Chapter 27
CLOVER
The minute he moves our beers, I know he knows I’m in a mood. I’m sure he thinks it’s a silly one, and it kind of is, but I’m so fucking hungry for this man.
Before he can calculate my next move, I straddle his lap, my knees on the wooden bench swing on either side of him, my shorts riding up my thighs, exposing my skin in the light of the campfire.
According to what I feel on the other side of the seam of my shorts, he’s hungry too.
His cock is straining against the fabric of his perfectly fitted jeans, as Hannah put it.
I don’t want to think about Hannah right now, but at the same time, fuck her.
Fuck her for walking out on Lennon, fuck her for walking out on him, and fuck her for walking back into their lives with selfish motivation and zero care for the tidal wave of emotional distress she’s going to put them through.
Beckett’s palms slide up my thighs, the condensation left on his hands from the beers leaving a cold trail behind.
He runs his hands back down towards him and then repeats the motion.
I don’t know why this feels so erotic. Maybe it’s the way he’s staring at me like I’m prey, or the fact that his full lips are parted, and his breathing is a little faster.
Maybe it’s the low growl that comes from him when the next time his hands are at the apex of my thighs, he pushes the pad of his thumb in just the right spot to make me gasp.
Yeah, it’s that part that’s making it erotic.
He smiles at me when my lips part and does it again, his stare piercing me as he lingers this time, pressing the seam of my shorts against my clit and rubbing in small circles. “That feels good,” I whisper raggedly.
“Does it?” he responds, but he’s not actually asking. I nod anyway.
He continues the circles until I’m panting, my thighs shaking against him. “I’m going to come,” I exhale as I lean forward to put my forehead against his. I try to angle my hips for more pressure, but right when I do, he takes his hands off of me completely, and I could scream.
I pout, instead. Much more mature of me.
He fucking laughs at me. “My poor, greedy girl,” he coos at me with fake sympathy. Again, no idea why that’s so fucking hot, but I can feel the moisture uncomfortably pooling between my lips.
“Please,” I whisper, moving my own hand down to mimic what he had been doing. “I was so close,” I moan quietly, finding the same spot. “So close . . . ”
His lips meet the side of my neck softly, and it sends chills up my spine, but when he moves my hand away from what I’m doing, I let out a frustrated groan.
“Beckett,” I start, firmly, but his mouth is on mine, pulling my bottom lip in between his teeth. I melt into him, and when he pulls away, I miss him.
“I didn’t realize you had been following me around desperately trying to get into my pants,” he says quietly, throwing what Hannah had said earlier into the moment. I’m about to be angry, but what he says next erases all of the anger and makes me light-headed.
“Lucky girl, if you wanted me to fuck you, all you had to do was ask nicely.”
He stands suddenly, his hands under my ass, lifting me up to wrap my legs around his waist. I’m protesting as he walks us back to the house, arguing that I’m too heavy, put me down, he’s going to hurt himself, but my fighting falls on deaf ears.
The only time he acknowledges it is when we stop at the kitchen door, about to go in. He looks me dead in the eyes.
“I’m only going to say this once, Clover Jane, and I want it to stick.”
I blink at him, confused, but finally nod and ask what it is.
“We are about to go through this door. I will be carrying you upstairs, and you won’t say another negative word about your body.
You are not too heavy, I’m not going to drop you, and I’m not going to hurt myself.
When we pass through those doors, you aren’t allowed to say a single negative thing about your body, especially if my daughter is in earshot.
You’re a goddamn goddess, your body is perfect, has been perfect our whole lives, and has carried you every day up to the moment when you crashed back into my life.
I’ve dreamt of your curves, your body, for as long as I can remember.
You, Clover, are the fucking gold standard in my book, and not a soul will compare to you as much as I wished they could have at times.
All of you, including your beautiful body.
I’m fucking grateful for it, and you should be too. Understood?”
My vision is blurry from the tears welling in my eyes. I didn’t know he felt so strongly about this, and to hear someone speak so reverently about my body is a bit overwhelming, to be honest. I nod.
“Words, Clover. You’re no longer allowed to talk down about my girl’s body, you hear me?”
I want to ask so many questions. His girl? Gold standard? No one compares?
“Yes, Sir,” I breathe, and he kisses the tear that has escaped down my cheek.
“There’s my good girl,” he whispers.
Just like he said, he carries me all the way upstairs, but we pass my room and go into his. Just like I promised, I don’t say another thing about my body. I just stare at him like he’s the only person I’ve ever loved, because genuinely, I think he actually is.
He closes the door behind us with his foot, walks over to the bed, and lowers me down onto his mattress. It’s a huge bed, and I want to swim in the blankets that smell so strongly of him. I want the scent to permeate my senses because goddamn, he smells so fucking good.
He takes my foot in his hand, rests it on his thigh, and unties my shoe, tossing it onto the floor before repeating the process with my other one.
“Well, are you going to ask?” His voice breaks the trance I’ve gone into while watching the veins in his arms and the way his muscles and tendons move as he takes off my shoes and then his own.
“Ask what?” My voice is hazy, dreamy.
He pulls his shirt over his head in one motion and unbuttons his jeans.
My heart starts beating wildly as he crawls on top of me, stopping to kiss my cheek softly, then the other.
His dark curls are tickling my face, and the sensations are overwhelming.
He kisses my lips gently, so sweetly, before pulling his face back to focus those hazel eyes on mine.
His voice is deep and rumbly when he responds, and it’s a different sound than I’ve ever heard from him.
“Are you going to nicely ask me to fuck you, Lucky?”
He tucks one of my curls behind my ear, and his perfect smile beams at me.
Oh. My fucking. God.