I know who I belong to,” I argue, trying to pull him closer with my legs.
He catches my thighs, holding them open so I can't force him deeper. “Say it then. Say who this tight little cunt belongs to.”
“You,” I breathe, beyond pride at this point. “It's yours, Beckham. Only yours.”
He rewards me with another shallow dip, this time pushing in a little further before retreating. “And what about these?” His free hand squeezes my breast roughly. “Who do these belong to?”
“You. All of me belongs to you.”
“That's right,” he growls, pinching my nipple hard enough to make me yelp. “And I'm the only one who gets to mark them, touch them, taste them.”
I'm practically sobbing with need now, my hips bucking uselessly against his iron grip. “Please, please just fuck me already. I need you so bad.”
“I know you do.” He teases me with another shallow thrust. “Your pussy is fucking dripping for me.”
“More,” I beg, my pride completely gone. “Please, I need all of you.”
He pulls out completely, and I nearly sob with frustration. But then he's moving, flipping us over so I'm straddling his hips, his thick cock standing proud between us.
“You want more?” he growls, hands gripping my waist. “Then show me. Show me how much you want this dick. Ride me, baby.”
I position myself over him, sinking down slowly until he's fully seated inside me. The stretch is delicious, my body accommodating his size with a pleasure so intense it borders on pain and making me gasp.
“That's it,” he groans, his fingers digging into my hips. “Take all of it. This cock is made for your pussy.”
When I'm fully seated, I pause, adjusting to his size. He feels impossibly deep in this position, touching places inside me that make my thighs quiver.
“Move,” he orders, slapping my ass lightly. “Show me how you ride what's yours.”
I rock my hips in a slow circle, feeling every inch of him inside me. My hands fan across his chest, fingers tracing the dark lines of his tattoos as I find my rhythm.
“You feel so good inside me,” I moan, grinding down harder.
Beckham's hands grip my hips with bruising force, his fingers digging into my flesh as he starts thrusting up to meet my movements. The force of it makes my breasts bounce, and his eyes darken as he watches them.
“Look at you,” he growls, one hand leaving my hip to roughly palm my breast. “So fucking pretty on top of me. Like a goddamn queen on her throne.”
I lean forward, changing the angle so his lower body presses against my clit with each movement. The pressure is so fucking good.
He pulls me down for a kiss that's possessive and demanding. My hair comes loose from my bun as he fists his hand in it.
“Mine,” he growls against my mouth, his hips snapping up with enough force to make me cry out. “Every fucking inch of you is mine.”
I brace myself against his inked chest, feeling the hard muscle beneath my palms as I ride him harder. Sweat glistens on his skin, making the designs shine in the dim light.
“And you're mine,” I counter, digging my nails into his pecs. “This body, this dick—all mine.”
His eyes flash. In one swift movement, he sits up, still buried deep inside me, and wraps an arm around my waist to hold me tight against him.
“You want to claim me, baby?” His voice is low and edgy. “Then take what's yours.”