Chapter Twenty-eight – You’re Still the One
Chapter Twenty-eight
Maisey
YOU’RE STILL THE ONE
Performed by Shania Twain
TWO AND A HALF YEARS AGO
HER: Sex is disappointing.
HIM: I nearly choked on my hamburger. Give a guy some warning, will you?
HIM: And sex isn’t the problem. It’s the idiots you’ve let take you home.
HER: Maybe. Or maybe my romance novels have set up a false expectation. I always hated it when people said that, but perhaps it’s true.
HIM: I’d offer up a bet to prove your romance novels are right, and it’s just the guys who are wrong, but I know you wouldn’t take me up on it.
HER: I’m nearly desperate enough to let you choose a guy for me AND place a bet.
Minutes passed.
HER: Did I lose you?
HIM: I’m trying to restart my heart at the idea of you actually taking a bet.
HER: I said I was ALMOST desperate enough.
HIM: Darlin’, that’s the problem. If a guy is doing it right, you absolutely will be desperate. Desperate, panting, and shouting his name.
PRESENT DAY
Beckett and I were quiet on the elevator ride up to the suite. Every time I moved my left hand, the diamonds he’d given me sparkled in the lights. It was the perfect ring.
The fact he’d given it to me while making a grand gesture in front of an entire ballroom of people gave me more hope that I was right about him. About us. Maybe we were both ready to accept that what we had was not temporary. Had never been temporary.
The sweet moment he’d given me was a gift almost as important as the ring itself. It was exactly the kind of scene my heart lurched happily at in romance books. And the look on his face as he’d dropped to one knee? It had been full of real love. Endless love.
The truth is, I’ve never been single. Not from the moment you held out your hand all those years ago.
My heart flipped all over again at those sweet, perfect, book-worthy words.
Yes, he’d done it after talking to the chief and before hearing from the mayor that he didn’t have to slip a ring on my finger to get the job he wanted.
But I had to believe it didn’t change anything.
The fake engagement had done exactly what it always did in my books.
It had forced us to see what we already had and couldn’t afford to lose.
And I wouldn’t lose him.
On our floor, he guided me across the corridor to the suite door, opened it for us, and then surprised me by sweeping me off my feet before crossing the threshold.
I let out a squeal of laughter. As the door clicked shut behind us, I met his gaze and was stunned all over again by the pure love I saw there.
It smoothed away any remnants of doubt and worry that had tried to stick around.
As he carried me into the bedroom, I tossed my clutch to the nearest available surface and slid my hands into his thick hair, messing it up. He huffed out a laugh. “What was that for?”
“You looked incredibly handsome, all smooth and slicked back, but that isn’t the Beckett I fell for…
” I swallowed, holding back the I love you I wanted to give.
It would come. At the right time, it would come out.
“I fell for a boy who always had strands of hair sticking up, taught me how to read, and told me I looked like an avenging angel.”
“I didn’t lie when I said you looked like one,” he said.
“It was your eyes that hit me first. That impossible color.” He set me down slowly, allowing my body to slide tantalizingly along his.
“And tonight, this fucking dress made your eyes glow as if they were the pearly gates themselves. As if they were a neon sign, flashing welcome.”
I ran my hand down his uniform, slowly reaching for the first button and undoing it.
I was rewarded with his breath turning choppy.
“On a scale of one to ten,” I said, pure pleasure lifting my lips. “How desperate are you to get me out of my dress?”
His eyes turned molten.
“I’d break the damn scale, darlin’.”
Joy winged through me, the intensity of it so large it could almost take shape. I barely had time to revel in it before his mouth was on mine. Hot. Needy. Sparking into a full-blown blaze in a mere heartbeat.
His hands slid up my arms before tracing the whisper of chiffon across my back.
Then he drew me closer, until every curve of me fit against every solid line of him.
It felt inevitable, the way our lips met, molding together as though they’d been made for this—for us.
Separate pieces finally forming a whole.
He licked into me, tasting like chocolate and cherries and the smoky hint of whiskey. Or maybe that was simply him, a delicious blend of fire and life that left behind the cleansing scent of ash and pure want in its wake.
Our tongues wove together, plummeting into secret depths until hunger rippled like a hurricane through me.
I needed to feel his skin, his heat, the pulse of his body against mine.
His teeth caught my bottom lip, his fingers threading into my hair to tilt my head back.
A flicker of pain sparked where the injury lingered, but it vanished beneath the pleasure of being claimed, consumed, undone.
I fumbled with his remaining buttons, urgency turning my fingers clumsy.
His jacket fell to the floor with a muted thud.
When he reached for the zipper of my dress, I caught his hand and pushed it away, not wanting the moment to be broken yet by the cold dread that often hit me when a man’s hands touched me.
I wanted his urgency to infect me. I wanted to end up as he’d once told me I should when having sex—I wanted to end panting and aching for the simple graze of a finger.
“You first,” I gasped. “I need to touch you. I need to feel your skin. I need to know this is real.”
He stepped away and impatiently undid the buttons on his dress shirt while simultaneously stepping out of his shoes. When his cuffs took longer to undo than he wanted, he tugged viciously, and a button popped off, pinging and hitting the dresser.
I couldn’t hold in the laugh.
“Is my impatience funny to you, darlin’? Seems to me, you’re the one demanding skin as if it’s your latest drug,” he taunted. His voice was raw. The need in it skated over me, thrilling me down to the core.
“Not funny as much as”—I stepped back again as he tried to close the distance—“delightful.”
His eyes darkened, and he let the shirt fall away from his shoulders, leaving a white T-shirt sculpted to his chest.
“I see. You like torturing me.” I swore flames sparked in his eyes. “Just remember, Maise, payback’s a bitch. I may be desperate. I may beg you to take that dress off, but I guarantee you’ll be the one begging once I’ve got you flat on your back on the bed.”
My mouth went dry, and I bit my lip.
He reached behind him, tugging at the tee and dragging it over his head, leaving his chest exposed. He was carved in the most beautiful way, not only by rigorous workouts but a life of service. He bore the marks of it. Scars from cuts and burns he’d earned fighting fires.
My body ached. To touch. To taste. To feel every single brush of skin before losing all sensation as we came apart together. But I wasn’t going to let him have all the fun tonight. If he was going to torment me, I was going to torment him right back.
“Why does it have to be me flat on my back?” I demanded, arching a brow.
I stepped out of my shoes and removed the clip from my hair, shaking it out and running my hands through it so it would fall around my shoulders.
He groaned, dropping the belt he’d yanked off.
I could see a hint of the sharp V at his waist, a trail of hair above the band of his briefs, and before I knew it, I was the one who’d closed the distance.
I set my hands at the curves of his hips, sliding my palms along his waist and popping the button on his pants open before placing wet, needy kisses along his chest.
He drew my face to his, cupped my cheeks, and took my mouth with furious devotion, as if there was a storm inside him that matched the one in me.
I’d relinquish my soul to get lost in the eye.
To get lost in the glide of lips and teeth and hands.
To feel perfectly and utterly used and adored like the people in my novels.
Our kiss turned brutal, savage in its intensity.
And when he reached for my zipper this time, I couldn’t stop him if I’d wanted to. My knees shook. My fingers trembled. I wanted the dress gone. I wanted nothing left between us.
I gripped his pants, dragged them down as he tugged at my dress. Once the clothes fell away, once the gown was a crumpled pile of mulberry on the ground, Beckett stepped back, just as I had done with him, and took in every curve and valley of my body.
Usually, being in nothing but a sheer pink lingerie set would have had me covering myself self-consciously.
But I didn’t need to do that with Beckett.
Not only because he’d seen me in bikinis growing up and naked several times now at his house, but because I didn’t feel vulnerable and exposed with him.
I felt as if this was just one more homecoming. A place I belonged.
Before I could protest, he’d picked me up, tossed me on the bed, and covered me with his body. His mouth landed on one hard nipple, laving it through the fabric. A soft bite had me crying out, arching off the bed. Strong hands pushed me back down, slowly and sensually exploring me.
My eyes closed as the sensations overwhelmed me.
Love. Hope. No… Not hope… Triumph.
He was mine. I was his.
The need that had brewed but remained hidden for far too many years burst to the surface.
Flurries of want tugged through me as he did exactly what he’d said in his text at the lingerie store.
He consumed me, tasting every inch, and once the fabric was as wet and hot as my insides, he simply tore it from my body.
Fully naked and overcome with passion, I writhed under his ministrations.