Chapter 17Beck. Early November, Five years ago #2
Her throat bobbed with a quick swallow. It was another tell of how nervous she was, how worked up. That, and the restless twitch of her fingers.
Beck exhaled slowly, letting the heat of his breath brush against her skin. "You’re telling me if I peeled off that spandex, I wouldn’t find you dripping?"
He watched the war play out in her expression, the sharp inhale, the silent struggle behind her eyes. Then something in her gave. Her shoulders dropped just slightly, fingers unclenching at her sides. A flicker of defiance sparked in her eyes.
"Guess there’s only one way to find out."
His stomach tightened. A slow, wicked grin spread across his face.
"You sure about that?" His voice dipped lower, gravelly with restraint as he leaned in, his mouth hovering just over the shell of her ear.
His hands slid past her waist and caged her in against the full length mirror. His chest barely brushed hers, the heat of her body mingling with his, her breath quick and uneven against his skin.
"Because once I have you," he rasped, "there’s no going back."
Her breath hitched, her chest rising sharply as she stared up at him.
"When I taste you, there won’t be a single inch of you I don’t make mine.
" His hands against the mirror fogged the glass.
He wanted to drag her against him, tear every barrier away, brand her with his mouth, his hands, his teeth.
Worship and wreck her until there was no part of her he hadn't claimed.
But she had to break first. Had to fall willingly.
"Then what are you waiting for?" she whispered, fierce and trembling.
Beck's eyes caught hers and holy hell. The look she gave him nearly knocked the breath out of his lungs. A silent dare. Come get me.
It slammed into him low and brutal, made his cock throb so hard it hurt.
His gaze dragged down her body, flushed, shaking, fucking perfect, and he couldn't wait another second. He trailed his fingers down her side, slow and heavy, savoring the little shiver he wrung from her.
Without warning, he grabbed her hips, spun her around, and pinned her hard against the cold mirror. She staggered, a soft, broken noise slipping from her lips as her palms slapped flat against the glass.
He stood behind her, towering, caging her in and watched as the mirror began to fog with her desperate, panting breath.
One hand braced beside her head, the other dragging rough and claiming down her trembling body.
"Look," Beck whispered, his mouth brushing softly against the curve of her ear. "Look at yourself, Ingrid."
She tried to turn away, but he caught her chin gently, coaxing her head back up until their eyes met in the mirror.
"Don't hide from me," he murmured, the words barely a breath.
Their gazes locked, and the sight of her flushed, trembling made something inside him break open. Her pupils were wide and glassy, her cheeks blooming pink, her lips parted and trembling. She was breathtaking.
"You want me," Beck said, his voice rough but tender. "You ache for me, just like I ache for you." Her breathing hitched, her lashes fluttering but she didn't look away.
He slid his hands over her, deliberately catching her hardened nipples through the thin fabric of her leotard. She gasped, arching back into him instinctively, her moan a sweet, broken sound.
He dragged his hands lower, over her belly, down to the tops of her thighs. His fingertips tracing the seam of her leotard. She tensed, breath catching.
He smirked against her neck, his mouth grazing her skin as his fingers drifted lower, skimming over the tops of her thighs. Then, without warning, he hooked his fingers into the thin fabric of her tights and tore.
The sharp tear cracked through the studio like a whip, brutal and final. Ingrid gasped, the sound pure and desperate, all need and no disguise, as Beck dragged the ruined fabric higher, shredding it up both legs.
He watched in the mirror as he pulled her leotard aside, exposing her dripping heat and fuck , she was soaked. Hot, slick, so fucking ready for him. He groaned low in his throat, almost overwhelmed.
"You see that?" he rasped, meeting her wrecked gaze in the mirror. "You see what a mess you are for me?"
He slid his fingers between her legs, groaning low in his chest when he felt just how wet she was. He found her clit and circled it slowly, torturously light, savoring every little twitch of her hips.
She moaned, helpless and wild, grinding against his hand without even thinking. Beck rewarded her with a slow push of his finger inside her, savoring the way she jerked and whimpered at the stretch.
"That’s it," he coaxed, voice low and tender. "You feel that, Baby? Feel how easy you take me?"
He started moving his finger, slow and rhythmic. He watched her in the mirror, how her lashes fluttered, how her mouth parted in helpless little gasps, how her thighs trembled.
When she whimpered, silently begging, he rewarded her, slipping in a second finger, stretching her, filling her.
"So fucking good for me," he whispered, curling his fingers inside her, hitting that perfect spot that made her knees buckle.
Ingrid bit her lip hard, her hands flattening against the mirror for balance. Her reflection was consumed, desperate, his .
He curled his fingers, grinding his palm hard against her clit, merciless.
"So fucking tight," Beck groaned as he fucked her open with his fingers, steady and deep. "You're gonna come for me. Right here. I want you to watch yourself break for me."
She sobbed out a soft "please," her forehead pressing against the glass. Her hips moved restlessly, grinding against his hand, pressing her soaked heat harder into his palm, chasing the rhythm of his thrusts.
"Keep watching," he murmured darkly, thrusting his fingers into her slow and deep, making her reflection jolt with every roll of his hand. "Don't you dare look away."
She whimpered, her wide, glassy eyes finding their reflections, flushed and wild.
She rocked her hips back in greedy little circles, grinding her clit against the heel of his palm with a needy whimper.
He thrust harder, faster, his fingers dragging in deep, relentless strokes until she shattered.
She gasped, her whole body locking up around his fingers, her reflection collapsing against the mirror.
But Beck didn’t stop. He kept his fingers buried deep inside her, fucking her through every wave, coaxing every last broken cry from her lips.
"That's my girl," Beck whispered against her burning skin. "So fucking perfect."
She shuddered and sagged, her body trembling violently in his arms. Beck slid his fingers free, his hand glistening with her slick release, and lifted them to his mouth, sucking them clean, tasting every drop while keeping his eyes locked on her reflection.
She was still panting, still shaking, her thighs slick with arousal. And he wasn’t even close to being finished. She fumbled to pull her leotard back into place, hands trembling. He chuckled, low and dark.
"You think we’re done?" Beck murmured against her flushed skin, his teeth grazing her shoulder before biting down, just enough to make her gasp and arch into his hard cock. He bit back a groan. "Princess, we’re just getting started. I haven’t even tasted you yet."
Her breath hitched sharply. Wide, dazed eyes met his in the mirror, still trembling. She pushed off her hands and turned to face him, her back pressing against the cool glass.
"Are you crazy?" she whispered, her gaze trailing hungrily down his face.
"Maybe," he said, a wicked grin flashing across his mouth, and then he was on her, claiming her lips in a kiss that was all teeth and heat.
He grabbed her thighs and lifted her. She wrapped around him, clinging, her soft, hot core grinding shamelessly against his cock through his jeans.
The friction had his eyes rolling back, hips grinding helplessly as heat coiled low and tight.
He was seconds from coming in his pants like a goddamn fourteen-year-old, just from the feel of her against him.
God, he had never wanted anyone this badly. Never been this close to losing it from nothing but pressure and need.
He carried her across the studio, setting her down in front of the barre on the wall.
He stepped in close, caging her with his body, hands gripping the barre behind her, muscles flexing under his sleeves. The only sound was the soft creak of the wood under his brutal grip.
The heat pouring off her, the sharp little pants of her breath, it was all driving him insane. His body moved before his mind could catch up and he dropped to his knees. She was staring at him, he could feel it. He looked up, and the look in her eyes was so desperate it made his chest tighten.
He dragged his palms up the backs of her thighs, feeling her muscles twitch under his touch. He settled between her legs, spreading her wider, his thumbs teasing slow circles along the crease where her thighs met her hips.
"You look good on your knees," she whispered, breathless and taunting.
"And you,” he murmured, dragging his hands slowly up her thighs, "look like you were made to be spread out and fucked with my mouth until you're shaking."
Her eyes flew wide, breath hitching in her throat. He smirked at the way her body reacted to his voice. All that grace and control unraveling from words alone.
Without breaking eye contact, he dipped lower, his mouth grazing the sensitive crease of her inner thigh, breath hot against skin that quivered beneath him.
She gasped, her grip on the barre turning white-knuckled as her body trembled, strung so tight she looked ready to snap.
And the way her hips tilted toward him, the dazed hunger in her eyes—yeah, she more than liked it.
He chuckled low in his throat, and the vibration against her skin made her hips jolt. His cock throbbed, thick, aching, trapped painfully behind the zipper of his jeans but this wasn’t about him. Not yet. This was about her.