Chapter 46 #2
“Then fuck me with your fingers and stop talking about it.”
The sound he makes is half laugh, half groan. “Gladly.” One finger slides inside me, slow and deep, and my toes curl as I grab his wrist, another moan spilling into his mouth. He kisses me through it, strokes once inside me, then lifts his mouth from mine. “Again.”
A second finger joins the first and the fuller stretch extracts a gasp from me. “Fuck—” His eyes stay on my face as he pushes deeper, and when he curls both fingers, my hips jerk into his hand. “Oh, God. Right there.”
His arm bands around my waist and the next stroke lands in the same place, his thumb finding my clit at the same time. I grind against it without thinking. “Like that?”
“Exactly like that.” He doesn’t need another instruction.
His fingers keep stroking that spot, thumb rubbing slow circles over my clit until my body starts following the rhythm on its own.
“You feel so fucking good,” he says against my throat, his voice rough now.
“Fuck, Laurel.” My pussy clenches around his fingers and the groan that leaves him is almost as wrecked as the sound coming out of me. “I can feel you squeezing me.”
I turn for his mouth, kissing him badly because breathing has become considerably more important, my hips grinding into his palm every time his fingers push deep. The pressure builds fast, thick and hot low in my stomach, and I grab his shoulders when his thumb starts moving faster. “Don’t stop.”
“I’m not, baby.” Another stroke curls into me and I moan his name. Beckett kisses me hard, one arm locked around my waist, his hand never losing the rhythm between my legs. “That’s it, baby. Let me hear you.”
“Fuck me harder.”
His eyes meet mine. “Yeah?”
“Yes!” He does, fingers driving deeper without losing the angle, and my pussy tightens hard around him. “Fuck.” His mouth crashes back onto mine. “You keep squeezing my fingers like that and I’m going to fuck you right here against this wall.”
That filthy threat is what finishes me. My clit throbs under his thumb, my stomach locks tight and suddenly I’m right there, dragging in a broken breath against his mouth. “Beckett—”
“Come for me, baby.” His fingers curl deep once more and he keeps everything exactly where my body wants it.
My orgasm hits hard, his name tearing out of me as my pussy clamps around his fingers, pulsing around them again and again.
My juices slick his hand as I grind into every stroke, and Beckett groans straight into my mouth.
“Jesus fucking Christ. I can feel you coming all over my fingers.” Hearing him say it makes me clench around him again. “Fuck, Laurel. That’s it.”
His thumb keeps rubbing my clit through every contraction, slower now but still firm, his fingers buried inside me as he feels every pulse of the orgasm. I’m moaning into his mouth, nails dug into his shoulders, and when another aftershock rolls through me I swear against his lips. “Fuck—Beckett.”
“I know, baby.”
He kisses me, deep and messy, still stroking me through the last contractions until my clit gets so sensitive that my hips jerk away from his hand. “Okay—fuck. Okay.” I catch his wrist, laughing because even the smallest movement feels like too much now. “Give me a minute.”
Beckett finally stills, one hand still between my thighs, breath warm on my cheek.
When I open my eyes, he looks almost as wrecked as I feel, lips swollen, breathing rough, every inch of him crowded close, restraint hanging by a thread.
“Laurel, I’ve waited years. I don’t have a minute to spare.
” His voice drops to barely more than a whisper.
“I want you naked in my bed. I want your legs around me, your pussy wrapped around my cock, and I want to hear exactly what you sound like when I fuck you so hard you forget why you asked me to wait.”
∞∞∞
His bedroom is warm and dim, one lamp burning beside a bed so fucking big I stop in the doorway on legs that still haven’t entirely remembered their job and look from it to Beckett. “That bed is ridiculous.”
He starts unbuttoning his shirt. “It’s a king.”
“I know what a king-size—” The shirt comes off and whatever smartass answer I had disappears with it.
I’ve seen him in suits, rolled sleeves, even sweaty running clothes once when I showed up early and caught him coming through the kitchen after a run, but none of that prepared me for this.
Beckett is broad through the shoulders and chest, hard muscle tapering into a lean waist, the deep V at his hips disappearing into his waistband.
A pale scar cuts along one side of his ribs, and I immediately want my mouth on it.
I take my time appreciating the rest of him because pretending I’m not enjoying the view would be ridiculous.
Beckett lets me indulge for several seconds before one eyebrow lifts. “Everything all right?”
I tip my chin up. “You’re beautiful.” The amusement leaves his face for a beat. I take him in again, unhurried, because I mean every word of it, and seeing Beckett Vale half naked has me horny all over again.
The buckle clicks open. His pants drop, the boxer briefs follow, and—Goddamn. I swallow, tongue passing over my lower lip. He’s nothing like the version I built in my head over the past few months; the full reality of him is so much fucking better.
A low laugh rolls out of him. “What?”
“Nothing.”
My eyes drop again, straight to his cock. Thick, long, veined, flushed dark at the head with a bead of precum already there, and my pussy gives an interested little throb that feels wildly optimistic considering the dimensions involved.
I look back at him. “You’ve been walking around with that while behaving like a respectable man?”
“Mostly.”
“Fraud.” He chuckles, but I’m already moving closer, curiosity winning over conversation.
My hand wraps around him and his laugh cuts off.
“Fuck.” My name follows a second later, low and rough, and hearing Beckett lose his train of thought because I touched him might be one of the most satisfying things I’ve discovered all night.
I stroke him again, slower this time, feeling how hard he is in my hand, and his jaw flexes as his fingers close around my ass.
“My woman.”
My pulse stutters every damn time he calls me that. “Hmm?”
“You know exactly what you’re doing.”
“I’m starting to.”
I sit on the edge of the bed without taking my hand away, and when I tilt my head at him, a million filthy ideas crowd my mind as his thumb brushes my shoulder. “You want this?”
I turn my head and kiss his palm. “Very much.” Then I meet his eyes through my lashes. “I’ve been wondering what your cock tastes like since about halfway through that terrible risotto episode last Thursday.”
Beckett’s mouth opens, then closes again, and I smile. “There. Now we’re both sharing.” I stroke him once more, lean in and press my mouth to the head, tasting the precum there. His hand lands on my shoulder and his breath breaks above me. “Jesus Christ.”
I keep my eyes on his as I drag my tongue over the head, watching his jaw tighten before I open my mouth around him.
His breath turns rough above me when I take more of his cock, lips closing around the thick length as my tongue presses along the underside.
One hand fists at his side, knuckles whitening, but he still doesn’t reach for me.
I hollow my cheeks on the way back up, circle the head with my tongue again and hear him curse under his breath.
“Fuck, Laurel.”
I do it again because I like hearing my name sound like that, taking him farther until the stretch pulls at my mouth.
Beckett’s restraint holds until I catch his wrist and guide his hand into my hair.
Even then, his fingers only curl through it, following the movement of my head instead of controlling it, and that makes me want to give him more.
“You can hold me,” I say when I pull back for breath.
Beckett’s jaw flexes. “I’m using every decent impulse I have not to fuck your mouth.”
My pussy clenches at the words. “Maybe I want to know how badly you want to.”
His fingers tighten in my hair. I smile and take him back into my mouth before he can answer, one hand stroking the length I can’t comfortably fit.
This time Beckett lets himself hold me, not forcing, but no longer pretending the restraint comes easily either.
His grip firms when I take him deeper, a rough curse breaking above me, followed by my name when I hollow my cheeks on the way back up.
I do it again just to hear him lose another sentence.
For a man who usually speaks like every word has survived three lawyers and a board vote, Beckett reduced to fuck, Laurel and a handful of broken sounds is doing terrible things to my ego.
His thighs tense under my hands. A second later, his grip changes and he draws me back. “Stop.”
I lift my head immediately. “Did I—”
“No. Fuck, no.” Beckett drags his thumb across my wet lower lip, chest rising hard. “You keep sucking my cock like that and I’m going to come in your mouth.”
I lick the taste of him from my lip. “That sounds less like a problem than you think.”
A rough laugh leaves him. “Laurel, I’ve waited years to get you into my bed. I’m not ending the first round with me standing here while you make my knees useless.”
I chuckle, and Beckett bends, catches me around the waist and pulls me to my feet.
Somewhere in the shuffle our positions reverse, leaving him sitting on the edge of the bed and me standing between his knees, staring down at the frankly majestic amount of naked man in front of me.
He sits there like a king who has misplaced every stitch of clothing and somehow retained all the authority, broad shoulders relaxed, legs spread, cock hard between them, watching me with an expression that suggests he is perfectly comfortable with this arrangement.