Chapter 5 Grabby Hands #3
My mouth drops open at that. “Wh—what do you mean?”
“I mean, I’m a man, Gracie,” he says, raw and shaking. “Not your consolation prize. Not your stand-in. And I can’t pretend anymore.”
Before I can react, Beck takes my hand and presses it hard against his crotch.
“Feel that?” he hisses. “It’s my dick. Sometimes I touch it and think of you. Does that disgust you? Make you sick?”
He lets go, but not before I feel the twitch beneath my palm.
Beck steps back, his chest heaving, mouth set in a flat line. The silence between us crackles, charged and electric.
Finally, his breathing slows. He glances down. “Uh. You can move your hand now.”
“Maybe I don’t want to,” I say, squeezing lightly.
Beck sucks in a sharp breath, eyes screwing shut.
“Gracie.”
My name is a warning, but I’m already moving. I grab the back of his neck and haul him down to me, crushing my mouth to his.
The kiss is nothing like I imagined. It isn’t gentle or tentative. It’s not soft or sweet. It’s years of restraint detonating all at once. Beck makes a broken sound against my mouth, one hand bracing against the wall as his body presses into mine.
He was a good kisser at prom.
He’s incredible now.
My mouth opens, and his tongue meets mine, sure and hungry. I moan, loud and unashamed, arms locking around his neck as I pull him closer, erasing every inch of space between us.
“What—what are we doing?” he asks between kisses, breathless and confused, even as his erection presses hard against my thigh.
I rock into him. Beck groans, low and helpless, and the sound goes straight through me.
“If we’re fighting,” I murmur against his mouth, nipping his lower lip, “we might as well kiss while we do it.”
A short, surprised laugh escapes him before his mouth is back on mine.
“Gracie,” he breathes, torn. “This is—”
“I know,” I whisper.
There are no words for this. For the live wire of want surging through me. I rise onto my toes, kissing him again and again.
His hand flexes at my waist, then stills, like he’s holding himself back by force. The restraint makes everything throb.
I tilt my head back, and he’s there instantly, kissing along my jaw, my neck. My fingers slide into his hair, pulling him closer. My hand drops to his jeans, rubbing the hard bulge beneath them.
He whimpers.
Actually whimpers.
Something inside him snaps.
His mouth crashes back to mine, no restraint left. His hand slides up my side, under my shirt, warm and shaking, like he doesn’t quite trust himself. He slips beneath my bra, thumb brushing over my nipple, circling gently.
My back arches without permission. My breath stutters. The world tilts.
Some distant part of my brain registers where we are, the noise of the bar just beyond the hallway, people laughing, glasses clinking, but it feels unreal. None of it matters. Not now.
All that exists is Beck.
Achingly familiar. Terrifyingly new.
Like touching something I’ve wanted my whole life but was too afraid to reach for. Every boundary I built around him is crumbling, and, instead of fear, there’s relief. Desire. A certainty that settles deep in my bones.
I want this. To explore every part of him. All the places I never let myself touch because I was too scared. Not just his body, but the guarded, hidden places in his heart and mind.
Once, I thought I knew everything about him.
Now I see how wrong I was.
How long has he felt this way? Has he been stealing glances the way I have, lying awake with his heart racing, caught in the same restless dreams?
Dreams like this.
Where our bodies fit together.
Where our breath syncs and becomes one.
His entire hand cups my breast now, kneading and rubbing. He caresses my nipple, and moisture pools between my legs. I grind my pelvis against his thigh, and he presses right back. It’s breathless. Feral. Messy.
Finally, I pull away. “Take me home, Beck.”
Dazed eyes meet mine, heavy-lidded with lust. “I—I…” He hesitates, and my heart stalls. If he rejects me now, if he walks away when I’ve put everything on the line, I won’t survive it. I can’t live in a world without Beck. Not now, not after I’ve touched him, held him.
“I don’t want to be your one-night stand.” He drops his forehead to mine. “I want way more. If you can’t do that, you need to tell me. Now. Please, Gracie. You need to…let me go.”
“Never,” I whisper fiercely. “I’m never fucking letting you go, Oliver Becksworth the Third.” I poke him in the chest with my finger, hard, emphasizing each word. “So man up and take me home.”
His eyebrows lift at that declaration with a flicker of amusement that dies almost instantly. Something else takes its place, solid, resolved, unmistakably male.
His hands slide to my hips, firm this time, holding me there. Not asking. Claiming.
“Fine,” he says, low and steady. He leans in, mouth brushing my ear. “But you listen to me.”
My breath catches.
“If I’m taking you home, you need to understand this,” he says quietly. “When I close that door, you’re mine. No regrets. No walking away.” He pulls back just enough to meet my eyes. His jaw flexes. “I need to know you won’t leave me in the morning.”
The hallway is impossibly still.
“I won’t,” I say without hesitation. “I choose you. I always have.”
Something in him settles. Locks into place.
“Good,” he says.
Beck holds out his hand—
—and I take it.
Gracie
Present
Beck has the door halfway open when I tug on him. “My purse.” I glance back toward the bar, where the music thumps even louder than it did a minute ago. Down the hall, a conga line snakes through the room, winding in and out of the tables. “I left it back in the booth.”
“It’s fine.” He presses a quick kiss to my forehead. The easy, effortless way he does it, like he’s been doing it for years, unlocks a whole new level of yearning in my chest. “I’ll go grab it. Wait for me, okay?”
“Okay,” I tell him. “I’ll be outside.”
Smiling, I push open the alley door and step out. Cool air lifts my hair, pulling me back to prom. To our first kiss. But this night is better, because it’s ending the way that one should have.
With us. Together.
A lighter clicks and flares, briefly illuminating a face I recognize. Devon. Leaning against the wall, neon green beads still hanging around his neck, plastic shamrocks tangled in the chain. A cigarette is clenched between his fingers, smoke curling up into the dark.
Strange. Brandon never mentioned he smoked.
“Gracie.” He tips his head in a nod, then takes in a deep drag and blows the smoke out of his nose.
“Careful,” I reply, “that stuff can kill you.”
He leans his head back against the wall, takes another puff. “So judgmental.”
I shrug. “It’s your funeral.” I turn to take a few steps away. I don’t like the smell of cigarettes. Never have.
Footsteps follow.
“If it offends you that much,” Devon says, dropping the cigarette and grinding it beneath his heel, “there. Better now?”
“Whatever.” I tell him, “Don’t do it for my sake. I don’t care.”
I glance back toward the door, wondering what’s taking Beck so long.
When I turn around, Devon is right there.
Too close.
“Maybe you should care,” he says softly, tilting his head. He lifts a strand of my hair and winds it around his fingers, his eyes never leaving my face. “I’ve been watching you. All night. Before that even, when you were with Brandon. You’re a very pretty girl.”
I swat his hand away, anger flaring. “Back off. I’m not interested.”
“But I am. Very interested.” He moves into my space, and I take a step back.
Earlier, Beck made my heart race with want.
Now it’s something else entirely.
Fear.
Every instinct in my body screams.
Devon matches my retreat, his eyes sliding over me in open appraisal. “Brandon talked about you,” he says. “Said you’re a firecracker in bed.”
My hands curl into fists. “Yeah? Well, he’s an asshole. There’s a reason I’m not with him anymore.”
“You’re right. He’s trash,” Devon says lightly. “Doesn’t mean he was lying.”
His hand brushes my cheek. Slow. Lingering. I jerk back in revulsion.
He sees my disgust and smiles. Dimple flashing. Cold. Practiced. The look of someone who’s done this before. Who knows how to use charm to take what he wants.
“I should probably check for myself,” he continues. “Don’t you think?”
His hand clamps around my upper arm. Hard enough to hurt.
“Stop.” I twist, trying to pull free. “Let go.”
“Mmm.” He leans forward and murmurs in my ear, “I don’t think I will.”
Panic spikes as he grabs my other arm, holding me still while his nose trails down my cheek. “I want a taste. See how sweet you really are.”
“Fuck off,” I hiss, clawing at his hands. Desperate. Trapped.
Devon only smiles, tightening his grip. “Easy,” he murmurs. “You don’t want to make a fuss.”
The alley door slams open.
“What the hell are you doing?” Beck’s voice slices through the dark, sharp as a blade.
Devon stiffens, but he doesn’t let go.
My head swings toward Beck as he steps into the alley. His eyes take everything in at once—Devon’s hands on my arms, my body pinned, my face white with terror.
Something in Beck snaps.
He doesn’t shout again. He doesn’t warn.
He charges.
Devon barely has time to turn before Beck slams into him, all shoulder and momentum, driving him back into the brick wall with a bone-jarring crack. Devon curses, stunned, but he recovers fast, shoving Beck hard in the chest.
“Get the fuck off me—”
Devon swings.
His fist catches Beck across the jaw, snapping his head sideways. I scream. Beck staggers back a step, blinking, blood already blooming at the corner of his mouth.
For half a second, he looks shocked.
Then his eyes go dark.
Beck surges forward again, tackling Devon around the middle. They slam to the ground hard, bodies colliding, the sound of it echoing down the alley. Devon grunts as Beck lands on top of him, but he twists, bucks, manages to get an elbow into Beck’s ribs.
Beck snarls, a sound I’ve never heard from him. Furious.
Devon punches him again, wild and angry, knuckles scraping Beck’s cheekbone. “You think you’re tough?” he spits. “You think you—”
Beck’s fist crashes into Devon’s mouth.
Once.
Twice.
Devon’s head smacks against the pavement. He howls, scrabbling, trying to roll them over. Beck lets him, then slams him back down, forearm crushing Devon’s throat.
Devon claws at Beck’s arm, choking. “Get—off—”
“You don’t touch her,” Beck growls, voice shaking with anger.
Devon knees Beck in the stomach. Hard. Beck gasps, losing his balance just long enough for Devon to jerk free. Devon staggers upright, blood on his lip.
He lunges again.
This time Beck is ready.
They collide chest to chest. Devon swings, Beck ducks clumsily, catches Devon around the waist and drives him backward into a dumpster. Metal rattles violently. Devon’s head smacks the edge with a sickening thunk.
Devon blinks, dazed. He tries to laugh, spits blood. “You’re gonna regret this—”
Beck slams into him, forearm crushing his windpipe, face inches from Devon’s.
“No,” Beck says, low and shaking. “You are.”
Devon’s eyes finally flicker with fear.
Beck releases him abruptly. Devon collapses to the ground, coughing violently, clutching his throat.
Beck stands over him, chest heaving, fists trembling. For a terrifying second, I think he might hit him again.
Instead, Beck takes a step back.
Devon scrambles to his feet, stumbling, pride shattered. He shoots Beck a venomous look, then turns and bolts down the alley, his footsteps uneven.
Silence crashes down.
Beck turns to me.
His face is scraped, knuckles red and slick. His eyes are unfocused, like he’s still lost in the haze of the fight.
I rush forward, hands shaking as I grab his jacket. “Beck.”
He looks at me like he’s just waking up.
“I—” His breath stutters. “I didn’t think. I just—”
“I know,” I say, pressing my forehead to his chest, feeling his heart hammering wildly beneath my cheek. “I know.”
His arms wrap around me, crushing, protective, like he needs to hold onto me so he doesn’t fall.
“That was my first fight,” he admits hoarsely. A humorless laugh, full of disbelief. “I didn’t think I was that guy.”
I pull back enough to look at him. “You are,” I say softly. “When it matters.”
Something settles in his expression, fear, awareness, acceptance.
“Are you okay?” He exhales, long and shaky, then cups my face with trembling hands.
I nod, my legs unsteady.
He pulls me close, his body still vibrating with adrenaline. Then he lowers his mouth to mine and kisses me long and deep. “I’ll never let anyone hurt you,” Beck murmurs against my lips.
I believe him.
“Come on.” I lace my fingers through his. “Let’s go home.”