Chapter 31Ingrid. Mid December, Five years ago #2
"Are you sure?" His voice was low and frayed at the edges.
Her heart slammed against her ribs. She fisted the front of his shirt, dragging him down until their foreheads touched.
"Never been more sure of anything," she whispered, the words threading between their rapid breaths.
"Good because I’m not even close to being done with you," he rasped, voice pure sin.
She wanted everything he had to give. Her hands slipped under his shirt, palms greedy over the hard muscles of his abdomen, his back. He was so warm, so real , and when he groaned into her neck, it lit a fire low in her belly.
He kissed a scorching trail down her neck, his teeth catching on her skin, nipping hard enough to leave her breath catching.
Then he reached for the top of her leotard and tore it down her body. It peeled away under his rough hands until her breasts spilled free. His sharp inhale when he finally took her in was a sound she’d never forget.
"You’re so fucking beautiful," Beck murmured, voice cracking like the sight of her broke something inside him.
He sucked one nipple between his lips, soft and greedy, making her cry out, her back arching off the bed.
His tongue flicked over the tight peak, then flattened and dragged slow, teasing circles that made her thighs clench.
His other hand traced down her side, over her ribs, the curve of her waist, her hip, his touch light and possessive all at once.
When he pulled back, he blew a cool breath over the wet skin, and goosebumps raced down her spine. She whimpered, utterly at his mercy and the cocky smirk that tugged at his mouth made her pussy clench with need.
She was soaking. Aching. And Beck hadn’t even taken his clothes off yet.
He stripped her completely, his hands sliding the leotard and thong down her legs with torturous slowness, his fingers brushing her thighs just enough to tease.
When she was naked beneath him, he tossed the clothes aside and knelt between her legs, eyes locked on her, his chest rising in shallow, hungry breaths.
He didn’t touch her. Not yet. Just looked like she was a feast laid out for him, and he didn’t know where to start.
She sat up, restless with need, grabbing the hem of his shirt. “Off,” she gasped.
He helped her tug it over his head; he was all hard planes, ink, and scars. Sinew and strength, carved by life and violence and pain and still, he was beautiful. Devastating.
She traced the ink on his skin, rough and warm beneath her fingers.
"Lay back, Baby," he whispered, voice low and thick.
Her stomach flipped— Baby was her favorite, the way he said it soft and possessive, like she was his and only his.
She sank onto the bed, the sheets cool against her back, eyes locked on his. Her heart pounded as his lips found her ankle, then moved up pressing into her calf with each kiss, winding her tighter with every breath. By the time he reached the sensitive skin of her inner thigh, she was shaking.
"Again?" she gasped, breathless and overwhelmed.
"Again, Baby," he whispered against her skin, his voice rough. "I can’t fucking stop. You’re addictive."
And then his tongue found her clit and the world cracked in half.
She cried out, loud and raw, her hips jerking off the bed. But Beck held her tighter, stronger, locking her down as his mouth devoured her. He licked her like he was trying to memorize the taste, slow, firm strokes of his tongue that made her whole body tense and quake.
Every low growl he made sent a thrum through her, vibrating against her clit, while the soft scrape of his stubble left her skin raw and oversensitized. His grip on her thighs was bruising, possessive like he needed her still and open for him, and nothing else would do.
Then two fingers slid inside, thick, sure, curling deep and just right, and she shattered.
Her back arched off the bed, her walls clenching around him as the orgasm detonated. She screamed his name, voice breaking apart, legs trembling uncontrollably. He didn’t stop, kept thrusting his fingers slowly, dragging out every ripple of release while his tongue circled her clit again and again.
Only when her body finally went limp with exhaustion did he ease off, his mouth trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses up her inner thighs until he reached her hips.
"Perfect," he rasped, pressing a kiss to the scars on her hip, his breath hot against her skin. The softness of his voice sent a shiver spiraling through her, resonating in places she hadn’t realized were yearning for his touch.
His lips trailed over her scars with slow, light pressure. Not a flinch. Not a pause. Just worship. He moved to the other hip, giving her the same treatment. His kisses soft, aching with care, like he wanted to kiss away the pain she still carried.
She felt it then, not just love in his touch, the weight of his acceptance. He wasn’t just learning her; he was embracing every part of her. Not to possess, but to honor.
Warmth bloomed in her chest, dizzy and sweet.
It wrapped around her, a rush of safety, of belonging, that caught in her throat.
She felt wide open, but not scared. Bare, but never ashamed.
Only Beck made her feel like this, like even the messiest, hidden parts of her were something beautiful. Something he saw. Something he wanted.
She couldn’t hold back any longer. She tugged him up, crashing her mouth to his. She poured everything into the kiss: gratitude, the fierce, aching love that had always been his.
They fumbled with buttons and zippers, tugging clothes away in frantic pulls.
Beck finally kicked free of his jeans and briefs, muscles taut and flushed, and reached into his jean pocket for a condom.
Ingrid barely registered the movement, she was too busy staring.
She’d seen his cock before, but still. He was big , every inch of him thick, hard, and ready.
Beck caught her hesitation instantly. His hand covered hers, warm and solid.
"Hey," he murmured, coaxing her gaze to his. "We don’t go anywhere you don’t want to. We take this at your pace, yeah?"
She nodded, and he brought her hand to his chest, pressing it over his heart.
"Feel that?" he whispered. "That’s for you. All of it."
Her throat tightened, emotion catching somewhere between her ribs. He kissed her slowly, like there was no rush, like she was worth the wait.
When she nodded again, stronger this time. He rolled the condom on with trembling hands, then settled between her thighs, eyes never leaving hers. The thick heat of him nudged her slick entrance, slow and steady, and she moaned softly, her body already pulsing with need.
"I’ve got you," he said again, lower now, voice rough with restraint. "We go slow."
He pushed in gently, inch by inch, giving her time to stretch around him. Her breath caught at the delicious burn, the fullness, the way he filled her like he was made to fit. Her body clutched around him, greedy and pulsing, her thighs trembling as she adjusted to the fullness of him.
"Fuck," Beck breathed, forehead pressing against hers as he held still, his arms bracketing her body protectively. "You’re so tight… but so perfect. You’re doing so good, Baby. So good."
He stilled, giving her time, his hands caressing her sides, her breasts, thumbs brushing over stiff, aching nipples.
He was so big and he went deep, deeper than she thought she could take, until he was fully seated, the tip of him brushing that spot inside her that made her toes curl.
When she rocked her hips, he groaned like he was barely holding on.
"You sure?" he asked again, voice tight with the effort to stay still.
"Please," she whispered. "Don’t stop."
That was all he needed. He pulled back slowly, then rocked into her again, deeper this time.
"That’s it," he rasped against her ear, thrusting shallowly once, twice, before pulling back and driving into her. "Look at you, taking me so well. You feel like heaven, Ingrid."
She cried out, clinging to him, nails digging into his shoulders as he fucked her slow and deep, every movement dragging across every nerve ending she had.
He moved with her, building a rhythm that stole her breath, each thrust driving her higher.
His mouth found her neck, her breasts, worshiping her with every kiss, every bite, every broken sound.
The friction, the fullness, the sweet, torturous pace, it was too much, and not nearly enough.
"More," she gasped. The heat between them built fast, relentless, each deep stroke setting her nerves on fire. Beck’s teeth grazed her shoulder, his arms caging her in, holding her like she was something precious even as he wrecked her without mercy.
He kissed her, lips bruising, tongue demanding. "Look at me," he said, voice rough and low, hips never still. "I want to see your face when you come."
Her eyes met his, pupils blown wide with lust, lips parted on a moan as he changed the angle, hitting that spot again and again until she was a writhing mess beneath him.
"You like that?" he panted, fucking her harder, deeper. "You gonna come for me, pretty girl?"
"God, yes," she gasped, nails digging into his back. "Don’t stop. Right there, Beck."
Then he hit that spot dead-on, sending white-hot pleasure lancing through her.
She convulsed around him, her orgasm crashing into her so hard her vision blurred, stars dancing behind her eyelids.
Her body clenched tight around him. Beck cursed, hips stuttering as she milked every drop of control from him.
He thrust into her harder, faster, each stroke pushing her higher, the slaps of skin on skin ringing out in the dim, snow-muted room.
He caught her mouth in a savage kiss, swallowing her cries, moving with her, through her, like they were one tangled, desperate being.
"Ingrid," he groaned, voice breaking as he drove into her one final time, spilling inside the condom, his entire body locking up above hers.
They clung to each other, trembling, gasping for breath, their hearts pounding in the same wild, frantic rhythm. For a long moment, neither of them moved, lost in the aftermath, in the warmth of each other.
He didn’t pull away immediately. He cradled her against him, his lips brushing softly over her temple. One hand smoothed over her hair, the other tracing lazy, featherlight patterns along her spine.
"You’re it for me," he whispered, soft, almost inaudible.
The sincerity in his voice sent a slow, aching warmth blooming in her chest, stealing the breath from her lungs. His gaze met hers, lit by the faint silver glow of snow reflecting through the window. And she felt it too. Every word. Completely.
She leaned in and kissed him, her fingers gliding over the lines of his body, his skin still warm and damp beneath her touch. As she curled into him, her heartbeat still stammering in her chest, she knew that nothing could compare to this. Nothing could compare to him.