Chapter 13 #2
Cool air hits my skin, but before I have time to shiver, Beckett’s mouth is at my throat, my collarbone, sucking bruises into the skin where my neck meets my shoulder. His beard scrapes against the sensitized skin, and I arch into him, wanting more.
He backs me into the kitchen table, which I belatedly realize is covered in paperwork and a laptop only when I reach back my hands to brace myself.
“Bedroom,” I gasp. “Bed. Room. Now.”
“And you say I’m bossy,” he teases.
He wraps his arms around my waist and half carries, half pushes me down a short hallway to a bedroom lit by a single bedside lamp.
I am not a person given to being manhandled—I’m way too big and some might say too prickly—but when Beckett grabs me by the waist and deposits me on his huge bed, I can barely get out a cry of protest before he’s climbing over me, pressing me into flannel sheets that smell like him, and then he’s kissing me again.
I suddenly wonder if maybe there’s something to this being-manhandled business after all.
When Beckett climbs off to shed his henley and jeans, I make a noise of appreciation.
God, the man is built like he was carved from a tree—thick thighs, muscular chest scattered with dark hair, arms that could bench-press a small car…
or lift a whole-ass New Yorker onto a bed, as the case might be.
And his cock is so thick and long it makes my mouth water and my ass clench.
“Get the rest of this shit off.” He reaches for my belt with a predatory grin that I feel in my balls.
“I say you’re bossy because you are bossy,” I feel the need to point out.
“And you love it,” he shoots back, which is…
Accurate. Fuck.
He pulls down my jeans and boxers, and I lift my hips to help him. Then he stands by the side of the bed and stares down at me.
It should feel weird or clinical, the way he’s looking me over. I’m twelve shades of pale, thin but not muscular, while he is, through some unfair whim of DNA, a golden-tan, dark-haired Adonis from head to toe. But the way he’s looking at me—it feels like worship.
My dick’s so hard it’s aching, and I can’t help reaching down to stroke myself once.
Beckett’s eyes darken as he watches me touch myself, his own cock twitching in response. “Fuck, you’re gorgeous,” he growls, his voice rough. “Look at you, already so hard for me. You want my mouth on you, Griff?”
My hand stutters on my shaft. “I want your mouth everywhere,” I admit, my voice breathy. “But I want your cock in me more.”
He groans, low and guttural, and drops to his knees beside the bed.
His hands grip my thighs, spreading them wide, and then his mouth is on my cock—hot, wet, and relentless.
I gasp, my back arching off the bed as he takes me deep, his tongue swirling around the head before he pulls back just enough to say, “You taste so fucking good.”
“Fuck, Beckett—” My fingers tangle in his hair, not guiding, just holding on as he works me over, his lips tight, his tongue doing things that make my toes curl. But as good as it feels, it’s not what I need. “I want you inside me. Now.”
He pulls off with a wet pop, his lips glistening, and grins up at me. “Patience, city boy. I’m gonna make you beg for it.”
I whimper, my hips jerking up. “I am begging. Please, Beckett, I need you to fuck me.”
He chuckles, the sound dark and satisfied, and presses a kiss to the inside of my thigh. “Not yet.” His breath is hot against my skin as he moves lower, his tongue dragging over my balls before he nips at the sensitive skin behind them. I shudder, my legs trembling.
Oh. My. God.
Then his mouth is on my hole, his tongue flat and insistent. His hands grasp the backs of my thighs, pressing them to my chest, and no word of a lie, no hint of exaggeration—I see stars. Entire constellations of them, pinwheeling against the backs of my eyelids. “Oh fuck. That’s—fuck, Beckett—”
“You like that?” His voice is a rumble against my skin, his fingers spreading me open as he licks again, slow and deliberate. “You like my tongue in your ass?”
“Yes—god, yes—” My voice breaks, my hands fisting in the sheets. The sensation is overwhelming, the wet heat of his mouth, the brush and scrape of his beard, the way he’s holding me open like I’m his to devour. The way I want to be his to devour. “More. Please, more.”
He doesn’t make me ask twice. His tongue pushes inside, fucking me in slow, deep strokes that have me babbling, my cock leaking onto my stomach. “You’re so tight,” he murmurs, pulling back just enough to speak. “Gonna have to stretch you out good before I can get my cock in here.”
I groan, my head thrashing on the pillow. “Just do it. I don’t care. Get in there.”
Beckett chuckles again, the vibration making me whimper. “I care,” he says gently. “I’m not hurting you.” He reaches for the nightstand, pulling out lube and a condom. I watch, dazed, as he rolls the condom on, his cock thick and veined, the sight of it making my hole clench in anticipation.
He slicks his fingers, pressing one against my already-wet rim. “Relax, baby. Let me in.”
I try, but I’m wound so tight, I’m literally trembling with need. His first finger slides in easily, though, and I moan, my hips rocking down to meet it. “M-more. Now. I can take it.”
“Greedy little thing,” he murmurs with something like affection, adding a second finger, scissoring them to stretch me. “Gonna feel so good around my cock.”
“Fuck, yes—” I’m panting now, my body burning, my skin too sensitive. “Beckett, please—”
He adds a third finger, crooking them just right, and I cry out, my cock jerking. “There it is,” he growls. “Right there. You’re gonna come so hard when I hit this spot with my dick.”
“Fuck me,” I demand. My voice is desperate, and I don’t care one bit. “Why are you taking so long?”
He chuckles and pulls his fingers out, lining his cock up with my entrance. “You ready?”
“Fuck you.”
He pushes in slowly, inch by inch, blue eyes locked on mine. The stretch burns, but it’s so, so good, especially when he bottoms out and I feel him everywhere.
“Christ, Griffin,” he groans. “You feel incredible.”
I want to agree, but I can’t even form words. So I just nod, my nails digging into his thick shoulders as he starts to move. He’s big, so big, and it’s been a while, but the way he’s filling me, the way he’s looking at me—it’s worth every second of the burn.
“You okay?” he asks, his voice strained.
“Move,” I gasp. “P-please. Please!”
“So polite, city boy,” he teases. But he does move, finally, pulling out almost all the way before slamming back in, and when I cry out, it’s like the sound is torn from my throat. “Like that?”
“Yes—fuck, yes—”
He sets a punishing rhythm, his hips snapping against mine, his cock hitting my prostate so perfectly that my vision whites out.
“This ass is mine now,” he growls, his hands gripping my hips hard enough to bruise. “Say it.”
I hesitate. Beckett doesn’t know it, but I don’t say shit like that. Not even in bed. I’ve built a whole life where all of me is my own, and that’s exactly how I like it.
But in that moment, with Beckett moving inside of me, with the smell of cedar and sex all over me… I want to be his. I want it to be true. At least for right now.
“It’s yours,” I moan, the words spilling out. “Fuck, all yours.”
“Damn right.” His thrusts get harder, deeper, his breath coming in ragged gasps. “Gonna make you come so hard you forget your own name.”
I can feel it building, the pressure coiling tight in my gut. My cock is trapped between us, leaking, aching. “I need… Beckett… I need to touch myself,” I beg. “I need to come.”
“Yeah?” He wraps his hand around my shaft instead, and it’s a thousand… a million… times better. “Give it up to me, Griffin. Let me feel you.”
I don’t know if I have any say in the matter. My orgasm crashes over me, my cock pulses in his grip, my ass clenches around him, and I come harder than I ever have in my life.
Beckett groans and stills, his eyes burning into mine as he watches me like he’s soaking in every ounce of my pleasure, and I swear my empty balls give one last spurt just from the look in his eyes.
He pulls out of me gently, and I whimper, my empty hole twitching at the loss. But then he rips off the condom, runs a hand over the mess I made of my stomach, and starts jacking himself.
Dear. Fucking. God.
He’s working himself roughly, showing off for me as he kneels between my thighs, letting me see just how much he loves this.
His thighs tremble, his breath hitches every time his thumb grazes the head of his dick, his fist makes an obscene shlick shlick shlick sound as it slides over his glistening cock, and I think, That’s me all over him.
My cum marking his skin, like he’s every bit as much mine as I am his.
Once again, I get that sensation that I’ve only ever had with Beckett. That letting him have me doesn’t make me weak; it makes me fucking powerful.
I want to taste him like I did the other day.
I want to lick his fingers clean. Want to throw him down and kiss every fucking inch of his too-perfect skin until he’s begging.
But I’m too spent to move. So instead, I lie there watching him like he watched me earlier and try to show him just how fucking gorgeous I think he is.
“Come on,” I whisper. “Come for me, baby.”
Yeah, I don’t know where the baby comes from, but the word feels right.
And the second it leaves my lips, Beckett’s eyes flare, his breathing stutters, his cock jerks, and his whole body tenses.
His lips part, and his eyes roll back, and then his cum lands in thick stripes against my stomach, mixing us together.
It’s glorious, and that… freaks me right the fuck out.
This was supposed to be a physical thing. Just sex. But I’m very afraid I’ve gone and caught feelings. I’m not just a little mushy. I’m… I’m gone for this guy.
Dear god. What have I done?