Chapter 16
SIXTEEN
Addison
Owen’s argument hid my surprise. But thankfully, he realized his defeat. He grabbed the flowers he’d brought and turned back toward the door.
But of course, he couldn’t leave without having the last word. “I can let the past go, Addie, so I’m still holding out hope. You’re supposed to be mine.”
Anger whipped through me, and if he hadn’t walked out of my apartment then, I was worried what I might do.
Hurrying around Beckett, I slammed the lock behind him and groaned in relief and frustration as I leaned against it. Closing my eyes, I took a few deep breaths.
“Oh my gosh,” I muttered in disbelief. I mustered the courage to peek open my eyes. Beckett was still standing in the middle of my living room like a statue, with his hands in his pockets and an unnervingly neutral expression.
“I’m so sorry you had to—”
He removed one hand from his pocket and held it up to me as he shook his head. “Please don’t apologize, especially on his behalf. He doesn’t deserve that.”
“No, and I’ve already done enough apologizing for him to last a lifetime,” I muttered under my breath. “At least you got a good laugh out of it. I can’t believe he got my name, my freaking name, tattooed on his arm and misspelled it.”
Hoping we could forget everything that just happened and go back to the way it was before Owen traipsed back into my life, I paced into the living room and scooped up a pile of magazines haphazardly stacked on the coffee table.
I’d been using them to start brainstorming my vision board for the next year, and I was bound to knock them over sooner rather than later.
I dropped the stack on the side table instead.
“Your apartment is exactly what I expected,” Beckett mused. He glanced around my little place that, in such a short time, I’d managed to make my own. There were paintings and prints on each wall, and I’d put up a fun, renter-friendly, floral wallpaper behind my blue velvet couch.
I liked my space to be filled with color. It made me happy when I felt like anything but.
“You like it?”
His smile was genuine, and I loved the way it felt across my skin. All my anxiety and worry that Owen had messed everything up slipped away.
“I love it, Bubbles. Wait, what—” Crossing into the kitchen, I stopped short and glanced back behind me. Beckett’s eyes were wide, and he was staring, unmoving at the other side of the living room just next to my couch. “Is that—is that a snake?”
“Oh, yeah,” I said. Spinning back around, I kicked off my heels before I crossed to his enclosure.
He was basking on his log, perfectly positioned under the heat lamp I’d put on a timer.
I smiled at how content he appeared. “This is Oli. He’s a piebald ball python.
A friend in college needed to rehome him, and I took him.
I’ve always loved snakes, and he’s a super rare morph, so… ”
My words trailed off when Beckett didn’t respond. I looked back at him to find he was frozen, still standing in the middle of my living room with his mouth agape.
“Wait,” I said quickly, looking from Oli with his occasional unpigmented white scales and otherwise brown and orange color back to Beckett. “Are you scared of snakes?”
Shaking his head, Beckett scoffed and scrubbed a hand against his mouth. But he didn’t look away from Oli. Like he was nervous Oli would escape and slither across the floor, finding some way to grow five times his size and gobble Beckett up in one swallow.
“Not—not scared. I just didn’t expect to see—I didn’t expect you to have—to have a snake.”
I nodded slowly and ran my tongue over my teeth, trying to hide my smile. His stammering was cute, especially when it came from such a large, consuming man. Never did I fathom that Beckett would fear anything, let alone my little, unassuming snake.
“Okay, sure, whatever you say,” I said with a little laugh. “He’s not going to hurt you.”
I headed back into the kitchen and cringed at the few dishes I’d left in the sink. Nothing gross, but my coffee cup from that morning and my plate from lunch hadn’t been washed.
Beckett remained frozen for another few seconds, then cautiously looked over at me, across my taller bar counter. “Oli, that’s an interesting name for a snake. Did he come with the name, or…?”
“No, his name was Winston, but I couldn’t get on board with that. And since snakes can’t necessarily understand their own names, I changed it. I named him after the lead singer of my favorite band.”
“Ahh, I see,” he said. He followed me into my little galley kitchen and leaned against the counter at the end, shaking his head. “Anyway, one more question.”
He folded his arms over his chest, and I tried not to gawk at the way the fabric of his jacket tightened around his biceps. I had to swallow before I spoke. “Shoot,” I prompted.
“You made me the other man?”
I froze and took too long to right my expression. One side of Beckett’s mouth tilted, and I was glad to see he wasn’t angry. But I didn’t know what I expected his reaction to be.
He pushed off the counter and slid his hands in his pockets as he strode toward me.
Each step was precise and intentional. I took two slow steps back to delay his approach.
Not because I was scared, but because he was stalking toward me like a predator who’d just latched on to his prey, and it felt like second nature.
My back hit the pantry door behind me, and I sucked in a sharp breath, realizing there was nowhere for me to go.
With his hazel eyes pinned on me and that crooked smile still tilting his lips, he didn’t stop moving until he was crowding over me, his large body taking up what felt like the entire room.
One of his large hands reached forward, and my heartbeat skipped.
“So,” he mused, twisting a piece of my pink hair between his fingers. “When you fucked me, when you were writhing on my cock begging Daddy to let you come, you were dating another man?”
My mouth dropped open, prepared to refute his very accurate assertion, but he tsked me immediately.
“And don’t lie to me, baby girl. Do. Not. Lie. To. Me.” His voice was husky and hard. Each word punctuated with his serious tone.
I forced myself to swallow, and any consideration I’d given to lying vanished. Every once in a while, I felt guilty for what I’d done. For cheating on Owen, whether he deserved it or not. But I couldn’t feel guilty for the night Beckett and I spent together. It was too good, too perfect.
Guilt tends to beget regret, and I couldn’t regret him either.
“Yes,” I whispered.
He hummed low in his throat and pushed the lock of hair behind my ear. His eyes scanned my face as he tangled his fingers in the back of my hair and tugged hard enough that my head wrenched back and I had no choice but to look up at him.
“What a dirty fucking girl,” he mused, and I dragged in a heaving breath.
Power and dominance radiated off him, and I wanted to drown in it.
“So needy for my cock, you made me the other man. A pretty little slut that easily forgot about her miserable boyfriend at home so she could fuck a stranger. Do you regret it?”
“Never.” My voice was drenched in need, barely above a whisper. Each breath I sucked in was overflowing with him, and I could feel the energy of each of his words dancing over my skin.
I could tell my answer pleased him because he tightened his hold in my hair and ground his teeth together.
“Would you do it again? Fuck a stranger like a desperate slut?”
I shook my head, and his eyes darkened further. “No, but I’d…I’d fuck you. I want you.”
I stuttered over the curse word, but my statement was entirely true. I didn’t have any desire to have another one-night-stand with a faceless, nameless stranger.
But I couldn’t resist Beckett. God, I really didn’t want to. The need he’d sparked inside me was stronger than anything I’d felt before.
He groaned. “Don’t say things like that unless you want me to make them a reality, Addison.”
“I want it, Beckett. I want you. Please.”
“Try again, baby girl. What’s my name?”
“Beck—” I began but quickly realized what he’d asked. He didn’t want me to repeat his name; he wanted me to repeat the name I’d called him that night. Licking my lips, I caught his eyes and said confidently, “Daddy.”
What a wonderful power my words held. With one uttered word, Beckett’s restraint snapped like it was made of only paper or string.
His mouth slammed down on mine, and he braced his hands under my butt, easily lifting me into his arms. My legs banded around his waist, and my arms clasped around his neck.
His tongue swept against my lips, and I eagerly let him in. His lips were strong and demanding, and his hands were solid beneath me. He spun us around, and I pointed behind me.
“Bedroom,” I muttered against his lips as quickly as I could.
He walked out of the kitchen and skillfully kicked open the door while still leading our kiss.
In the back of my mind, I thanked my earlier self for cleaning up a little, but in that moment, I also didn’t give a crap what my room looked like.
As long as he did as he promised, I didn’t care about anything else.
It was hard for my thoughts not to be consumed by him.
Rather than drop me down on the edge of the bed, Beckett turned and sat down on my comforter. Straddling his hips, my pussy pressed against the length of his hard erection, and I moaned into his mouth.
“There you go, grind yourself on me, baby girl.”
“Yes, Daddy,” I pleaded and was rewarded with a guttural, masculine groan I felt vibrate up from his chest. His hands were everywhere, guiding my hips back and forth over him, running up my sides, and cupping my face. “More,” I begged. “I need more.”
“Of course, you do, baby girl,” he murmured. His hands grasped just above my hips as he gazed hungrily down my body and the skirt of my dress that had ridden up indecently high. “My pretty little slut needs Daddy’s cock, doesn’t she?”