Nineteen
Sadie
A ll day, I’ve been replaying the moment Beckett said yes, if not to me, then at least to giving me sex lessons.
Then he left, and I’ve been spiraling. My skin feels too tight, my nerves buzzing like they’ve been electrified. I’ve tried to distract myself, but nothing works.
Then my phone pings, and it’s him. I hold my breath.
Beckett: I’m on my way, and practice starts tonight.
My heart skips, then stumbles. Tonight? Do I put on a robe? Stay in my shorts? Wait in my room or pretend I’m casually lounging on the couch? I want this—God, I want this—but excitement is tangled so tightly with anxiety that I’m not sure if I’m going to kiss him or combust.
I can almost hear his voice—teasing, calm, commanding.
I bite my lip, my nerves stretching taut. I try to breathe, to settle the thrum in my veins, but anticipation only sharpens everything.
A few minutes later, the front door opens. I freeze. He enters quietly, kicking off his shoes like he owns the space, which he does. His frame fills the room, effortless and confident.
“Hey,” he says. “You ready?”
I hesitate. “Should I, uh…wear clothes?”
He chuckles, stepping closer until he’s right in front of me. His finger lifts my chin, directing my gaze to his.
“I look forward to undressing you,” he murmurs. And then his lips are on mine.
The kiss is searing. His tongue teases, deepens, steals every breath I had left. He trails soft kisses down my neck, his breath hot against my ear.
“Relax,” he whispers.
But when he pulls back, I’m trembling.
“I’ll be upstairs,” he says. “Give me a few minutes and come up when you’re ready.”
And just like that, he disappears, leaving me stunned, breathless, and aching.
Five agonizing minutes pass.
Then I move, slowly, one foot in front of the other. Each step up the stairs is a heartbeat. A question. A choice.
When I push open his bedroom door, the scent of floral candles filters toward me. The room glows, low light, warm air, intimacy pulsing through every corner. It’s filled by a massive bed, soft linens, and shadows cast from the candlelight.
“Come in here,” he calls from the bathroom.
The sound of running water mixes with candlelight, flickering against the floor-to-ceiling mirrors. When I see myself, my face seems cautious and unsure, but I really want this.
Beckett stands by the extra-large tub, shirtless, jeans unbuttoned, confidence radiating from every line of his body. He reaches for me.
I let him draw me closer, my skin electric.
He kisses the back of my neck, slow and reverent, and I feel the breath leave my lungs. His arms surround me, and he pops the button on my jeans.
“Relax,” he whispers again.
When his hand slides under the waistband of my panties, I can barely stay upright.
“Are you looking forward to tonight?” he asks, his voice a hush of heat.
I nod, unable to find words.
He peels off my shirt and spins me to face him, eyes roaming my body with a mix of hunger and reverence. “You’re beautiful,” he says. “If anyone told you otherwise…that’s on them.”
His fingers slide down, tugging my panties to the floor. I can see glistening at my slit. His hands ghost over me, and my brain short circuits. He unhooks my bra, fingertips grazing my skin until my nipples tighten. A gasp slips out as he murmurs, “So responsive.”
He presses himself against me, the hard line of his arousal unmistakable. His voice is rough against my ear. “This is what you do to me.”
I’m dizzy with want.
He takes my hand, guiding me to the tub, dipping my fingers into the steaming water. “Too hot?”
I shake my head, and he helps me in. The water cradles me like a second skin. He strips off his jeans and slides in behind me, arms wrapping around my waist as he pulls me in close.
The water laps softly, the room full of steam and breath and tension.
“What do you like?” he murmurs.
“Everything,” I breathe.
He runs his hands along my thighs, up my sides, mapping me slowly. Gently. Possessively. He doesn’t feel like a teacher…
The steam rises around us, blurring the world as the tension within me begins to melt away. His fingertips trace delicate arcs along my collarbone, sparking a fire that both confuses and excites me. It’s an overwhelming feeling to be here with him—daring, reckless, and utterly alive.
I close my eyes, savoring every caress. He’s surprisingly gentle, yet there’s an underlying intensity to his touch that sends jolts through my body.
“Are you okay?” he murmurs, his voice deep and gravelly, threaded with concern.
I can feel his breath ghosting over my ear, and I shiver.
It’s an absurd question. Of course, I’m not okay, but in this moment, I want to forget everything else.
I want to drown in the warmth of him, in this shared space that feels so different from the noise outside.
“Yeah,” I say. I tilt my head to catch his expression. His blue eyes have darkened—intense, focused—and my heart stutters.
Slowly, deliberately, his hand slides up and settles between my breasts. I lean back into his shoulder, every touch sending sparks across my skin. His breath hitches. I’ve stirred something in him.
Driven by impulse, I swing a leg over his and press against his thigh. The move surprises us both. His hand tightens on my hip, and the rush that follows is instant. Heat curls in my belly. He swallows. We’re on the edge, caught between what we’ve been and everything we could be.
“Sadie, just feel and tell me what you like. Communication is key.”
“Don’t stop what you’re doing.” I groan, pressing back against him, driving my point home with a determined thrust of my hips.
I rise first, water sliding down my body as I reach for his hand. His fingers curl around mine, warm and certain, and together we step out, leaving the bath behind.
The tiles are cool underfoot as we move to the bedroom. When I glance back, his eyes are locked on me.