7. The First Rule
The First Rule
~AMBER~
An elevator is eight feet by six.
I know because I spent the longest ninety seconds of my adult life measuring this one.
Beckett has put himself in the far corner, back against the brass rail, rolled plans held in front of him like a man carrying his own alibi, and he has left me the entire remaining acreage of the car, which at this range is a gesture you can feel.
The doors close.
The cables hum.
Five years of careful choreography, undone by a hotel with one service elevator, and the two of us ride it down through the Salt there might be cameras watching, but I don't care.
The best part is he doesn't either.
My heart hammers, each beat fluttery and fast. Wetness soaks through lace, the thin barrier useless, and every movement just smears the need sharper. I catch him drinking it in, his praise low and rough:
“I’d fuck you right now.”
That sends laughter bubbling, breathless, off my lips.
“Don’t promise me a good time if you can’t hold down the fort,” I throw back. And his grin, that wolfish tilt to it, dares to promise sinful things.
Beck just leans past me, slaps the stop button with quick certainty before the elevator can get close to letting us out.
I arch a brow, heart still thudding, and remind him there’s only one elevator in this building. He just smirks, edges so close I count each word as he murmurs against my mouth.
“And now it’s out of service, Sweet Apricot.”
The words land like a match on dry tinder.
Sweet Apricot.
No one else has ever called me that.
It’s so easy to be pulled into the memories of the past, especially at the recollection of a nickname that hits deeper than the kiss, stirring memories of lazy mornings in his workshop, sunlight striping his bare shoulders while I perched on his workbench feeding him apricot tarts between hammer strikes.
This elevator ride dares to feel like a thousand years than a few short seconds, and how I dare to recall what happened after those tempting words:
“Beck—” I start, but he swallows the protest with another kiss, deeper this time, tongue sliding against mine in a filthy promise. One big hand cups the back of my neck, thumb stroking the sensitive spot just below my ear where my scent gland pulses.
The other hand grips my hip, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise, anchoring me against him.
“Protests later,” he groans against my lips. “We’re on a little bit of a time crunch aren’t we, Amber?”
The use of my chosen name—my real name—shatters something in me.
I moan into his mouth since it’s the only way I can respond when my body is so hot and bothered. Arching up, I press my breasts against his chest. The thin linen of my blouse does nothing to hide how hard my nipples are.
He notices immediately, breaking the kiss to look down with dark, hungry eyes, that surely undressed me plenty of times before his hands dare to do the deed fast enough.
“Still so responsive for me,” he murmurs, voice rough as gravel. His thumb brushes over one peaked nipple through fabric and I gasp, hips jerking forward involuntarily.
The bulge in his trousers is unmistakable, thick and insistent against my stomach.
The elevator is small, maybe six by eight feet, with mirrored walls that reflect us back at ourselves from every angle.
I catch a glimpse over his shoulder: my hair already coming loose from its pins, lips swollen, his large frame caging me in.
It should feel claustrophobic, yet, I’m thriving at how intimiate and private this feels. Like a stolen moment in time just for us, madly in love, our unity only months away.
His mouth trails down my throat, teeth grazing along my collar.
A frustrated sound rumbles in his chest.
“Too much of this shit on you. I want to smell that heightened aroma of yours. Every bit of it…all of you.”_
I can’t help but be amused, having to use a hint of neutralizer to test out different brands. I despise wearing it because I love the way it drives my men mad, but sometimes duty calls and the consequences are making my horny Alpha more impatient to fuck me in this metal box of an elevator.
Before I can respond, he’s tugging the collar of my blouse aside, lips finding bare skin. The first real pull of his mouth over my scent gland sends slick gushing between my thighs.
I cry out, the sound echoing sharply off the metal walls. My hands scramble at his shoulders, nails digging in.
It’s so hard to be patient when my pussy is craving the fill of his cock.
Hell, to feel the full beauty of his swollen knot.
“Beckett—”_ I whine with that submissive whimpering that always makes the poor man come undone by the seams.
He doesn’t make me beg twice.
The hand at my hip slides down, bunching my linen skirt up around my waist in one rough motion. Cool air hits my soaked panties, and I shiver, the anticipation only making me leak like an open faucet of slick and desire.
His fingers trace the edge of the lace, teasing, before pressing firmly against my center.
“Dripping for me already, my Sweet? I’m being a bad Alpha making you wait so long, hmmm?” Two thick fingers push the lace aside and slide through my folds, gathering wetness. “This pretty pussy remembers these fingers though. I bet she remembers my throbbing veiny cock seven inches deep.”
I whimper, hips rocking shamelessly against his hand.
He circles my clit with devastating precision, the calluses on his fingertips adding the perfect rough edge. My head falls back against the metal surface with a thud.
In the mirror, I watch his arm flex as he works me open, two fingers plunging deep while his thumb grinds against my clit.
The pleasure builds fast and brutally.
“That’s it,” he praises, voice low and filthy. “Cum on my hand like the good Omega you are. Let me feel you squeeze with those hot pussy walls. That’s why you’ve been doing all those Kegel exercises, yes? Just to please your Alphas.”
“Mhmm,” I moan against his lips that claim me in a messy kiss, before his scent spikes, heavy with Alpha satisfaction.
That’s all I need to tip me over.
I come with a broken cry, walls fluttering around his fingers, slick coating his palm. He doesn’t stop, working me through it until my legs shake.
When I finally slump against him, he withdraws his fingers and brings them to his mouth, licking them clean with a groan that vibrates through his chest.
The sight makes fresh heat pool low in my belly, while that fluttering pulsation of wanting more dares to tempt me.
“Not enough,” he says. “Need to be inside you.”
He spins me around so I’m facing the mirrored wall, hands braced on the cool surface. My reflection stares back, flushed cheeks, wild eyes, skirt rucked up around my hips.
Beckett yanks my panties down my thighs, and I step out of them automatically. He kicks them aside, as if I won’t need them when we exit the elevator.
With the pace we’re going, probably not.
His belt buckle clinks. The sound of his zipper is loud in the quiet elevator. Then his cock is nudging against me, thick and hot and bare.
The broad head parts my slick folds, teasing my entrance.
“Look at us,” he commands softly, one hand on my hip, the other reaching around to tilt my chin toward the mirror. “Watch how well you take me in your sexy reflection, Amber. You’re gonna watch every fucking thrust and how it drives your beautiful body mad.”
When he slides into me, I can barely keep my eyes open as my moan is loud and generous in proving how he drives me wild. I watch as he pushes in slowly, inch by thick inch, stretching me open after years of emptiness.
The burn is exquisite.
By the time he fills me fully, my mouth falls open on a silent gasp. In the reflection, his jaw is clenched tight, eyes locked on where we join.
“So tight,” he grits out. “Knowing you're only ours and will always be is driving me insane.”
The spoken admission only arouses me in equal measure.