23. Elouise
Elouise
I’m so on edge, I’m about to crawl out of my skin.
I was so turned-on during dinner that I was tempted to push everything off the picnic table and lay myself out as a meal for Beckett.
I didn’t. Obviously. But that man knows exactly what he does to me, and he tortured me with his closeness all evening.
First, he made stew. And I don’t mean he dumped cans of stew into a pot and heated it on a camp stove.
No. First, he built a fire. With his bare hands.
Then he suspended a large pot - that looked more like a medieval cauldron – filled with water over that fire.
And then he used a big, intimidating butcher knife to chop vegetables and beef and herbs and ohmygod it was like living in a highlander romance.
By the time he was done prepping, he was down to just a single layer. A thin, long-sleeved shirt that clung to every one of his bulging muscles. Muscles that I slept against last night.
But his torment didn’t end there.
After letting everything simmer together, he personally dished out dinner for the whole camp. A sexy lumberjack of a man, lit by firelight, feeding a swarm of children… I don’t have dreams of having a hoard of kids but watching his display had my ovaries high fiving each other.
Finally, when I had my own bowl, I thought I’d be free of him. Except I wasn’t.
I don’t know if he managed to put an invisible “seat taken” sign on the spot next to me, but it stayed open until the man himself sat down next to me.
Only it wasn’t really a Beckett sized space, so I spent the whole of dinner with his thigh pressed against mine.
His arm pressed against my shoulder. His knuckles brushing against the back of my hand.
I didn’t want to make it obvious that my blood was smoldering, so I toughed it out. I pretended I was unaffected. I acted like my body wasn’t begging for him to pull me onto his lap.
But the second people started to get up, ready for bed, I bolted.
Only, that didn’t solve my problem. Because now I’m here, in my tent, wearing my sleep pants and my see-through tank top, huddled inside the extra-large sleeping bag, waiting.
Waiting for Beckett.
I wasn’t sure this morning, but now I’m almost positive he’ll be coming back tonight.
The looks. The touches. They told me exactly what he was thinking. And he was thinking about me.
I snuggle lower under the covers.
Beckett Stoleman was thinking about me.
Like that. And it’s our last night, so if he really is interested, he needs to act.
I still can’t get over this whole bizarre situation.
It’s not that I have terrible self-esteem. I don’t. I know I have a lot to offer. Sure, I might not be everyone’s dream girl, but I know that I am for some guys. Some guys like curves and brains and a dirty mouth. I just wasn’t sure if Beckett was one of those guys.
Honestly, when I try to picture who I think he’d end up with, I flash back to that cursed Christmas Party fifteen years ago. To the perky, skinny, blonde that came in and stole his attention away from me.
I blink away the memory. I don’t need to be thinking of that night. Making myself feel insecure will not help my current state of mind.
Whatever I’ve thought in the past, Beckett is here now. And he’s interested in me.
Footsteps approach my tent and I hold my breath.
This is it.
The footsteps walk past .
This isn’t it.
I exhale.
Chill, Lou.
Closing my eyes, I work to calm my racing pulse.
Maddie is always telling me about finding my happy place. She’s convinced that if I can visualize that peace, then I can experience it in real life.
I probably should have listened closer when she explained the process.
Breathing in, I let the scent of the woodsy air fill my senses.
Calm. I can be calm.
Focusing on my breathing, I don’t hear the footsteps that stop outside my tent.
Calm.
The sound of the entrance unzipping has my eyes flying open.
“Beckett?” I whisper his name, suddenly worried it might be Adam again.
“It’s me, Smoky,” his quiet response settles me, while simultaneously spiking my pulse.
It’s strange to just welcome him into my tent, considering I’ve been avoiding him all day. But having him here gives me an odd mix of comfort and excitement. And my poor heart hardly knows how to handle it.
I left the lantern on, so peeking over the top of the blankets that are still clutched in my hands, I watch as Beckett ducks inside.
He’s silent as he closes the flap behind him.
He’s silent as he watches me, while moving further into the tent.
He’s silent as he pulls his shirt off.
The moisture leaves my mouth and heads straight to my core.
This man… Christ. He’s built just like my Highlander fantasies. Tall, wide, muscles and thickness and… he’s undoing his jeans.
Seriously, what is going on?! Is he just going to strip all the way down? Are we doing this? It? Now?!
Beckett’s eyes are on me as he shoves his jeans off his hips. And I have to bite my lip to keep from begging him to go quicker .
There’s no way to confuse what’s in front of me. Straining against his black boxer briefs is a hard cock. A big, fat, hard cock.
The outline I saw last night did not do him justice.
A small moan escapes my lips before I can clamp them back shut.
I knew he’d be coming back tonight. I mean, I have his blankets. And I was expecting that something might happen between us. But I wasn’t expecting this. For him to just strip down and for my body to react like it was doused in a lust potion.
My chest is nearly heaving and I’m glad I’m lying flat on my back because if I’d been standing, I’d have fallen over.
He’s just so… manly.
“Elouise?” Beckett’s voice fills the tent, skittering across my nerves.
My eyes take their time roaming up to meet his. “Yes?” I breathe the question.
Beckett lowers onto his knees, leaning forward until he’s bracing his weight on his hands. “Are you gonna be quiet for me? Or do I need to leave?”
Holy. Shit.
“I’ll be quiet,” I whisper.
He uses one hand to flip the blankets back.
I release my hold on them, and they fold over at my waist, leaving my top half exposed to the cool air.
I don’t need to look down to know that my nipples are screaming for attention. The thin material of my tank top feeling like chainmail.
When he doesn’t move, my back arches. “I promise.”
His eyes follow the movement, locking on my chest.
“Elouise,” the way he says my name sounds like a growl.
I can’t believe this is happening. No preamble. No dancing around the topic. Just Beckett getting naked and telling me to be quiet.
Another tremor moves through my body and in a matter of moments I’m going to be embarrassingly wet.
“Beckett,” I say his name like a plea.
His eyes stay locked on my chest as he exhales. Then he reaches back and turns off the lantern. Darkness settling between us.
“No one else sees you,” Beckett whispers. “Not even a silhouette. ”
My eyes haven’t had time to adjust to the sudden change, so I can’t see him, but I can hear him as he moves closer.
The thin mattress beneath me shifts as he climbs onto it.
“And no one hears you,” his words brush against my skin.
He’s so close now.
The blanket over my bottom half gets pushed away, and one of Beckett’s thighs presses inbetween mine.
I open my legs for him. The heat of him seeping into my every pore.
“Not a single sound.” His lips brush against my cheek, and I squeeze my eyes shut. “Not a single moan.” His breath feathers over my neck. “Not even the smallest groan.” His open mouth presses just below my ear. “Not a peep, Elouise.”
Then, as if he can see in the dark, fingers suddenly grip one of my nipples.
The sound that leaves my mouth is everything he just warned me against.
He clicks his tongue and releases my nipple, “Bad girl.”
Afraid he’s going to pull away, I reach my hands out to stop him.
Skin. Hot-to-the-touch skin meets my palms. Because Beckett isn’t wearing a shirt.
I have to catch myself before I moan again, because he feels so good. So perfect.
“You want another chance to be quiet, Babe?” I nod my head, not wanting to speak out loud and trusting he’ll see the movement. “Good.” His teeth scrapeagainst the curve of my shoulder. “Behave this time, or I’ll have to find another way to keep your mouth occupied.”
More heat surges through me.
I don’t know if I’ve ever been this turned on. This achy.
My legs close around his thigh, seeking friction, but his leg is positioned too low and I can’t get the pressure where I need it.
I’m torn between wanting to savor every second and screaming at him to hurry up.
A finger traces along my bottom lip. “Such a pretty girl.”
The finger trails a line down my chin. My neck. Between my breasts. Pulling down the front of my tank top. Beckett keeps his finger tugging down on the fabric, moving it from one side, then the other, until both of my breasts are free. The top band of my shirt snug underneath them.
Shivers run over every inch of my body. The cold air. His hot touch. I’m so on edge I’m afraid I might come without any contact at all.
Something ghosts over the tip of my nipple, and I strain into it.
“Patience.”
I open my lips to curse at him, but his mouth presses down against mine. At the same time, a large hand envelops my breast.
My senses are instantly overloaded. Our first kiss. The heat of his palm pressing against my nipple. His fingers gripping the soft flesh. The feel of his mouth moving against mine.
Lips. Tongue.
His mouth slants one way and I move the other, deepening the kiss.
A kiss I dreamt about so many times growing up. But even my dreams didn’t come close.
My hands reach up and grip his hair. His chocolatey locks are soft, contrasting the feeling of his scratchy beard rubbing against the sensitive skin next to my mouth.
This isn’t the Beckett I was infatuated with as a girl. This is Man Beckett, and he’s so much better.
When his tongue swipes into my mouth again, I let my lips close around it. Sucking it into my mouth.