Chapter Six
Beckett
I didn’t plan on going to her cabin that night.
Hell, I tried not to. Poured myself into every chore I could find, stacked hay in the dark, swept a barn aisle that didn’t need sweeping.
Anything to burn off the itch crawling under my skin.
Anything to stop thinking about the way Libby had looked at me like I wasn’t a mistake she was making, but a choice she’d already made.
But when the storm finally broke and rain started hitting the tin roof of my cabin, I found myself walking the short distance to hers, standing outside her door, soaked and pissed at myself for giving in.
And still wanting to be wanted.
I knocked once.
The door opened like she’d been waiting.
She didn’t say anything. Didn’t ask what I was doing there.
She just looked at me, her expression soft and steady, like she already knew what I needed. And that she needed the same thing.
I stepped inside without a word. My boots left wet tracks on the wood floor, the air thick with the scent of something floral I couldn’t name but knew was her.
She stood there barefoot in an oversized shirt that hung off one shoulder. Her nipples stuck out, hard peaks beneath the soft cotton. My cock responded to her instantly. Hardening beneath my jeans. Wanting her. Needing her.
“Tell me to leave,” I said, voice almost a growl.
She took one slow step forward. “No.”
That’s all it took.
I was on her in two strides, my hands sliding into her hair as I kissed her—hard and deep, like I needed to mark her from the inside. She opened for me instantly, soft mouth, warm tongue, moaning like she wanted more before I’d even given her anything.
She tasted like honey and heat and home.
I lifted her, carrying her through the living room to her bedroom.
Our cabins were basically the same, just mirror images of each other.
I set her down by the bed, then dragged the shirt over her head in one motion, baring those perfect tits—soft, full, with nipples already tight for me.
I bent and wrapped my mouth around one, sucking hard while my hand teased the other.
She gasped, fingers tangling in my hair. “Beckett,” she breathed.
I fucking loved the way she said my name.
Like I was hers.
I kissed down her stomach, slow and deliberate, loving her softness, then dropped to my knees in front of her. She looked down at me, cheeks flushed, chest rising and falling fast.
The look on my face said I wasn’t going to be soft and gentle, but she didn’t tell me to stop. With rough hands, I hooked my fingers in her panties and tugged them down her legs.
And when I saw her—bare, slick, already wet and aching—I nearly lost it.
“You’re soaked for me, baby,” I growled, dragging my tongue up the crease of her thigh before swiping it through her folds. “You need my mouth, don’t you?”
She nodded, biting her lip. “Yes—God—please—”
I didn’t make her beg twice.
I pushed her back on the bed, hands sliding up her thighs until I hooked her knees over my shoulders.
For a second I just stared at her spread open for me, flushed and slick, and my cock throbbed against my zipper.
Then I buried my face between her legs and groaned against her heat, inhaling her like oxygen.
She tasted like heaven—sweet and musky and her—and I couldn’t get enough.
I started slow, dragging my tongue from the edge of her entrance all the way to her clit in one long, deliberate stroke, then flicking the tip over that tight little nub until her hips jumped. Every twitch, every gasp went straight to my head. Mine. She’s mine.
I sealed my mouth over her clit and sucked gently while my tongue circled, building a rhythm until she was trembling.
When she whimpered my name, I slid a finger into her—thick, slow, letting her body stretch around me—then a second.
Her heat clenched down hard. I curled my fingers, searching, until I felt that spongy spot deep inside that made her breath hitch.
“There it is,” I muttered against her, and pressed again. Her back arched off the mattress. I stroked it over and over, fingers pumping while my tongue kept up its relentless assault on her clit, the perfect push-pull until she was shaking apart in my hands. Under my tongue.
“Beckett—” she gasped, voice breaking.
“That’s it, baby,” I growled into her. “Come for me. Right here. Let me taste it.”
She shattered with a strangled moan, legs clamping around my head as her orgasm tore through her.
Her slickness flooded my tongue, and I licked her through it, slow and deep, until the tremors eased.
But I didn’t stop. I kept my fingers curled inside her, coaxing little aftershocks, drinking in every sound she made, every drop of liquid that spilled from her body.
“I can’t take more,” she gasped.
“Yes, you can.” I wanted to see her break again. Wanted her wrung out, helpless, begging.
I flattened my tongue against her clit and added another finger inside her, three in total. She gasped, but I pushed forward, finding that spot again. I wasn’t a small man and needed to prepare her. As I stroked her, licked her, I scissored my fingers, stretching her.
“That’s it,” I muttered against her, pumping my fingers in a slow, relentless rhythm, tongue flicking faster, coaxing the sounds out of her. “Give it to me, Libby. Come for me again.”
She tried to twist away, but I held her steady, one arm braced over her stomach while I worked her with my mouth. Her thighs trembled around my head.
“Beckett—please—” she choked out, voice breaking.
My name had never sounded so fucking good.
“Yeah, baby. Just like that. Let go for me.”
Then she shattered a second time, sobbing my name as her climax hit, hard and messy. Her hips bucked against my face, slick heat spilling over my tongue, and I licked her through every tremor until she was shaking and whimpering, wrung out and boneless under my hands.
I stood and ripped off my clothes. I needed to be inside her, taking her. Now that I’d surrendered my control, it was all I could do to stay sane until I felt her wet heat around me.
She watched every move I made with hunger in those beautiful eyes.
I’d never had a woman look at me like that.
And I was fucking glad it was her. I stood there for a second—ribs tight, old scars on full display, the burn down my side feeling as raw and exposed as the day it had happened.
Even though she’d seen them in the barn, I waited for her to look away. She didn’t. She reached for me.
“You’re beautiful,” she said, voice steady.
No one had ever said that to me. Not before. Not after.
Her hands moved to my chest, fingers tracing the scars that twisted across my side. I tensed without meaning to. She looked at me with those clear blue eyes. “Does it hurt?”
“No. Not any more.”
“Good.” She raised her head and kissed the worst of the scarring, right where it crossed by collarbone. “Because I plan on touching you everywhere.”
Fuck.
I groaned and captured her mouth again. Hard, possessive, demanding.
“Damn it,” I murmured. “You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”
She laughed softly. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
“It is. Beautiful things are meant to be admired from afar or handled with care. I can’t do either.”
“Liar. I’ve seen you do that with Wildfire. With the mare. With all the horses.” She kissed the scars on my forearm. “With me.”
My fingers tangled in her hair, pulling her head back, making her meet my gaze. “I need you to understand something,” I said, as I looked down at her. “I haven’t done this in a long time. And I’m not—I’m not good at the gentle shit. The sweet talk.”
“I don’t want gentle.” Her fingers traced my jaw. “I want you. However, you are. Don’t be careful with me.”
She reached down and wrapped her hand around my cock, and I felt that same flash of fire I’d felt when I was burned. Hot. Intense. Burning away everything else but what mattered. Then, my will to live. To survive.
Now, the need to possess Libby. Take her. Make her mine. Despite everything. Despite myself.
This time, the heat fucking destroyed me.
“Spread your legs,” I ordered.
She obeyed without hesitation, and the trust in that—the way she just opened for me—nearly undid me.
I pushed inside her in one slow, steady stroke—tight, wet heat surrounding me, gripping me so fucking good I nearly came on the spot. “Libby,” I grunted. “You feel like warm rain.”
She wrapped her legs around me, begging for more. And I gave it to her.
I started out slow. Well, as slow as I could, dragging my cock almost all the way out before pushing back in deeper and harder than the last thrust. She dug her nails into my shoulders like she needed something to hold onto.
“Beckett—please—harder—”
I gritted my teeth, grabbed her hips, and gave her what she wanted. Fucked her harder, faster, until the bed shook and her cries turned into groaned screams.
“This what you wanted?” I pulled out and slammed back in. “Wanted me to fuck you?”
She nodded wildly. “Yes—yes, I need this—I need you—”
I set a brutal pace, driven by weeks of pent-up need and want.
She took every thrust, her pussy gripping me like a fist, her cries growing louder with each stroke.
My cock growing harder. From the feel of her wet heat around me, the way she looked—flushed, fucked-out, her tits bouncing with every thrust, her mouth red from my kisses.
The way she gave herself to me completely.
Trusting. Vulnerable.
Like she knew I’d never hurt her.
I couldn’t stop.
She was the only thing I wanted.
The only thing I needed.
“That’s it. Take it. This cock is yours.” I looked down where our bodies were joined. Her body stretching to accommodate my size. My fingers dug into her thick thighs and I knew she’d have marks in the morning. But this was it for me. This was the reason I was here. Why I’d survived.
To fuck Libby.
To have Libby.
“Come for me again,” I growled, slamming into her deep. “Let me feel it, Libby.”
She choked on a sob, back arching off the bed as her pussy clenched around me in another climax. It dragged me over with her, my body tensing as I came—deep, hard, groaning her name against her throat as I filled her.
I didn’t pull out.
Didn’t move.
I just stayed there, wrapped around her, breathing hard, heart pounding like I’d just survived another blast.
And maybe I had.
Because for the first time in years, I felt something that wasn’t pain.
I felt... wanted.