Chapter 25 Sloane #2
His grip on my thigh tightens just slightly, but it’s enough for me to stop throwing a tantrum.
“Why don’t you ever smile? Your smile is so hot,” I say, dropping my head back against the headrest and crossing my arms over my chest like a toddler.
He rolls his eyes at me. Then he’s quiet, like he’s thinking about my question.
After a few seconds of intense silence, I crack a joke.
“I didn’t ask you to find the meaning of life, Beck,” I tease, grabbing my drink and taking a sip.
“People don’t ask guys like me to smile,” he says with a small shrug.
My joke makes me feel like a fucking idiot.
“So you don’t know how?” I ask, not probing or trying to be rude, I’m just curious.
He’s quiet again. I lace our fingers together again and give him a small squeeze, trying to encourage him to open up without letting my mouth say something else stupid.
“I don’t know if it’s that I don’t know how, more so, that I’ve never really had a reason to, until now.”
Damn him and his stupid, unintentional charm. His words leave me speechless for a moment.
“If you don’t stop saying shit like that, we’re not even going to make it to the campsite,” I mumble, turning to look away from him so he can’t see how pink my cheeks are.
“Is that a threat or a promise?” he asks, tugging on my hand slightly so that I look at him.
“I’ll let it be whatever you want it to be.”
I bring our entwined hands up to my mouth and kiss his knuckles softly, not knowing what else to say.
We drive on the paved road for a few more hours before he takes a turn onto a gravel road. It’s a little bumpy in some spots, but for the most part, it's not bad.
Somehow, we end up in the most perfect grove of trees. There are no people around; just trees, a small lake, and an opening big enough for our campsite to fit in.
“B…” I whisper, getting out of the truck and opening the back door for Mocha.
“You like it?” he asks as we round the truck. The sun hasn’t set yet, but the sky is starting to change into an army of pastel colors.
“It’s perfect,” I whisper, standing and watching the sky change.
I follow the little path that leads down to the shore of the lake. A small rickety dock, floating attached to the shore. I take a deep breath and can smell the fresh rain and sunshine. I can tell that I’m going to love it here.
He pulls me in front of him until my back is to his chest, his chin resting on my shoulder as he wraps his arms around my middle.
“I thought you’d like it,” he whispers, placing a soft kiss on my neck before looking back out over the sky.
We stand like this for a few quiet moments before we start to set up camp.
My job is to look for firewood while Beckett gets the tent ready and gets dinner cooking.
I make several trips, packing all that I can in my arms. Mocha tries to help by dragging sticks along with us.
Once we have a decent pile and the tent is set up, I switch to getting the inside of the tent ready.
I pump up our air mattress and lay out our foam pad. Then I set our bags and food inside, along with all of Mocha’s stuff. The last thing I set up is our blankets.
The tent isn’t huge, but it comfortably fits all our stuff, which is good.
I change into some sweatpants and a hoodie, opting to take my makeup off and put on some better shoes. I pull my hair up into a messy bun, and by the time I exit the tent, I look like an actual hobo.
Beckett looks at me from his chair and gestures for me to join him. I climb into his lap, my head resting back against his shoulder and my legs draped over his arm. Mocha sits by our feet, chewing on a rubber toy.
“I think I’m going to have to take you outside more often. I like this look on you,” he whispers, his lips gently grazing my neck, while his hands find their way under my hoodie, lightly grazing the skin of my belly.
“Beck,” I whisper as he gently sucks on my neck.
“Mhmm?” he hums as his hands find their way farther up under my hoodie.
“I look homeless.”
“You’re the best-looking homeless person I’ve ever seen.”
“You’re just saying that.”
He holds me down against him so I can feel how hard he is. “Does this feel like I’m just saying it?” he rasps into my ear, and I bite my lip trying not to moan.
“I want to take you right here, baby, in this chair where anyone could see. But they won’t, because we’re all alone out here,” he whispers, and my heart starts to pound in my chest. I feel myself getting wetter and wetter as the seconds go on. His lips stay attached to my neck.
“What about dinner?”
“I'm more than content eating you, baby. To devour every sweet drop that comes from you.” His other hand slides down my body and into my sweats.
“Mmmm,” I moan, my head falling back against his shoulder.
“That’s it, baby,” He praises, and I whimper. His fingers tease and toy with me over my panties.
I grip his arm, and my eyes roll back as he presses a finger inside me. He pumps his finger in and out of me a few times, and I can’t help the noises that slip out of my mouth.
“Oh God,” I gasp, and he sucks on my neck, leaving soft marks and sliding another finger inside me. He curls it and brushes against the spot inside me that has me seeing stars.
“Such a good girl for me, Sloane, so fucking good for Daddy,” He growls as my hips start to move on their own, grinding on his fingers and taking them deeper.
“Right there,” I moan, and he strokes that spot a few times, almost making me double over.
“You like that, baby?”
“Yes,” I rasp.
He doesn’t stop, even when I’m a trembling mess, and I can’t even form words.
“So close,” I manage to say through my moans. He adds his thumb to the mix, just gently rubbing my nub, and I’m done for. All it takes is a couple of strokes, and I’m flying over the edge.
“Ahhh,” I cry as I collapse against him. His fingers slow but don’t fully stop, letting me ride out the orgasm.
I lay collapsed against him, breathing hard as he pulls his fingers out of me. I watch as he brings them to his lips and sucks me off them.
“So fucking good, baby,” he says, kissing my cheek. I can’t even function. It’s like he broke me or something. Reduced me to nothing.
Neither of us says anything as I just lie against him, trying to find whatever pieces of myself that I can.
“You ok?” he whispers, his fingers running up and down my belly under my hoodie. His touch is light, almost like he doesn’t even realize that he’s doing it.
“Yeah,” I whisper, adjusting the way I lie on him. My head on his shoulder, my legs over the arm of the chair as he wraps his arms just a little tighter around me.
He lets out a contented sigh, and we settle into another comfortable quiet where we watch the fire burn, the sun set, and Mocha play with his toy.
Beck had prepared us a little Dutch oven with potatoes and meat. As it cooks, I begin to smell it, and it has my mouth watering.
“Thank you for bringing me out here,” I say, and he kisses the top of my head.
“Thank you for coming with me.”
As we settle in for the night, he seems to be lost in thought, so in order to make him talk to me, I open my mouth.
“I used to have a stuffed animal when I was a kid. I held onto this little guy for far longer than I should have. It was a soft, purple bunny that I got for Easter one year. I told that little bunny all of my secrets,” I whisper.
I’m not really sure why I’m sharing this with him.
Maybe part of me hopes it will get him to open up to me.
“Did you ever have a comfort animal growing up?” I whisper, tracing random patterns onto his chest.
We fall back into a silence, and after a few moments, he responds, “Yeah, he was a stuffed Raccoon named Rocco,” He says. I run my fingers over his strong muscles, waiting to see if he’ll say more.
“Then let me be your Rocco,” I whisper, and his body stiffens slightly. Like that’s not what he was expecting.
He doesn’t open up to me about what’s going on inside his head, and it’s ok, because I opened the door. Now he just has to choose to walk through it.
“I dare you to go first,” I say with a smirk.
“What are we, twelve?” he teases, helping me pull off his hoodie. He’s seen me naked; I shouldn’t feel insecure around him in a bikini. Instead, I choose not to think about it. I don’t want him to ask questions. I keep my perfectly crafted smile on my face, and he doesn’t ask about it.
“Being twelve is better than having one foot in the grave,” I tease, sticking my tongue out at him.
“You little brat,” he says, grabbing me and throwing me over his shoulder like I am merely a sack of flour.
“Beckett!” I screech as he jumps off the ratty dock and into the lake.
I gasp for breath as I come up above the surface, the frigid water chilling my skin.
I look around, and Beckett resurfaces, looking fine as hell. His chest tattoo glistens, water droplets making him look sinful. He runs a hand through his hair and slicks it back out of his face.
I splash water at him, and he smiles while splashing me back.
“It’s fucking cold, why would you do that?” I pout, splashing him again.
He reaches out and tugs me to him. I don’t fight him, letting my arms wrap around his neck.
He watches me carefully, not in the way that says he wants to devour me, but in the way that he’s simply trying to memorize every little detail about me. It makes me feel all warm inside. It makes me forget about everything I’ve ever felt insecure about.
“How are you not freezing?” I whisper. His hands grip my hips as we tread water.
He tilts his head, as if he can’t believe I’m actually asking the question.
“I was a marine for a decade, remember?” He says, and I roll my eyes.
“Actually, I don't, I wasn't even alive for most of it,” I quip, and he pinches my side playfully, making me laugh.
His jaw clenches for just a moment, but before he can say or do anything to make him doubt us, I kiss him.
Not rushed or hungry. Just a kiss.
The kiss only lasts a few seconds, but it’s enough to leave me breathless and wanting more.
“I tease and joke, but I don’t care,” I whisper.
I want him, I need him. I’m slowly starting to realize just how dangerous that feeling is.
It’s like he’s climbed inside me and consumed every single piece of my soul.
I’ve never felt this way about anything before.
Not about another person. Not even social media consumed me the way that he has in such a short amount of time.
I look at him, really look at him. The stubble on his jaw is a few days old.
The smallest hint of grey decorates the edges of his dark hair, hardly even noticeable right now because it’s all wet.
His wrinkle lines. The little scar he has that cuts into his eyebrow, preventing hair from growing.
His muscles. His tattoos and light dusting of dark hair on his chest.
He looks at me, too, his expression much more guarded than I’m sure mine is. I’ve never been able to hide what I’m feeling, not from him.
I want to know what he’s thinking. I want to ask him, and I almost do, but then the words die in my throat. Instead, I push away from him, and we swim and play in the water.
After a little bit, he leaves me alone so that he can go make us lunch.
I float on my back just staring up at the sky. It’s slightly overcast, and there is the smallest breeze rustling the trees. My body has either gone numb or gotten used to the cold.
I’m not too far from shore, just taking in nature.
It’s nice.
I haven’t even thought about my phone or my followers. It’s easy, though. Everything with him is easy, even the stuff that isn’t. He always has a way of just being a distraction in the best way possible.
I close my eyes, allowing myself to feel everything.
I don’t even realize I am crying until I open my eyes and the world is blurry. I’m not really sure why I’m crying in the first place.
Maybe I’m mourning the girl I once was. Maybe I’m celebrating the person I’ve become. Or there’s a hundred other things that it could be. It’s not sobs or tears that ache, and you feel them in your chest. They’re silent, leaking down my temples and disappearing into the water that surrounds me.
“Sloane!” Beckett calls a few minutes later. I barely hear his voice, muffled by the water.
When I right myself, he’s standing on the shore with a plate in his hand. I swim towards the dock and get out.
I grab my towel and dry myself off before grabbing his hoodie and putting it on, slipping my feet into my sandals.
“Thanks,” I say, sitting down next to him, my mind not really present.
I can tell that he knows something is wrong. But he doesn’t press me to open up, which I’m grateful for.
“I didn’t know you liked to swim,” he says casually, breaking the silence as we eat. Mocha munches loudly on his food nearby.
“Most people don’t,” I reply, not looking at him.
I’m quiet for a long time, not really knowing what to say or how to say it. He doesn’t push, he just lets me figure it out on my own.
“I went swimming at a school function once. I was thirteen. I wore a sporty one-piece with shorts. Just trying to cover up as much as I could. I figured once I was in the water that no one would notice me,” I whisper.
I brush a tear away. I don’t look at him, I can’t.
I stare down at the fire. “One of the boys laughed and said, ‘whales weren’t supposed to swim with the rest of the kids.’” The tears fall a little faster now.
There’s nothing I can do to stop them. “I haven’t really been swimming around people since. ”
“You didn’t owe me an explanation, but thank you for telling me,” he whispers, taking my hand in his, while the other gently takes my chin, turning my face towards him.
“I think that I wanted you to know that today mattered. It’s the first time I’ve been swimming in public since that day, and it’s the first time I’ve worn a bikini away from the house,” I whisper.
He tugs on my hand, not hard but enough for me to stand and climb into his lap.
“We didn’t have to go swimming. If I had known, I wouldn’t have mentioned it,” he says, kissing the top of my head.
“It’s ok. I needed to do it, so thank you.”
“I liked seeing you out there. You looked free,” he says after a few moments of silence.
“I felt free.”
Another few moments of silence pass, comfortable, waiting for one of us to break it. “Is that why you don’t post bikini pics?” he asks, and I nod.
“I know how to pose and get all the angles, how to edit, and I know that I look better than I did. I walk around in tight shorts and little tops, but there’s just something about a bikini that feels too exposing.
And people on the internet are really mean,” I whisper, burying my face into his shoulder and wrapping my arms around his neck.
“For what it's worth, I’ve never seen anyone look more beautiful than you did out on that lake.” He kisses the side of my face, and I melt into him.
God, I’m falling so fucking hard for this man, and I can’t find it in me to try and stop it.