Chapter 49
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
ELSIE
My brain is floating in the soft, melty fog of sleep. Drifting. Weightless. Warm all over.
Scratch that. Not all over. I’m pinned.
Completely, totally, gloriously pinned.
There’s a furnace plastered against my back—muscles, stubble, big hands, all Beckett Hot, all six-foot-something of him wrapped around me like I’m a precious object that might try to escape.
I’m not escaping. Not even a little bit.
If I could, I’d submit a formal request for this to be my life, every single morning.
My cheek is squished against his solid bicep.
My hands are caught in the tangle of sheets and one of his gigantic arms. He’s basically using me as a human teddy bear.
I should mind. I do not. My legs are draped over his, tangled in warmth, the sheets kicked down so we’re a boneless heap of skin and satisfaction.
His breath ruffles my hair in slow, sleepy bursts.
With each exhale, his chest expands against my back—steady, safe, perfect.
Then the world’s loudest banshee lets loose in the small apartment.
It takes my brain a second to process. The shrieking? Not in my dream.
Mr. Snugglebutt, feline dictator, is wailing outside my door like someone’s trying to murder him with a spoon.
Beckett groans behind me. “What the fuck was that?”
Another yowl, louder this time, like a foghorn mixed with a malfunctioning police siren. The walls shake. The furniture trembles. My will to live flickers.
I groan and pry open one eye. “Mr. Snugglebutt is the worst alarm clock ever.”
Beckett’s chest starts rumbling, low and deep, vibrating straight through me. For a second, I think he’s still asleep and growling at the interruption. But he’s laughing. Not just a tiny snicker, either. He’s laughing so hard I can feel his abs flex against my back.
I try to wiggle away, but he just drags me closer, his chin tucking into the curve of my neck. “He’s a loud little shit.”
The next yowl is so overdramatic.
I sigh. All traces of sleep are gone. “That’s Mr. Snugglebutt’s patented ‘you’re a failure of a mother, feed me or perish’ noise.”
“Jesus,” Beckett rasps in my ear, “I knew cats were assholes, but yours is taking it to a new level.”
“He’s gifted,” I mumble, but I don’t move. Not yet. I’m greedy. I want to enjoy every last second of this—Beckett’s hand splayed over my stomach, his legs locking me down, his morning wood pressed against my thigh, like a very insistent roll call.
Beckett shifts, his nose nudging into my hairline. “Ignore it. Cat can wait. I’m busy.”
He rolls me fully onto my back and pins me with that green-eyed stare, barely awake and already so hot it’s almost unfair. His hand slides up my ribcage, thumb tracing lazy circles over my bare skin. He’s not subtle. “Morning.”
I grin, lips twitching. “Morning.” My voice is sleep-rough and sexier than I remembered.
He sweeps his hand down, fingers tracing a lazy path over the curve of my hip, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. His palm is rough with calluses but impossibly gentle against my sleep-warmed skin. "Sleep okay?"
"Like the dead," I confess, stretching like a cat under his touch. "You?"
"Best fucking sleep I've had in years," he mutters, voice still gravelly with morning, his eyes half-lidded and honest.
My cheeks flush hot, and I can feel the pink spreading down my neck as his thumb draws small circles just above my hipbone. Before I can muster a witty comeback, the cat cranks it up to eleven.
This time, the noise is so dramatic you’d think I locked him out for a week, not seven hours.
Beckett gives me a mock-glare. “He’s fucking persistent.”
“You have no idea.” I push up on my elbows, ruffling my hair and blinking the sleep from my eyes. My limbs are jelly, my whole body languid and loose from last night’s adventures. I feel fantastic. Like, everything is freaking perfect.
Except, I have to face my furry tormentor before the neighbors complain about the noise.
I swing my legs off the bed, nabbing the first T-shirt I find off the back of my desk chair. It’s long enough to cover my ass and probably has at least one cat hair woven into the fabric. I shoot Beckett a mournful look. “Don’t worry. I’ll protect you from the monster.”
He grins, all rumpled hair and stubble and muscles, the sheet barely covering his lower half. “If I don’t make it, tell Pork and Beans I died bravely.”
This man.
I tiptoe to the door, open it, and am immediately face-planted by a wall of orange fur. Mr. Snugglebutt launches himself at my ankle, ricochets off my bare foot, and careens down the hall like a deranged linebacker.
“Nice to see you, too,” I mutter, following him to the kitchen.
He hops up onto the counter, glaring at me with all the fury of a thousand hangry lionesses. His tail is bottle-brushed. His eyes are narrowed to dangerous, glittering slits.
“Chill, Mr. Drama Queen.” I open the cabinet and pull out his favorite can. “You’re not even starving. I fed you before bed.”
Mr. Snugglebutt meows, this time adding a whiny undertone that feels deeply personal. Judging by the way his tail twitches, he’s debating whether or not to look for a new owner.
I pop the lid on the can and flop the contents into his blue ceramic bowl. The distinct bouquet of “Freshwater Salmon Feast” assaults my nostrils, and I gag a little. Mr. Snugglebutt lunges for his portion like he hasn’t eaten in days.
I sigh and lean against the fridge, bracing for round two.
Except… the apartment is suddenly quiet again. Just the scrape of Mr. Snugglebutt’s bowl and my own heart thumping in my chest.
Right behind me, the bedroom door creaks open, and Beckett appears in just his jeans with his hair sticking up at wild angles.
Holy hell. Even half-dressed and sleep-rumpled, he’s a walking, talking, straight-up Greek god.
He squints at me, then at Mr. Snugglebutt, who’s lost in his breakfast ecstasy.
“Looks like you got to him before he died of hunger,” Beckett deadpans, ambling over and curling an arm around my waist. I could live in the sensation of his palm splayed against my hip.
“Barely.” I yawn, letting myself lean into his chest. “It was touch and go for a few minutes.”
Beckett nuzzles my temple, lips brushing my hairline. “Now that you’ve taken care of the cat, I want your attention.”
Oh, sweet Jesus. He tugs me closer, burying his nose in my hair. “Why don’t we shower together and conserve some water?”
I perk up at the suggestion. “I live to do right by the planet.”
He grins, wolfish and sweet at the same time. “My kinda girl.”
God. My ovaries are throwing a ticker tape parade in his honor.
Beckett grabs my hand, his palm dwarfing mine, and tugs me gently toward the bathroom.
We shut the bathroom door behind us, locking out the rest of the world. The air is cool, but the second Beckett sheds his jeans, things get steamy in a hurry.
He’s so freaking gorgeous. I’m one lucky girl.
He turns the shower on, testing the spray, then grins at me over his shoulder. “Come on. I’ll wash your back first.”
Wordlessly, I shed the T-shirt. He watches, blatantly, lips curving into a dangerous smile.
My nerves flicker for half a second, but Beckett doesn’t give me time for panic.
He laces his fingers with mine, kisses the inside of my wrist, then steps back and lets me join him under the hot, pounding water.
The shower blasts away the last traces of sleep and sex.
Pretty soon, the bathroom’s fogged to high heaven.
My hair frizzes instantly, but Beckett doesn’t seem to mind.
He takes the bottle of shampoo from me and pours some into his palm.
As he massages shampoo into my scalp, I lean back against his wet, muscular body.
I stand under the spray, eyes closed as his fingers gently work conditioner through my hair. “Holy cow, that feels so good.” My purr would make Mr. Snugglebutt proud.
He chuckles, vibrating behind me. “You like it when I play with your hair, huh?”
I lean back into him, shameless. “Best thing ever.”
His mouth brushes my shoulder, teeth nipping before his tongue licks away the sting. My knees almost buckle. He spins me around so my back is against the cool tile, then his hands cage me in.
“Fuck, you’re gorgeous.” He kisses me, rough and deep, water cascading over our faces.
We stumble a little, and Beckett steadies me with a hand on my ass, squeezing and causing my blood to heat.
I’m officially one hundred percent jelly, but Beckett never lets me slip.
I brace my hands on his chest and let him back me against the tile.
Fuck. His eyes go molten, and the look on his face is pure, filthy promise.
“If you keep touching me like that, I’m going to be late for work,” I manage, even though my brain is screaming to ditch the clinic and climb this man like a cat tree.
He just grins, that knowing, wolfish smirk that tells me he knows exactly what I’m thinking. “Call in sick. I’ll write you a note.” His hands are everywhere, sliding up my ribs, tangling in my hair, palming my ass so hard my knees wobble. I want him so bad it actually hurts.
My inner voice is shrieking “YES!!!” but my rational side is waving frantic warning flags.
Surgery at eight. “God, I wish I could.” I call on the last few ounces of my control.
“But Mr. Olson’s little Pookie-Poo needs to have his boy parts removed before he knocks up any more cats in the neighborhood.
” I groan as he kisses a path down the side of my throat.
I almost melt right into the tile. Part of me is ready to say screw it and call off work as his lips brush behind my ear, sending a shiver through me, but then he pulls back and grins down at me.
The regret in his eyes is real, but so is the damn pride.
“Go save Mr. Olson’s neighborhood from Pookie-Poo,” he murmurs, voice rough with wanting. “But I want a rain check.”
I shiver, practically vibrating. “Count on it.”
He plants one last filthy, perfect kiss on my mouth, making my toes curl all over again, then smacks my ass as he steps out of the shower. He grabs a towel and wraps it around me. He dries my hair, then grabs a second towel for himself and does a quick pass over his chest and arms.
I stare at him, slack-jawed and zero percent subtle. This man is unfair. There should be warning labels. Caution: Wet, Shirtless Beckett May Cause Spontaneous Ovary Detonation.
He grins at me like he knows exactly what’s going through my head, then takes two steps closer and yanks me in for a hard, filthy kiss that leaves me dizzy. My knees are total noodles.
“Stop looking at me like that or I’ll forget we both have to get ready for work.” Beckett’s voice goes all lethal and low.
I clutch the towel a little tighter and try to remember we both have responsibilities. “It sucks to adult,” I grumble as we both get dressed and prepare for the day.