Chapter 28
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Joey
I knew exactly what I was doing.
The second I saw him in that polo shirt—indecently snug across his chest and tight around his tattooed biceps—I wanted that man inside me.
Unbutton your dress and beg for it.
Beckett gets bold when he’s turned on. And when he’s like this? I’d let him break my back and then thank him for it. . .and then ask him to break it again.
My hands tremble with anticipation as I undo my buttons, revealing my bra.
My breaths come out hot and uneven with need.
My nipples graze the intricate lace, straining against the fabric and begging to be touched.
Pair that sensation with Beckett’s hand between my thighs, and my body is already wound tight.
Every sensation is amplified, my senses soaring to new heights.
The faint scent of his spicy cologne wraps around me.
The sounds of our heavy breaths, needing one another.
The warmth of his rough fingers between my thighs.
The look of hunger on his face.
Now I’m dying for a taste of him.
“Fuck,” he growls, quickly homing in on my breasts, taking in every curve with an intensity that makes my skin tingle.
I’m burning up with need for him while he still has his eyes on the road. Though the muscle along his jaw pulses once, then again. A clear sign that I’m pulling on the final thread of his restraint.
His throat works as he swallows, a storm brewing beneath his composed exterior.
Pulse pounding, head resting against the headrest, my tits exposed, and thighs parted, I beg. “Please. Please touch me.”
His sharp intake of breath only arouses me more.
“Here’s how the rest of the drive will play out,” he begins, eyes still fixed on the road. “You’re going to play with your nipples and I’m going to play with your pussy. That way, by the time we get home, you’ll be ready for me.”
Oh. My. Fucking. God.
A whirlwind of emotions surges through me—a mix of pride at his newfound confidence and the overwhelming need for him to pull over so I can crawl onto his lap and close the distance between us.
Swallowing thickly, I glide my hands up my body, tracing a path over the lace of my bra and to the swell of my breast. My skin awakens under my touch, heat unfurling with every subtle caress.
I cup and knead the soft flesh, reveling in the sensation before tugging down the cups of my bra.
As the fabric slips away, exposing my hardened nipples, I drag my fingertip lazily around one, teasing Beckett, then twist it gently.
Pleasure surges through my veins and my back arches off the seat.
Every few seconds, he looks away from the road, drinking me in, his hand tight on the wheel, his knuckles turning white from the pressure. “Fuck, Josephine. So beautiful,” he murmurs, his voice a deep, gravelly whisper.
The burning desire in his tone makes me squirm in my seat. The sheer intensity causes my skin to pebble and a quiet whimper to escape my lips.
Every nerve ending in my body is screaming to be touched. My core clenches, begging to be filled by him. “If you don’t touch me, then I’ll have to take matters into my own—”
He sinks two fingers inside my pussy, cutting off my threat.
I cry out, hips bucking, greedy for more. Greedy for whatever he’ll give me.
I need more.
Curling his fingers, he strokes me in a way that’s making me delirious.
My hands fall to my side as my body relaxes into the feeling.
“I didn’t say you could stop touching yourself, Josephine.” His rough voice breaks through my euphoria.
“S-sorry,” I stammer. With trembling hands, I return to work, my fingertips grazing against my sensitive nipples. Heat flares across my cheeks. I press my lips together to suppress the needy whimper that almost escapes me.
“Just like that. Thank you, baby.” The rasp of his approval coils around me like a vise. Each syllable hits me like a reward I didn’t know I wanted. Or needed.
The corner of his mouth tilts up into a satisfied smirk that has my stomach tightening with pleasure.
He withdraws his fingers at an agonizingly slow place, then he’s teasing my clit. With expert precision, he works my body in a way that sends every atom spiraling with an intense desire.
Each motion fires off shockwaves of pleasure, the tension building inside me. As he works my clit and I focus on my nipples, I barrel dangerously close to the edge.
“I’m so close.”
“Don’t come yet. Not until I’m inside you.”
He removes his hand, the loss of him heart-wrenching. I’m completely devoid of any thoughts aside from his tone, his touch, and his presence. My body’s burning up, the blood roaring in my ears.
The rest of the drive is silent—and short, thank god—which is fine by me because I don’t think I could form a coherent sentence like this.
I’m too dazed to do anything but wait for Beckett to haul me out of the passenger side and throw me over his shoulder.
I’m a woman with hips and height. No man has ever casually thrown me over his shoulder. Plus, I thought that was only reserved for the movies.
“Beckett,” I screech, snapping out of the fog. “Put me down. I’m too heavy for you to be manhandling like this.”
With long, determined strides, he heads for the door. “Josephine?” he says as he unlocks it easily.
“Yeah?”
“You’re not heavy. Let me manhandle you just this once.”
A laugh escapes me. “Sir, yes, sir.”
Once he’s kicked the door shut, he makes his way to the kitchen. It’s dark aside from the streaks of silvery moonlight dancing across the floor.
He sets me on the island, his hands smoothing up and down my thighs.
With each caress, my dress inches up my body, the fabric flowing onto the countertop.
The top of my dress, still unbuttoned, slips down my shoulders, leaving me more exposed.
I’m completely at his mercy. Exhilarated by the intensity of this moment.
He grips my flesh, his touch one of pure possession. “I’ve been dreaming about these thighs all fucking week.”
I lean back on my hands and shift my legs, making room for him. “Then do something about it.”
His eyes snap to mine, molten, like he’s ready to devour me. He pulls me to the edge of the counter, and without any more teasing, he drops his head and drags his tongue up my center slowly, savoring me.
Head dropped back, I gasp, my thighs clenching involuntarily. The way his stubble scrapes against my skin only heightens the sensations.
He groans against me, the sound one of relief, continuing to worship my clit.
I let myself sink into the pleasure. My hips roll, my body wanting more as I rock against his face. Heavy pressure builds deep in my core. I’m on the edge when he pulls away, lifting me off the island and spinning me around. My hands land on the counter as he looms behind me.
His hot, hard body wraps around me. “I told you,” he whispers against the shell of my ear. “I want to feel you coming around my cock.”
He flips my skirt up over my hips and smooths a hand over my ass with a groan.
“So ready for me,” he says, slipping a finger inside me, causing me to whimper.
His belt clinks, then the sound is followed by the slow rasp of his zipper descending.
The subtle crinkle of foil as he tears open a condom wrapper kicks my heart rate up.
My breath catches as he positions himself, the blunt pressure of his cock teasing my entrance.
With a hand on one hip, his fingertips digging into my skin, he pushes in slowly, allowing me to feel every inch of him.
And when he’s seated to the hilt, a guttural groan rips from his chest.
My back arches as he rocks into me, his movements merciless. Caught up in his own pleasure, he bites the juncture of my neck. The sting of his teeth sinking into my skin leaves me wanting more.
With one hand abandoning my hip, he trails a slow path down between my legs. Without slowing his pace, he circles my clit in a way that makes my thighs tremble.
“Don’t stop. Please don’t stop,” I plead.
“I won’t, baby. I promise I won’t,” he grits out against my neck.
In seconds, I’m coming undone.
I shatter in his arms. My body trembles as he continues to fuck me through my orgasm, overwhelmed with pleasure. My legs are dangerously close to giving out, but he tightens his grip to keep me steady.
Then he’s pulsing inside me, my name falling from his lips like a prayer.
Josephine.
It sounds melodic like this, dripping with lust, accompanied by staccato breaths. Rather than pull out of me right away, he rests his forehead in the crook of my neck, his warm lips pressing soft kisses onto my flushed skin.
After we’ve cleaned up, we crawl into my bed, the sheets cool against our heated bodies.
Nestled against Beckett’s chest, I trace the intricate lines of his tattoos with my fingertips.
He strokes my upper arm in slow circles, his face buried in my freshly washed hair.
A comfortable silence stretches between us as we each become lost in our own thoughts.
Eventually, he inhales, his chest rising against my cheek. “This. . .is starting to feel like something between us, isn’t it?”
I close my eyes, inhaling the scent of his skin. “It is.”
He pulls me closer. “I’m not sure if this is the right time or place. . .or how to even approach this topic—”
Please say the words I want to hear. Please say them with your whole chest and mean them with your whole heart.
He swallows audibly. Then, “I-I don’t want this to be over with you. Just because we leave at the end of the month doesn’t mean we have to stop whatever this is.”
As relief floods me, I’m tempted to crawl on top of him entirely. Hell, I’d crawl inside him if I could.
“I think we accidentally became a couple. Or just really bad friends with benefits. Either way, I feel like we did a lot of this backward.”
“Accidental coupling sounds more like us.”
“If this stands the test of time, then we won’t have to worry about the adjustment period of living together.”
“You already know my work schedule.”
I hum. “And you already know I leave my socks in random places.”
“I still don’t understand why you can’t put them in the hamper,” he murmurs into my hair.
I pat his chest. “Don’t worry. I don’t even understand why I do half the things I do. I’m sure you love it, though.”
“Yeah. I really do,” he breathes.
I’m not sure if he wanted me to hear it, but I did. Loud and clear. With each passing moment, I’m falling harder for this man. Daily, I wonder what a future with him would look like.