Chapter 34
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Daisy
This is even better than my dream. Beckett, with his head between my thighs, his stubble scraping against my skin and his tongue. God, his tongue.
My head falls back and I pinch one nipple between my fingers, squeezing it.
“Oh god,” I whimper, my thighs trembling.
“God isn’t here. Get the name right,” he growls and then he shoves his tongue right inside me and I see stars.
I pant, squeezing my nipple harder as his tongue brings me to the brink.
“Beckett! I’m coming.”
He rubs his thumb over my clit and presses on it until I shatter.
When I come down from my orgasm, Beckett licks me from slit to crack and then kisses my lips so I can taste myself on his tongue.
“So fucking sweet,” he murmurs, giving me another dirty kiss.
“Now that I’ve had my dessert…” He takes off my left boot and then my right and they hit the floor with a thud. “I’m ready for my main course.”
He gives me a wicked grin and lifts me off the counter. My arms wrap around his neck and my legs around his waist as he strides down the hallway and up the stairs.
My body is humming with anticipation as I press my lips against the side of his neck and breathe in his scent.
“Leather. Spice. Sex,” I murmur, tugging his earlobe between my teeth.
He groans. “Orange blossoms. Jasmine. Honey.”
He shoves his bedroom door open and stumbles blindly across the room with my lips fused to his and my fingers in his thick hair.
I can’t believe he confessed to wanting to kiss me from the very first day at the airport.
When his legs hit the side of the bed frame, he tosses me onto the bed. I bounce a little on the mattress and push myself up on my elbows to watch him undress in the light of the blue moon.
He throws his T-shirt on the floor then toes off his sneakers, and pushes down his shorts and boxer briefs at the same time.
His cock, so hard and thick and long, springs free and juts straight toward me. He wraps his hand around the base and gives it a few strokes, his eyes on me.
My mouth waters. I want to taste him.
I get onto my knees and scoot closer until I’m kneeling right in front of him then wrap my hand around the base of his thick length and squeeze. He hisses, his hand sliding into my hair as I dip my head and lick a drop of pre-cum off the tip then wrap my lips around it.
“Fuck,” he groans, holding the back of my head and thrusting into my mouth. “Do you know how many times I’ve pictured you on your knees with your lips wrapped around my cock?”
I peer up at him as I take him in as far as I can go, until his tip is nudging the back of my throat, and suck, my cheeks hollowed. His throat bobs on a swallow and his abs contract.
“Stop. I want to make this last,” he says, his voice strained.
I release him and sit back on my heels, running my tongue over my lips as he grabs a foil wrapper, rips it open, and rolls the condom over his erection.
“What do you want, Daisy?”
“I want you on top of me,” I say, my voice coming out breathy. “Crushing me under your weight.”
“Do you think you can handle me?” He pushes my shoulders back until I’m lying on the mattress and climbs between my thighs, gliding his tip between my folds.
“Pfft. You’re not that big.”
He snorts. “Guess we’ll see about that when you’re walking bow-legged tomorrow.”
He guides his tip to my entrance and pushes in slowly, inch by inch until he’s buried to the hilt. “Are you okay?” he asks.
I nod mutely, trying to adjust to the fullness. It’s never felt like this before. “You can move now.”
“Thank fuck. Because I’ve used up my quota of gentleness.”
“Good. Then do your best. Ruin me.”
“With pleasure. But when I ruin you for all other guys, where will that leave you?”
“I’ll worry about that later.” And then he starts to move, and I forget about everything except for this.
My nails dig into his shoulders and I roll my hips, meeting him thrust for thrust.
“Fuck. That sweet pussy of yours is so tight, princess.”
The pressure keeps building until I don’t think I can take it anymore. And just when I think that, he pulls out. “What are you doing?” I whimper.
He laughs and changes position, standing and dragging me to the edge of the mattress then draping my legs over his shoulders. He drives into me and if I thought it was good before, this is incredible.
At this new angle, he’s even deeper inside me. So deep that it’s almost too much. Almost .
“Fuck yes,” I grit out, balling the sheets in my fists.
He chuckles and then he thrusts harder and faster, setting a punishing pace with his grip tightening on my hips.
The headboard bangs against the wall with each thrust and the room is quiet, except for the sound of his grunts and my moans and our skin slapping against each other.
“I need you to come,” he says through clenched teeth. “Not sure how much longer I can hold out.”
He slides his hand between the place where we’re joined and rubs his thumb over my swollen clit.
My back arches off the mattress and I clench around him.
“That’s it. Squeeze my cock like a good girl.” He pinches my clit between his fingers and I scream his name, convulsing around him while he thrusts faster, almost manically.
He comes on a roar then collapses on top of me, his forehead dropping to mine, our bodies slick with sweat and we stay like that for a few moments, trying to catch our breath.
Then he pulls away and ties the condom. After tossing it in a trash container on the other side of the room, he returns to the bed and we lie on our backs and stare at the ceiling. Completely spent. Boneless.
Now I understand why the French call an orgasm la petite mort. Great sex feels like a little death. It feels like I left my body for a short time and drifted off to Nirvana.
But I’ve never felt more alive than I do right now.
I roll onto my side and prop my head on my hand, peering down at his face. In my post-coital bliss I’m so completely enamored with him that I don’t know what to do with myself.
He gives me a lazy grin. “Up for another round? I need to fuck you out of my system.”
If there was ever any chance of confusing this with something more, this is my reminder to rein it in.
It’s just sex, nothing more.
And really, isn’t that all I want too?
“Gosh. With all that sweet talking, a girl could get the wrong idea.”
I wake up alone. When I roll over, Beckett’s side of the bed is empty but the ache between my thighs is a reminder of what we did last night. Five times. The man is insatiable, but he won’t hear any complaints from me.
I reach for my phone on the bedside table—Beckett must have put it there—and bolt upright. Eleven twenty? No wonder I woke up alone.
I haven’t slept this late in the entire time I’ve been here.
I throw on my work clothes, down two cups of coffee to jumpstart my sluggish body and lace up my work boots then dash out the door.
By the time I join Beckett and the vineyard crew, it’s almost noon and they’ve already put in half a day’s work.
“About time you showed up,” Beckett says with a smirk. “Sleep well?”
“Not particularly.” I sigh. “Someone kept me up all night.”
“You were snoring like a freight train when I left.”
“I needed my beauty rest.”
“Don’t make a habit of it.” He smacks me on the butt and I let out a little squeal. “No slacking on the job, Miss Larsson.”
“No special favors from the boss then, huh?”
“That depends…” He backs me against the grapevines and presses his body flush with mine. “What special favors are you offering?”
“I thought I offered plenty last night. Don’t get greedy.”
He plucks a grape from the vine behind me and holds it in front of my mouth. As if on command, my lips part and I hold his gaze when he pushes it into my mouth.
“Chew and swallow, seeds and all,” he commands.
It sounds so dirty, my cheeks flush. His gaze flits over my face as I chew the grape and then lowers to my throat when I swallow.
“Well?”
I lick my lips. “The fruit is sweet, but the seeds still have some bitterness.”
He nods as we walk to the end of the row. “Another week and they’ll be ready to harvest. In the meantime, get to work,” he says, handing me a five-gallon bucket from the back of the tractor.
Who says romance is dead?
“I have to go back to the house for a conference call. Collect samples so Callie can check the Brix.”
“I’ll help,” Hunter says, hopping off the tractor and moving to my side.
“Daisy can handle it on her own,” Beckett says. “I need you to fix the hole in the netting in the syrah block. While you’re at it, check all the others too.”
“Sure thing,” Hunter says, giving me an apologetic smile before heading to the complete opposite side of the vineyard to do Beckett’s bidding.
I turn to Beckett and arch my brows. “Is it my imagination or do you go out of your way to keep me and Hunter separate?”
“It’s your imagination working overtime,” he says. “Stay out of trouble, princess. If you play your cards right, I might fulfill another one of your fantasies later.”
I flash him a bright smile. “You’re cooking dinner?”
“I was thinking more along the lines of making you my dessert.”