Chapter 27
PARKER
Beckham had proven he’d never lost his ability to make me smile, even if my mind was threatening to spiral.
Throughout our dinner of massive milkshakes, salty fries, and greasy burgers, we reminisced on the best memories.
Beckham had a lot more friends than I ever did in high school, but he always promised I was his favorite one.
If friend was even the right term to describe us back then.
Out of all the acquaintances he made while doing FFA (Future Farmers of America) as a child, to making lifelong connections in the IHSRA (Idaho High School Rodeo Association), I was always his top priority.
And he was mine. But when I found the path I wanted to adventure on, and his didn’t match, we had no choice but to part.
It hurt, but I tried to believe the universe was sending us on our own journeys in order to find what we really wanted.
Ending up back here, living in his double-wide, was proof enough that fate was real.
Beckham’s hand rested on the center console between us, open and waiting. But one look at the bulging vein in his forearm, then at the tattoo on the other, and I realized holding hands wasn’t on my mind tonight.
Without allowing myself to think twice, I grabbed his wrist and dragged it down to my legging-clad leg.
He did a double take, zoning in on where his hand was now draped over my thigh.
Our gazes quickly met before he focused back on the road in front of us.
We were forty minutes into our drive back home, the truck bed and the back seat full of baby items and Christmas gifts.
His fingers dug into my flesh, either with restraint or need, I wasn’t sure—but fuck, I wanted him to move his hand higher.
It’d been torture watching him sit across from me for the entirety of dinner.
After our discussion of his brief past with overindulging in alcohol, the conversation had turned lighter once again.
For that hour, there was no stalker, no baby on the way, and no worrying about a relapse that would never happen.
I couldn’t help the fact that everything—the smiles he flashed my way, the full-body laughs he erupted into at my cheesy jokes, the flashes of his gold chain in the pink lights—had my mind in the gutter.
After our kiss the other night, I was scooting closer and closer to the idea of throwing our rules off a cliff.
I shifted forward slightly, keeping my focus out the window at the dark fields.
The dusting of snow over the land was faintly glowing under the moon, much like the emergency light in my brain was blaring at the fact that I was way too fucking horny to be sitting in this truck with Beckham right now.
But he wanted to take care of me, right?
He wanted us to be more than whatever this I-want-you-but-with-rules thing was.
Fuck, since the moment I stepped foot back in Bell Buckle, he’d shown me that was exactly what he wanted.
I’d been too scared to see it then, but now I did, and I was so fucking tired of holding back.
I cupped my hand over his, moving it higher until his fingers brushed the inside of my thigh, only inches from where I wanted him most.
My breathing became heavier as I slid another inch forward.
Please, Beckham. Please give me what we both want.
His lips rolled together, his touch moving between my legs. I sighed blissfully, head rolling back against the chair.
“Is this considered public if it’s in my truck?” he asked, somewhat teasingly, though I heard the heavy need that was overtaking him too.
“Fuck the rules,” I breathed, my voice sounding so damn desperate. But I didn’t care. I was about to fucking implode from all this damn tension. Dodging around what we both wanted wasn’t doing him or me any favors.
His entire body seemed to freeze, but not a second passed before he moved again. His fingers slid inside the waistband of my leggings, not stopping until he cupped my pussy with no restraint.
I moaned, needing this. Needing him to touch me like we were more than just friends after spending a day pretending.
But was it pretending if we were baby shopping for my son? Was it pretending if we got dinner after and acted as if it wasn’t a date?
Lines were blurred, and I didn’t have the energy to give a damn.
Beckham was all I wanted, and I was tired of pretending that wasn’t the case.
Two fingers slid inside me, and the breath I sucked in should’ve been embarrassing, but I was so wound up, I didn’t have a care in the world for anything but him touching me like this.
“Jesus, Parker,” Beckham hissed.
I peeked to be sure his eyes were still on the road.
They were.
He’d never put me in danger.
“How long have you been hiding this?” he asked, sliding in and out at a painfully slow pace.
For years, I thought.
“All day,” I lied.
I’d been soaked since even before I saw him slide into his Carhartt jacket this morning.
Watching the way his biceps flexed as he put it on in one swift movement should be forbidden for everyone but me.
Last night, I’d thought about the way he’d completely ravished me on the porch at his parents’ ranch, my hand disappearing between the covers multiple times.
I’d been restless knowing that today I’d get Beckham all to myself.
No Wyatt to interrupt us. No checking fences or sliding beneath a truck for an oil change or getting distracted by dinner or cleaning the house.
Today was all me and Beckham, and that knowledge had the floodgates opening.
His fingers slid dangerously deep inside me, his right hand curving at an awkward angle as he kept a steady left hand on the wheel.
“Pull over,” I whimpered. “Please.”
He wasted no time jerking the truck off the road and a safe distance into the bordering field.
The vehicle lurched as he shifted into park and yanked off his seat belt.
Needy hands did the same to mine, then hefted me up and onto his lap.
His fingers were back where they belonged in seconds, thrusting in and out of me as I straddled his lap.
Breath fanned out of me like I’d run miles to get to this point with him, my hair cascading around us in an umbrella of heat and lust and pure, utter need. Even the size of my stomach couldn’t keep us from each other, so why had I tried in the first place?
My necklace dangled between us as I rocked into his hand. The charm bounced off his chin, grazing his cheeks and bumping his nose. His lips parted, snagging the jewelry in his teeth.
I nearly came apart at the sight.
“Beck,” I moaned, though it was barely audible over our panting breaths and the sounds coming from where he was pumping in and out of me.
Beckham’s other hand tore into my hair, pulling my face down to his. My necklace popped off the edge of his tongue before our mouths crashed together.
With his lips on mine and my heart in his grasp, I realized now that the rules I’d conjured up were not to save either of us.
They weren’t to protect him from the burden of raising my child, or because messing around was foolish.
I’d forced them onto us like a lock and key because I knew his kisses would pull me back into an orbit I’d long ago lost. His eyes as he gazed down at me, thrusting his cock inside me, would ruin all chances of us staying on our separate paths.
But I didn’t want those chances anymore. I didn’t want to forfeit another second of his mouth glued to mine.
The only chance I wanted was giving in to my love for him again.
His thumb brushed my clit, my hips rocking into him as my skin grew so hot, I had no idea how we didn’t burst into flames.
“I missed this. Missed you,” he declared. Because even he knew there was something different in this moment.
“I missed you too,” I said against swollen lips.
As if the spoken words had been the final countdown on a bomb, I detonated. My core clenched around his hand, and despite the tightness, he powered through, pumping me faster and harder.
My thighs shook as my gasps came out strangled. Our foreheads pressed together as my eyes squeezed shut and sweat dripped down the back of my neck.
“I’ve got you,” he murmured, movements slowing while his other hand cupped the back of my head. “I’ve always got you.”
My lips pressed to his as I came down from my high. The kiss was soft, a polar opposite to the ravenous hunger that overtook us moments ago. But while our mouths took their time with each other, our hearts beat furiously.
We sat like that, two parts of a whole, for what felt like an hour, kissing slowly, tenderly, so intimately it nearly hurt.
“Ready?” Beckham breathed out, though his hold on me told me he wasn’t sure of his own answer to that question.
I nodded, our noses brushing. I could stay this close to him forever, live in this truck and be happy.
Once I was back in my seat and buckled, he pulled onto the road. Time was nonexistent as I leaned back against the seat and watched him drive. His hand covered mine on my lap, thumb brushing over my knuckles.
We made it home, and without a single regard for the items in the truck, Beckham opened my passenger door and lifted me into his arms. I wrapped my legs around his waist, and his mouth crashed to mine.
For a while, I’d feared this. This feral need for each other that overtook us whenever we gave it fuel. But now I knew it wasn’t something I should fight.
Life was short, and all I wanted was Beckham Bronson and my baby to be healthy and safe.
Our lips didn’t part as Beckham fumbled for the right key, or as we laughed when he dropped them. The man’s glutes were stronger than I’d thought as he squatted to grab them, all the while keeping his hold on me.