Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
BECKETT
S he circles the island, her lips curved in a sassy smile that has my cock twitching.
“Tell me how I can help. I don’t want to sit over there and watch. Let me in on the action.”
I tip up an eyebrow and brush my fingers through her thick, red hair. “Oh, I plan to give you some action, Irish.”
She laughs, wrinkles her nose, then bounces on her feet. Unable to resist her, I lean in and kiss her on the head before I cross to the fridge.
“I have the chicken ready for the oven, so that part is easy.” I even had the oven warming while I went into town to get her, so I take the pot out of the fridge and slip it into the waiting oven.
“I love a man who plans ahead.”
“If I don’t plan, I don’t eat. Because by the time I get back from working a full day on this farm, nothing would be ready. Now, we just need to get the vegetables and rice going while that cooks.”
“I’m excellent with a knife.”
“Okay, you chop, then.” I pass Skyla the knife. Our fingers brush as she takes it from me and bites that plump lower lip. “I’d like a bite of that.”
“Of wha?—”
I swoop down and kiss her, pull her lower lip between my teeth, then soothe it with my tongue and kiss her some more.
“Mmm, delicious.”
“What brought that on?”
“I’m a jealous man, Irish. You bit that lip, and I needed my share.”
With her eyes on mine, she swipes her tongue over that lip and hums as if she can still taste me there.
Christ, at this rate, we won’t make it through dinner.
“Why don’t you have any music on in here?” she asks, turning her attention to cutting the tie off the bunch of asparagus.
“We can do music, but I just never think of it. Birdie left a Bluetooth speaker on the windowsill a few weeks ago. Feel free to use it.”
“I will,” she says, and gets busy pairing her phone to the little speaker. “Do you have a music preference?”
“Guest’s choice.” I wink at her and lean against the countertop, my arms crossed, enjoying her while she chooses something on her phone, and then a song I recognize begins to play.
“I love P!nk,” she says with a grin, and her hips start to move with the music. “Have you ever seen this woman in concert?”
“No, have you?”
“Aye, I have, and it’s brilliant. She’s such an incredible athlete. She dances, yes, but she also flies. She’s an aerialist, and seeing her in action is just incredible. Whenever she came to New York City, Mik and I were sure to go see her. She’s also incredibly kind. I was once lucky enough to meet her.”
“I bet you’ve met all kinds of interesting people.”
Walking past her, I brush my hand over her lower back and watch with satisfaction when she curls into the touch. Jesus, I can’t keep my hands to myself, and she doesn’t seem to mind.
“Many,” she agrees. “We’ve danced for celebrities, royalty, politicians. And most want to meet us after the shows, which is always an honor. I need to wash these.”
She’s already cut the stems off the asparagus, and as she turns toward the sink, she pauses and kisses my arm right over the bicep since that’s as high as she can reach, and it makes me still.
I want to pull her to me and devour her.
“I’m sorry,” she says with a frown. “Should I not have done that? You stiffened up. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, but you’ve been touching me, so I assumed?—”
“Whoa.” I take the vegetables out of her hands and set them aside, and then lift Skyla and set her on the counter opposite where we’re working. “You can touch me anytime, anywhere. I’m free game for you, sweetheart.”
She narrows her eyes as if she’s searching my face to make sure I’m telling the truth, so I take her hands and put them on my chest.
“Touch me.”
Her hands ghost up to my face, to my beard, and I grin at her.
“You like the beard.”
“I really do.” She wrinkles that nose, and I lean in to kiss it. “It’s sexy.”
I’ll never shave it off for as long as I live if it means I get to have this amazing woman around.
“Beck.”
“Yeah?”
“I have to wash the vegetables. I’m a hungry girl.”
Grinning, I help her to her feet. “Then we’d better feed you.”
Back to work, we move side by side, and it seems so … effortless. She brushes my arm with her shoulder, and I kiss the top of her head as I walk past. The music brings noise into my often-quiet kitchen, but Skyla brings life. Energy.
How is it possible to feel so at ease with someone so quickly?
Skyla starts to dance to another P!nk song, and I twirl her into my arms and dance with her, making her face light up.
“You have moves , Mr. Blackwell.”
“That’s how you get the pretty girls.” I wink at her, spin her out away from me, and then back in, twirling us around the kitchen. “My mom used to enjoy dancing like this when we were kids.”
“And that might be the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard.”
With a laugh, I dip her back, and the buzzer on the oven sounds.
“Good timing.” I press a kiss to her lips and release her.
We work together as if we’ve done it for years. She opens cupboards until she finds plates, and I gather the silverware after pouring some food into Riley’s bowl for his dinner.
Before long, we’re at the table, our plates full, candles lit, and I tap my wineglass to hers.
“How were your classes today?” I ask.
“They were great. I think I’m going to start offering a barre class for women, and I might even start a modern dance class for women as well. I’ve had some of the moms tell me that they’d be interested, and I think it would be fun.”
“So it’s not only ballet that you do?”
Skyla shakes her head, then tips it side to side as if contemplating her answer while eating.
“Ballet is the only dance I’ve done professionally,” she says. “But I’ve taken so many classes over the years. Jazz, tap, modern, you name it. It’s all fun. But ballet is rigorous in different ways than the others. That’s not to say that the others aren’t difficult or beautiful.”
“I get it. Explain what you mean by more rigorous.”
She licks her lips and steals a carrot from my plate even though she has plenty on her own plate, and it makes me smile.
She likes to share.
“Well, as a ballerina, I have to contort my body in ways that aren’t natural. When I was young, I had a foot stretcher.”
I lift an eyebrow at that.
“Yep, it’s what it sounds like. You know how we arch our feet and walk on our toes?”
“Sure.” I take a bite of my food and grin when she reaches for a piece of my chicken. From now on, we’ll eat off one plate.
“I need my feet to arch much farther than what comes naturally.”
“That sounds painful.”
“Definitely.” She nods and eats her own rice. “It’s agony, and it never stops. It’s not unusual to always be bruised, sore, hurting. My feet are horrible.”
“You have cute feet.”
“You’ve only seen them in socks,” she reminds me. “And if I have my way, that’s the only way you’ll ever see them.”
I narrow my eyes at her. “No.”
“They bleed, or they did, when I danced every day. The toenails are almost completely gone now. I’ll never be a woman who comfortably wears a cute peep-toe heel. And that’s okay.”
“How does your ankle feel?”
That question has her eyes sobering. “It’s the same. Not normal. But I can dance for fun, and I guess that has to be good enough. As I age, my back will hurt, and my knees will ache. It’s the price a dancer pays. I’m actually lucky that I didn’t get more beat up than I am because of the way Mik would fling me about. He’s not gentle.”
With my plate cleared, I lean back in the chair. “Is it gentle you want, Irish?”
“I’m not fragile,” she says with a chuckle. “And I ate half of your dinner.”
“I don’t mind. Do you want more?”
“No, I’m full, but you might need a second helping to make up for what I took. Some people get cranky about sharing their food.”
I chuckle but shake my head. “I don’t. There are far more important things to get cranky about.”
“Such as?”
“Hungry children. Oppression. Stalkers.”
She snorts. “You’re not wrong about that. Also, what about the fact that neither the cereal companies nor the chip companies can get in bed with the Ziploc people? Isn’t that a simple phone call?”
Laughing, I thread our fingers together. “You’d think that someone could make that happen.”
“It’s time to clean up.”
“I can do it,” I reply, but she’s already shaking her head and standing.
“No, we’ll get it done faster if we just dig in and do it together. This was delicious. You’re an excellent cook.”
I’d rather she didn’t clean up. Not because I think she’s incapable but because I want her to relax. If I’ve learned anything about this woman over the past few days, she won’t take no for an answer, so we clear the table together.
“I like this shirt,” she says as she drags her hand down my arm, from shoulder to elbow. “It hugs you in all the right places.”
The flirting, the touching, the fucking allure of her all evening has kept my blood simmering, and she continues the teasing while we clean up.
And I fucking want her.
She’s at the sink, rinsing dishes for the dishwasher, and I walk up behind her, brush her hair aside, and plant my lips on her neck, just below her ear.
“I’m fucking obsessed with this thick, gorgeous hair, Irish.”
“Mmm.” She tips her head back, leaning against me. “It’s a fine spot you’ve found there.”
“Your voice,” I whisper against her, “is going to be my undoing.”
“It’s a cliché to be attracted to the accent, you know.”
“It’s not just that.” I drag my lips to her shoulder and tighten my arms around her. “It’s the tone. A little raspy, as if you’ve just rolled out of bed after a night of fucking. Add in the accent, and you keep me permanently hard.”
Her breath catches, and her hands clutch mine. After kicking the dishwasher door closed, I turn Skyla in my arms to look at her stunning face and drag my knuckles down her cheek. I’m trying to be a gentleman and let her set the pace.
“You look conflicted,” she whispers.
“I’m trying to go easy. It’s only our second date, so if you tell me you want to sleep in the guest room, I’ll be fine with that, Irish. You’re the boss, but fuck me if I don’t want you.”
She takes a deep breath, and as her eyes drop to my mouth, she bites that pillow of a lip, and it’s almost my undoing.
“Beck.” My name on her lips is all I can take.
“Fuck it,” I growl, and cupping her face, I cover her mouth with mine. She grips my arms, not pushing me away, and I’m already consumed by her. Planting my hands on the globes of her ass, I lift her. She wraps her long legs around my waist, and I easily carry her through the house. Before ascending the stairs, I pick up her bag.
“You’re fecking strong,” she says against my lips.
“You’re small, baby.” I nibble the side of her mouth. “I could carry you around like this all damn day.”
When I reach the bedroom, I drop her bag on the floor and carry her to the bed.
“Legs.”
She releases me, and when I sit on the edge of the bed, she straddles me and brushes her fingers through my beard, kissing me for all she’s worth. She settles her core against my already hard cock, rocking back and forth.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Riley walk into the room, and he lies on the bed I bought for him.
“You got him another bed?”
“He needs one for the bedroom,” I reply, then lift her off my lap and to her feet so I can undress her. “Tell me now if you don’t want this, Irish.”
“If you stop now, I’ll be for slashing your tires, Beck.”
Gripping the hem of her sweater, I urge it over her head, then cast it aside, and she’s left in leggings and a pretty blue lace bra against creamy skin peppered with freckles.
“You’re fucking beautiful.”
She presses her lips into a line, and her cheeks darken. I push my fingers into the leggings, urging them down her hips and legs, and she steps out of them, leaving her socks on.
But they’ll be gone soon.
“I’m going to kiss every freckle.”
Her eyebrows climb. “We’ll be here for a while, as I’ve a lot of them.”
“I have time.” Leaning forward, I kiss her sternum, just between her breasts, then down to her navel. Her hands thread through my hair, holding on as I grip her ass and hips, my big hands spanning her entire backside. She’s so small next to me. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
“Not fragile, remember?” She kisses the top of my head. “You won’t hurt me.”
“I’m going to devour you.” I brush my nose over the front of her pubis, and she moans. “You smell so fucking good, Irish.”
My hands are everywhere. I want to touch her all over, all at once, and taste every bit of her. I unclasp her bra, and she lets it fall. My mouth closes around a tight nipple, making her moan again.
Her tits.
They’re made for me. Small, perky, and gorgeous.
“Love these, Irish,” I say reverently.
“They’re dancer’s breasts,” she moans out.
“Perfect, sweetheart.” And I’ll keep showing her until she believes me.
I hook my fingers in her panties and draw them down her legs, but when she steps out of them, I don’t cast them aside.
I lift them to my face and inhale.
“Holy feck,” she whispers, still gripping my hair in her fist.
“I’m going to kneel in front of you and eat you until you can’t fucking remember how to breathe.”
Without waiting for a comment, I hit my knees and lift her leg onto my shoulder. I wrap one arm around her waist to hold her steady and drag my nose over her bundle of nerves.
“Beck.”
“Hmm?”
I start lightly tonguing her folds, already so wet and ready for me, just ghosting against her skin. Her hips start to move, silently begging me to give her more.
But I want to make this last.
I want to make her go out of her mind.
With one hand braced around her thigh and the other around her waist, I pull her closer and bury my face in her heat, eating as if I’m starved.
“Beckett.” Her breathing is hard, her voice rougher than usual, and her core shivers under my mouth. “Please.”
“What do you need?”
“Please.”
I kiss the inside of her thigh and look up into eyes so bright, I’d swear they were emeralds.
“Tell me what you need.”
“Inside me. Fingers, tongue, I don’t care.”
“Good girl.” I bite that soft flesh before I push two fingers inside her, and she cries out. Her muscles contract around my fingers as I press my tongue against her clit, swirling it around, and she comes in a gorgeous wave that leaves me breathless. “God, you’re beautiful.”
Kissing my way up her body, I lift her onto the bed, but when I move to crawl over her, she shakes her head.
“You get naked,” she instructs me.
“Irish—”
“Don’t you Irish me. I need to see the muscles under that bloody shirt, Beck. Right now.”
I quirk up an eyebrow, and she catches her forefinger in her teeth.
“Please.”
I cover her without stripping off the clothes and kiss her cheek and her chin. When she closes her eyes, I whisper, “Eyes on me, beautiful girl.”
When she obeys, I reward her with a kiss while my hand slides down her side to her hip.
“I’ll take my clothes off since you asked nicely, but I don’t want you to get this twisted, Irish. I’m in charge in this bedroom.”
“Dominant side much?”
“You have no idea. If that’s a problem, you need to say so.”
She swallows hard, but she’s not afraid, and that’s exactly the reaction I want.
“No problem for me.”
“Just tell me if there is a problem. I want your words.”
“I can do that.”
With a nod, I kiss down her body, circle my nose around her navel, and then press a hard, sucking kiss over her pussy before I stand and reach over my head to pull my shirt off.
Her eyes go glassy as they journey down my torso, taking in every inch of muscle and spattering of hair. While she’s distracted, I pull her socks off.
“Beck—”
“I want all of you,” I reply, lifting one foot to press a kiss in the center of the arch. They definitely show signs of years of hard work, and when I see the embarrassment move through her eyes, I kiss her ankle and then the front of her shin. “You’re beautiful, baby. You worked hard, and your feet are the evidence of that. They’re your battle scars, and I will kiss every bit of them.”
She wrinkles her nose, but she doesn’t look embarrassed anymore.
“You want my pants off?”
“Of course , I want your pants off.”
With a smirk, I unfasten the jeans, push them down my hips, and step out of them. Then I pull my briefs off and stand before her. The way her eyes light up and she bites that lip is a great boost to my fucking ego.
“You might break me after all,” she says, her gaze pinned to my cock.
“No way.” I fist it, give it a tug, and then crawl back on the bed with her. “You’re so wet, baby, you’ll take me. But there’s no rush.”
“Except I want you, Beck. So yeah, there’s a rush.”
I wrap my lips around her nipple, pluck it through my teeth, and push two fingers inside, and she moans.
“You know,” I whisper against her ear, “I used to think your laugh was my favorite sound you make. But then I discovered that fucking amazing moan of yours, and that is my favorite sound.”
“You’re going to ruin me for all men, aren’t you?”
I grin, lick up the side of her throat, and nudge my way between her thighs.
“Hell yes, that’s exactly what I’m going to do.”
Because I’ve found my way to heaven, and I don’t think I’ll ever want to let it go.