24. Epilogue #2
He catches me looking, his lips curving into a devastating smile that makes my thighs press together, despite the fact he hasn't said a word.
He knows what he's doing. He's been doing it since the moment we met, and I keep walking into it like I don't see the trap coming.
I see it now.
I just don't care anymore.
"Cameras in a therapy room would be illegal. Hot, but very unethical." he twists his neck from side to side, sliding a hand along his thigh, stopping just short of the bulge in his crotch. "Poppy would never do such a… naughty thing."
My eyes drop to his hand, which is now moving in a slow, lazy drag over the growing situation straining against his jeans.
He's not even hiding it. He's petting it.
And I can't get enough.
Last week, I watched this very man sprawl across my bed, his fist wrapped around that thick, heavy cock, veins standing out along the shaft as he stroked himself and told me I wasn't allowed to come until he did.
We just watched each other, like we are right now.
The memory alone makes my breath hitch.
I'd never even considered something like that before him. Before Beck stumbled into my life and turned every carefully organized compartment inside my head into a disaster zone.
I'd had sex. Perfectly adequate, perfectly forgettable.
But watching? Being watched? Lying back with my legs spread and his eyes burning between them while he tells me exactly what he's going to do to me when he's done?
I didn't know I wanted that.
I didn't know I could crave something that badly.
But when Beck looks at me the way he's looking at me right now, I'd do anything he asked.
Anything.
"Lock the door," I say.
Beck is out of his chair so fast it's genuinely athletic. The lock clicks, and he falls to his knees in front of me. His mouth crashes into mine and we're moving faster than we ever have before.
"Darcy Madden." He yanks at the buttons of my blouse. "Committing crimes in a mental health facility. I've never been more attracted to you."
I reach for the button of his jeans, pulling it free. "Hurry up, before I change my mind."
"No you won't."
He's right. I won't.
My blouse hits the floor. His shirt follows, and I get my hands on that ridiculous body, covered in warm skin and hard muscle.
I bite his shoulder and he groans and spins me around, bending me over the arm of the chair. My trousers disappear quickly, followed by my panties.
"Look at you." His palm slides up my spine, slow, and I melt onto the cushion. "Perfect little analyst, bent over in a therapist's office. What would the report say about this?"
"Highly irregular behavior."
"Mm." His fingers slide over my clit, rubbing smooth circles that make me moan. "I'd call it a breakthrough."
He slides a single finger inside my pussy, and every clever thing I was going to say dies immediately.
"Already this wet?" He drags two fingers through me, torturously slow, rubbing my walls with the pads of his fingers. "God, Darce. We've been in here twenty minutes."
"Beck—" I moan, eyes fluttering as he slides a third finger in. "Oh, God. We don't have long, Beck. Please. I need you."
"I know," he growls, the scruff of his face moving up my spine with peppered kisses making my skin prickle.
"I promise I'll make this quick. But don't mistake my efficiency for lack of quality…
I think you've learned that by now. Now spread those cheeks for me, I want to see everything when I'm fucking you. "
I reach back and do as I'm told, the gentle breeze cool against my exposed rear.
"Fuck yes. So damn sexy."
I hear his belt, his zipper, and then the thick heat of his cock pressing against me. I push back because patience is for people who haven't slept with Beck Morrison.
He pushes inside me in one long stroke, and the moan that tears out of him is deep and ragged.
"Fuck." His forehead drops against my shoulder, cock sliding deeper. "Every time, Darce. You feel so good."
He starts to move and his hand slides up my body, over my ribs, cupping my breast before eventually landing around my throat. My body shivers at the possessiveness as he closes there, fingers finding my pulse.
"Yes. Yes…"
I grab his wrist and press his fingers tighter.
"That's it." His voice is pure gravel against my ear. "Take what you need. That's my girl."
The praise hits me straight down my spine, and I clench around him hard enough that he swears into my hair. He fucks me slow and deep over the arm of Dr. Poppy Sinclair's chair, his hand at my throat, murmuring filth and worship in equal measure.
"So good, so perfect," he groans. "I love you, Darcy Madden. So fucking much."
I come apart embarrassingly fast, biting down on my own forearm to keep from screaming in a building full of my colleagues.
He follows me over the edge with a groan he buries against my neck, holding me so tight I can feel his heartbeat through my back.
For a second, neither of us moves. The curtains drift beneath a breeze, and the ocean keeps doing its thing.
"So," Beck pants, slowly pulling out of me. "Same time next week?"
I laugh, retrieving my pants. "We are never speaking of this."
"Understood. I'm putting it in my gratitude journal, though."
We reassemble ourselves, dressing in the office with the guilt of two people who have committed a workplace felony written all over our faces.
I fix my hair in the reflection of Poppy's framed diploma, which feels like an additional crime, while Beck scoops a handful of expensive dark chocolates from the bowl.
He pockets them while unwrapping one and throwing it in his mouth.
"Beck! Don't take all of them!"
"What? She said help ourselves." He tosses me one. "We've earned these. We're in recovery."
"From what?"
"Each other." He grins and kisses my forehead. "Ready to head to Breakers? We're just in time for Happy hour. I'm buying, of course."
I lean into him, letting his arm settle around my shoulders. "Are you sure about that? Didn't you just knock back a million dollar contract?"
He chuckles and kisses the top of my head. "Lucky for you, I've got charm that's absolutely priceless."
"I'm not sure you'll be able to charm Mack," I laugh. "But I'm happy to watch you try."
He flicks another chocolate at me. "Do you think chocolate will help?"
I take the chocolate. "Chocolate always helps."
Beck unlocks the door to the office, pulls it open and—
"Whoa, shit!"
Beck stumbles back as Mason Morrison sprints past the door. He's at full speed, his arms pumping, legs moving in rapid circles like a cartoon.
He's gone in a flash.
I don't even have time to process the blur before a second, much larger shape thunders past the doorway.
"MORRISON!"
Coach Pearson's face is like a thundercloud. Even he's moving faster than a fifty-two-year-old man with a rebuilt knee has any business moving.
"YOU THINK YOU CAN SLEEP WITH MY DAUGHTER AND GET AWAY WITH IT?!"
Beck's chocolate falls out of his mouth and plops on the floor.
"What the—"
I watch his face journey through the entire spectrum of human emotion. Confusion, recognition, horror, and finally, blooming across it like a sunrise, pure unfiltered delight.
Down the corridor, Mason takes the corner at an angle that would impress a race car driver and vanishes. Coach continues to barrel after him, bellowing something about "MY HOUSE" and "SUNDAY DINNERS" and "I TRUSTED YOU WITH MY DAUGHTER."
The hallway eventually falls quiet, and Beck turns to me very slowly.
"Did your brother just—"
"Yep."
Beck unwraps a fresh chocolate and pops it in his mouth.
"Seriously, this is turning out to be the best fucking season ever."
The End… for now.
Think Beck and Darcy's story is over?
Think again.
Because the sun is out, and everyone has gathered around the pool at the mansion. Darcy's wearing a bikini Beck can't stop staring at, and somebody has just suggested a winner-takes-all swimming race.
The prize?
Anything you want.
Naturally, Beck's mind goes straight into the gutter.
But when Darcy finally tells him what she wants, Beck gives her an answer neither of them is ever going to forget.