Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
SKYLA
N o one has ever, in my entire life, looked at me the way Beckett is looking at me right now. As if I’m every desire he’s ever had in bodily form, and he’s going to permanently mark me as his.
And yes, this may be our second date, but I’m not at all against that idea.
I already found him attractive and sexy, but it’s also his genuine generosity that has sucked me into his orbit. He bought four beds for my bloody dog, for feck’s sake. Who does that? He offered me the spare bedroom … He’s such a good man. And the way he takes control of my body so respectfully? So attentively? I didn’t know this level of sexy and gallantry was possible. He’s every fantasy I’ve ever had. I don’t know if I’ll recover from him.
“Your body is beautiful,” he murmurs as he kisses down my neck and over my chest. “If I’m too much, just say so. We’ll take it slow.”
I moan, but it almost sounds like a whine because I don’t want to take it slow. I want him inside me, fucking me into this mattress like a man should.
But I simply bite my lip.
“Say it.”
“Why is it that you can read my mind?”
His lips quirk as he takes his cock in his hand and nudges the head through my wetness, up and down, making my hips move with him.
“I can see when you want to say something. Say it. Always. Don’t hold back with me, Irish.”
“I don’t want you to go slow.” His eyes narrow, and I swallow hard. “See? You don’t want to hear that.”
He grips the hair at the back of my neck, and I groan. He presses just the broad tip of his cock into me, then leans forward to whisper in my ear.
“I want your words,” he says, exciting me. “Doesn’t mean you’ll always get what you want, not until I’m ready to give it to you, but I need to know what you need because your pleasure is the only thing that matters to me. For this first time, I have to go slow, baby. I don’t want to hurt you.”
He kisses me softly, and I melt into the bed. His kisses are like a warm summer day, and I would be perfectly content to have his lips on me all the time.
He grabs a condom from the bedside table and quickly sheaths himself. When he starts to push forward, he doesn’t miss my sharp inhale at the sting of him stretching me despite how sopping wet I am.
“That’s why,” he murmurs, nuzzling my neck. “Trust me, I want to fuck you hard and fast because you feel so damn amazing, but I refuse to hurt you. We have to get you used to me, baby.”
“You’re incredible.” I push my fingers through his hair, down to his beard, and guide his mouth to mine.
I can’t get enough of his kisses, of how his whiskers feel on my skin. And as he sinks farther into me, brushing my tongue with his own, he presses deeper down below. My muscles relax, letting him in until finally, he’s seated fully, and we’re both struggling to breathe.
“You’re so damn tight.” His voice is thick and rough as he rests his forehead on mine.
“You’re so damn big .” I grip his arse hard. “Please, Beck.”
“Tell me.” He brushes his nose back and forth against my own. “What do you need?”
“Please fuck me. ”
He grins and starts to move. Not little pulses, but long, firm strokes, and his crown massages my walls. It’s the most fulfilling, mesmerizing sensation I’ve ever felt.
“You’re perfect for me,” he says, picking up the pace. His hand fists the bedsheets by my head, and his other hand pushes into my hair once more. He’s tugging deliciously, and it’s commanding. Claiming.
It’s everything I never knew I needed, and I can’t look away from how his muscles move and contract above me. How he looks with that light sheen of sweat covering his tanned skin. He’s so gorgeous.
Every inch of him is pure male perfection.
I reach down between us and press my finger to my clit, and he growls. “Yes, baby. Fuck, you clenched even tighter. Touch yourself.”
I keep going a little harder. He closes his eyes and grits his teeth, and I can feel him swell inside me. It makes me feel powerful to know that I have this effect on him, and I squeeze him a little harder.
“Christ. Skyla.”
“Beck.”
“I want you to come for me. Come all over this cock, Irish. Make a mess, sweetheart.”
His words, his voice , his hand in my hair, and the way his cock fills me leave me no choice. My back bows off the bed, and every muscle in my body contracts as I come apart beneath him.
Beckett roars above me, and then he’s coming, filling the condom. He pumps his hips through it all, sending me into another orgasm that has me digging my heels into his arse and my toes curling.
“Bloody shite,” I grind out before biting his shoulder.
He’s kissing me. My neck, my chin, my chest, and he’s pushed his arms under me, holding me to him so tenderly, such a stark contrast to the incredible way he just fucked me, that it brings tears to my eyes.
“Shit, did I hurt you, baby?” He kisses my forehead and down to my cheek.
“No.” I shake my head and touch his beard. “No, you didn’t hurt me. It might have been just a wee bit intense, that’s all.”
“Yeah, it was fucking intense.” He brushes a piece of hair off my face, then strokes my cheek with his knuckles. “Are you okay?”
“I’m amazing, Beck.” It’s been … a long time since I’ve had sex. But that? Nothing has ever felt that amazing.
“Good. I’m going to take care of the condom, then I’ll take care of you.” I frown, but before I can say anything, he kisses me, and he’s gone, walking into the en suite bathroom. I hear the toilet flush, then the water running, and he’s back with a washcloth. Without a word, he uses the warm cloth to clean me, and then he lifts me, holding me to his chest while he peels the comforter off the bed. He replaces it with a clean one he pulls from a chest at the end of the bed, all while I’m wrapped around him, naked flesh to naked flesh.
“You don’t have to carry me.” I kiss his cheek, and he simply grunts. So I stay quiet while he covers the bed with the blanket, then tucks us both under it, cradling me to him. “This is nice. Thank you.”
“I’m going to check in with you again, and I’ll do that often. I can get way more fucking intense than what just happened a minute ago, and it’s important to me that you feel safe and cared for. How do you feel, Irish?”
I know he doesn’t want to hear I’m okay. So I nuzzle his bare chest and take in a deep breath, taking stock of my body.
“I’ll be a little sore, but it’s nothing I can’t handle. My skin feels like it’s buzzing. All in all, I’m pretty blissed out.”
I feel him grin against my hair, and he tightens his hold on me.
“Those are good things.”
I boost up on my elbow so I can see his face. “I don’t mind intense, rough sex. Although I can’t say that I’ve ever had it.”
His eyes narrow on me.
“Um, I don’t think you want to know?—”
“I want to know.” His thumb brushes over my lips.
“My experiences are pretty vanilla. Soft. Like I’m fragile. But I’m not.”
He smiles and licks his lips, and I wonder if he can still taste me there. “No. You’re not fragile.”
“But I don’t want to call you sir if it’s all the same to you.”
That makes him laugh, and he rolls me onto my back, where he rakes his fingers through my hair. “No, I’m not a Dominant. I just have controlling tendencies in the bedroom. I like to be the one in charge. And yeah, sometimes I like it rough.”
“Brilliant.”
* * *
I’m awake. The sun isn’t up yet, but Beckett moves behind me. He’s still wrapped around me, his front to my back, and he’s holding me as if he’s afraid I’ll disappear, but he’s awake.
He brushes his lips against the back of my head, takes a deep breath, and tightens his arms around me in a hug.
Then he’s gone.
He rolls away and pads into the attached bathroom, silently closing the door before the light comes on.
I take a look at the time and see that it’s before five. My gods, we were up well into the night, talking and having all kinds of intense, amazing sex, so how his internal clock woke him up this early, I’ll never know.
It’s soothing to listen to Beckett go through his morning routine. I hear the water run, the toilet flush, and then the light goes out, and he crosses the room to what I assume is the closet.
I can see him from the ambient light of the moon coming through the windows, and a few moments later, he emerges in jeans and a clean black T-shirt.
“It’s early,” I say. He stops in his tracks, then immediately climbs onto the bed behind me and wraps me tightly in his arms once more.
God, nothing in the world feels this good. I’m not entirely sure it should be legal to feel like this.
“I have to go to the barn for a while,” he whispers, brushing his lips against my ear and sending a shiver down my spine.
“You didn’t get much sleep.”
“You’re worth every second, baby.” He kisses my neck, then my cheek. “Go back to sleep for a while. I’ll make breakfast when I get back. I won’t be more than a couple of hours.”
I twist around so I can see his face and wrap my arms around him.
“Your bed is comfortable. I suppose I could sleep some more.”
“Good.” He presses a sweet kiss to my lips and nudges my nose with his. “Rest. Stay cozy. I’ll see you in a bit.”
But he doesn’t leave. He tucks my head under his chin and hugs me close, and I can’t help but moan at how good it feels to be in this warm bed with Beckett wrapped around me.
“I thought you had to work.”
He chuckles, making his chest shake against my cheek. “I do. I’m going.”
With one last kiss on my head, he rolls away and strolls out the door. When I hear the back door downstairs open and close, I get up to use the bathroom myself, then hurry back to bed. Riley follows, jumps up, and snuggles me, and I slip back to sleep.
When I wake again, the sun is up, and I stretch over to check the time.
I got another hour and a half of sleep.
“We should get up,” I say to Riley as I scratch him on the head. “Come on, big boy. Did you sleep well, then? You sure did snore your heart out.”
I climb out of bed and slip on some clean jeans and a jumper, twist my hair back into a long braid, then lead Riley downstairs.
“You stay close,” I warn him as I let him out the back door to do his business. I watch him closely, making sure he doesn’t venture too far or get distracted by wildlife. He never has before, but these are new surroundings for him.
But my boy is solid, coming right back to me after relieving himself, and we return to the kitchen.
“Beck had to go to work early, so we should make him breakfast,” I inform the canine as I fill his food dish and set it out for him. Then I take stock of what Beck has in the fridge and pantry.
The man has a little bit of everything. This isn’t a bachelor’s kitchen, with just beer and chips. He obviously cooks for himself often.
So I pull out the farm-fresh eggs—I could hear the hens when I took Riley out, and I can’t wait to meet them later—and get to work chopping vegetables for an omelet.
It’s not what I’d typically eat before I came to the States, but I can see the appeal. Loaded with veggies, eggs, and cheese, it’s a filling breakfast rich in protein and nutrients. Ma used to have Chef make this with sausage, bacon or beans, and black pudding, all separated rather than combined, but I’ve adapted to this as a fairly quick alternative.
As I’m grating a potato for hash browns, my phone rings, startling me.
“Hey, Mik.” I set it to speakerphone and go back to grating. “And how are you this fine morning?”
He’s silent for a moment. “And who is this man that has you sounding this way?”
I smirk. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I know you, and I know this voice. Tell me.”
“You haven’t come to visit me, so you wouldn’t know him,” I remind Mik. “But he’s someone new in my life, and I’m quite smitten. That’s all I’ll say. Now, what are you about?”
“We need to talk.” I pause in my grating and frown.
“About what?”
“I want you to listen to me, and do not interrupt, and do not tell me no until you’ve heard what I have to say. Promise me, Skyla.”
“Now you’re making me nervous.”
“Promise.”
“Yes, fine, I promise. Now, talk before I have an anxiety attack.”
He takes a deep breath, and I frown as I cross to the sink, where I can look outside. The mountains look beautiful out here, and I can see chickens walking around the yard. And to think Beck gets to see this every day. It makes me a wee bit jealous.
“We’ve been asked to dance one performance of Giselle in London for the coronation of King Frederick.”
I scowl at the poor chickens. “That’s ridiculous. Why wouldn’t The London Ballet Company be asked to do that?”
“Because we are the best, of course. And because he saw us perform it once, and he loved it and wants us.”
“ Us , as in, you and me?”
“Of course. There is no one else.”
I sigh and close my eyes. “Mik. I love you so much, and I won’t lie and say that I don’t miss dancing with you because you know I do. But I can’t. My ankle isn’t where it should be.”
“It’s been almost a year since your injury,” he says, frustration heavy in his voice. “No doctor will tell you that you can’t dance.”
“No, in fact, I’ve been given clearance to dance, but that doesn’t mean that the joint is strong enough for what I’d have to put it through to get into shape for a performance like this. Mik, I’ve gained weight.”
“How much weight?”
“Ten pounds.”
“Psh, you can take that off. Rehearsal alone will take that right off you, and you know it. Tighten up your diet, malishka.”
Restrict my diet again. Go hungry again. Hate every extra pound, all over again.
“Mik—”
“I said don’t say no. It is one performance, Skyla. I am not asking you to move back to New York City and pick up where you left off. It is one night.”
“Sure, one night that will require weeks of work, and you know I won’t go to the city to rehearse with you. I will not do it. I live here. My business is here.”
“And your man is there,” he finishes for me.
“Yes. Frankly, my entire life is here, and if you’d move here, my life would be complete.”
He scoffs at that. We both know that Mik will never leave New York City.
“What if I come there for rehearsal?”
I blink, staring blindly out the window. “You’d do that?”
“This is important. We never got to say goodbye, malishka. We never had our final curtain call, our moment together.”
No, because we didn’t know that that last night would be the end of it. We had no way of knowing.
Water fills my eyes as I take a shaky breath.
“After more than a decade of work together, we deserve this. We both deserve it.”
“When do I have to let you know?”
“The sooner, the better. The performance will be in June.”
“ Mik. ” I shake my head. “We’d have to start rehearsals in just a few weeks.”
“That is why you need to let me know. I will hound you about it. It is happening.”
“You know I don’t like being handled, Mikhail.”
“Yes, you do. I have to go. And seriously, malishka, please consider it. We need it.”
He hangs up, and I lean on the countertop, still looking outside.
“You should do it.”
With a gasp, I whirl around and clutch my hand to my chest, then scowl down at Riley.
“You’re supposed to warn me of these things.”
“You were pretty deep in thought,” Beck says. He’s leaning against the wall across the room, his arms crossed over his chest, watching me.
“How much did you hear?”
“Most of it,” he admits, and I get back to work on breakfast.
“I hope you don’t mind that I took over your kitchen.”
“I don’t mind at all.” He crosses the room and leans on the island across from me, watching as I grate the last of the potato. “What are your hesitations when it comes to this? Let’s talk about it.”
Blowing out a breath, I pour some oil in a pan and set it on the stove. I light the burner, glad I have something to do with my hands while I talk.
“My ankle, for starters.”
“You mentioned that it’s healed.”
“Yeah, but like I told you last night, it’s not the same. I’ve done the stretches and exercises, but it’ll never be as strong as it was. When I jeté, it feels like it might twist out from under me. That makes me uncertain, and there’s no room for that in a performance.”
“Okay.” I feel him round the island so he’s facing me while I work at the stove. “What else?”
“I really don’t want to admit this to you.”
He’s quiet, so I glance over and see him watching, waiting, with an eyebrow raised.
“I’ve gained weight.”
He shakes his head, ready to dismiss that, but I continue.
“Look, I know I’m a thin woman, but my body isn’t professional dancer-ready anymore. I don’t restrict my eating. I don’t go hungry to keep the extra pounds off.”
His hand slides across my lower back, and that simple touch makes my shoulders drop, taking away some of the tension.
“Eating disorders run rampant in show business. That’s no secret. Mine was never as bad as it could have been because I’m naturally long and lean, but some women killed themselves to be the shape of a ballerina. It’s disgusting, but it’s part of the business. Anyway, I’ve enjoyed eating mostly what I want without worrying if Mik would feel it later when he had to lift me.”
“It’s ten pounds,” he says, but I shake my head again.
“It might as well be fifty.” With the potatoes almost done, I crack eggs and whip them up for the omelet. “Physically, this will be grueling. Emotionally, it’ll be a strain. I don’t know if I want to put myself through it again.”
“But part of you wants to.”
Glancing up, I stare into his eyes and feel my chest warm. “I miss it so much.”
“You should at least try,” he says and leans in to kiss my forehead. “Because he’s right. You didn’t get to say goodbye properly to something you love so much. Take this for you. Take it, and go out on your terms, not what was given to you by The Asshole.”
I bite my lip as I work the eggs in the pan. “I’ll think about it. If he wasn’t willing to come here, it would be an immediate no.”
“But he’s willing.” His hand glides from the back of my neck, down my spine, to my arse. “Because he needs it too. But don’t do it for anyone but you. Selfishly, I’d love to see you dance.”
I grin, and when he wraps his arms around me from behind, I sigh with happiness. I’d love for Beckett to see me dance too. Does that mean he’d want to fly to London to see that, though? What we have is so new, and like I said, the rehearsals alone will be time-consuming and grueling. Do I want to add that to this new relationship? If that’s what we’re calling this?
But then I think about Mik’s plea. Giselle in front of King Frederick. That’s…such an honor. I understand his desire to do this. And he’s not wrong about how we finished. We didn’t get to say goodbye to years of dedication, sweat, tears, and joy. That, too, was stolen from us.
And then there’s Beckett’s insight.
“Because he’s right. You didn’t get to say goodbye properly to something you love so much. Take this for you. Take it, and go out on your terms…”
He’s surprisingly wise about something he potentially has no experience with, and that makes me appreciate his words more. I need to think on it, though. I fear risking an additional injury, and there really is no place in professional dancing for uncertainty. For now, though, I want to feed the beautiful man beside me. That I can do.
“Breakfast is ready.”
“Good. I’m starved, and we have lots to see today.”