Chapter 19 #2
“You make me feel… I don’t know how to describe it, actually. Just, like…more.”
“More,” he repeated.
“Yeah, like everything is amplified, you know?”
“I think I understand what you mean, if I’m taking it the right way.
Like, I’ve kissed women before, but I can’t remember the last time I felt so alive while being close with someone like that.
I can’t say that I’ve ever had that same feeling.
Is that what you mean? Because if so, I’m right there with you.
Totally.” He was babbling, and I felt a shift in my chest. Like a knot was coming loose.
“You see?” I smiled. “This is what I mean.” I picked up Beckett’s hand and placed it on my chest. “Feel what you do to my heart.”
His eyes gleamed with the recognition that we were both trying to say the same thing—albeit very poorly. He picked my palm up and placed it on his chest in the same position. “I get it,” he said.
We locked fingers then, and, staring at each other, I tried to formulate my thoughts. “I wasn’t expecting you. You make me feel wild.”
“Yup. Same. Agreed. All of that, yes.”
I laughed. “I guess I’m just worried I’ll lose myself.”
“I thought this was about your mom.”
I looked into the distance at the palm trees separating our hotel from the square. The tree closest to us was shaking as two long iguanas played a game of cat and mouse. “I think I’m scared of things I can’t control.” I shrugged.
Beckett nodded. “We’re in uncharted territory, I guess.”
We stayed quiet, searching each other’s faces for what to say next.
“I really, really like you, Melody,” he whispered.
“Then tell me you’re real. Tell me this is real, and it’s not just all in my head.”
He leaned in and placed his lips on mine. “It’s real,” he promised. “This is not just some vacation fling.”
“Okay,” I said, closing my eyes. “I believe you.”
***
The Sopranos Piano Bar featured a singer named Germaine Z.
, who had knee-length braids and a voice that could move entire mountains.
She was a combination of funk and soul and sang along to the stylings of a pianist simply called Geo, whose fingers flew up and down the baby grand as people swayed along.
Together, they were inspired. During interludes, we learned that Geo had played on Broadway for popular shows of the past, like Cats, Miss Saigon, and Les Miserables, and that Germaine Z.
had been a backup singer for Tina Turner and, more recently, Bruno Mars.
She annihilated a rendition of “Hello” by Adele and recomposed the song “Stay with Me” by Sam Smith so that it was about three octaves lower.
I could feel her music in my bones, and ever my mother’s daughter, I got swept away in it.
The libations didn’t hurt, either. Beckett ordered a Bada Bing martini and I had a cocktail called “The Vacation,” which was so delicious that, coupled with the music and the soft evening breeze of the island, it made me feel like I was living in someone else’s fairy-tale dreamworld.
Beckett never stopped touching me—always a hand on my lower back or his arm loosely wrapped around my waist or, if we were dancing, his fingers curled around mine.
By my third drink, I knew I’d have to call it.
“This is my limit now,” I said to Beckett, placing my mouth on his ear so he could hear me.
Realizing where my lips were, I closed them around his lobe and sucked it through my teeth into my mouth, making him emit a tiny yelp of pleasure in his throat.
“No more after this one. I already feel like I’m floating. ”
He spun me to face him. “Deal,” he said. “Yeah, these are definitely stronger than the ones we get at the hotel.”
“This place is good, though,” I said, grinning an intoxicated, blurry, soft grin at him.
“This is all just good.” I closed my eyes and waved my hands through the air to the piano music.
While he paid our tab, I was riding my fingertips along the air with the rise and fall of the notes, smiling into the void at the world, letting the piano move me without a care.
“Why are you so beautiful?” he asked. “You look like an angel.”
“Nope,” I said. “Not me. I’m no angel.” I spun around in a full circle, dropping my chin to my chest and rolling my neck as the piano let loose on the bridge of “Out of Time” by the Weeknd. “This place is such a vibe.”
Beckett didn’t say anything. He just finished his drink, gently two-stepping while he watched me dance with appreciative eyes. His gaze covered me like a cloak, and I could feel my cheeks burning by the end of the song. “Want to get out of here?” he asked, after I held up my empty glass.
“Sure. Where should we go?” I wondered aloud. I was breathless; the blood in my veins reverberated through my limbs.
“I don’t know,” he replied. The words rumbled straight from his chest, hoarse and low. Desire flooded his stare, but I could tell he was trying desperately to maintain his composure.
I, however, was not.
“Come with me,” I murmured. I took his hand and led him out to the street, pulling him softly in the general direction of the Hilton. “OhmygodBeckett,” I garbled. “It’s your lucky day. Lookit.” I pointed, laughing to myself. Then I dragged him into the hotel’s casino.
The space was gorgeous, a domed planetarium, its ceiling covered in twinkling star lights. The familiar soundtrack of singing slot machines and card dealers filled the air.
“Really?” he snickered. “More gambling?”
I turned to face him. With the most serious look I could muster, I shook my head no. “Follow me.”
He watched me curiously, having no idea at all that I was reckless enough to do what came next.
“Think you could hit the jackpot here?” I wagged my eyebrows at him.
He didn’t say anything, just pursed his lips with an expression of bewilderment and disbelief on his face.
“We’re going in there.” I nodded at the accessible bathroom alongside the bank of video roulette machines.
“Be super cool because there’s definitely security guards around. ”
He gulped. That sexy fucking neck.
“Sit at this machine right here for a minute. Watch the door. I’ll lock it, and the little flagger on the knob will turn red and say ‘occupied.’ I’ll wait about two minutes, and then I’ll unlock it. You’ll see it turn green. As soon as it does, let yourself in.”
“Are you sure?”
I didn’t know if Beckett was as tipsy as I was, but my head was spinning for sure.
Between the alcohol, the lights, the dome, and the way my thighs trembled even at the thought of what we were about to do, I couldn’t respond in words, only with a squeeze of my hand on his.
I turned and pushed the heavy door, flipped the lock, and just like that, my plan of action had begun.
The lighting, albeit fluorescent, was dim, thankfully—bright enough that I could look in the mirror and wonder at my own reflection. Who was this girl? I could barely recognize her. She looked tan. Giddy.
Relaxed.
It had been so long since I’d felt any of those things. It was like muscle memory—I was remembering what it felt like to live.
And I craved more.
My body shuddered at the thought of what was about to happen. It had been—God—years since the last time I’d been with someone. Not since Matt. That was two books ago.
Might as well have been an entire lifetime.
I turned the lock the other way, and in a beat the doorknob twisted downward. Beckett shut the door behind him and locked it.
“Jesus, Mel,” he said.
I reached for him, splayed my palms on either side of his rugged jaw, and pulled my lips into his. “This okay?” I breathed between kisses.
“Mm hmm,” he hummed. “But I can’t, you know,” he exhaled. “Not here.”
“Wait. What?”
“I want to. But I—I mean—ahh,” he groaned, as I began working on his neck with my tongue.
I slid my hands down until they landed firmly on his angled hips.
So perfectly solid. I dug my fingers in.
“Hang on,” he swallowed. He placed his hands on top of mine and squeezed.
I looked up at him. “How drunk are you?”
“I’m fine,” I assured him. “I’m not drunk. This isn’t that.”
“Are you sure? I don’t want you to regret anything. Ever. Not with me.”
“I swear, Beckett. I know what I’m doing.”
“Then listen to me. I want this. I want this so bad, you can’t even imagine. But I don’t want our first time to be in some seedy bathroom in a random hotel casino.”
“What difference does it make?” I asked.
“Seriously? It makes all the difference in the world,” he replied. “I think you’re incredible—”
“So then show me,” I said, licking my bottom lip, then sliding it between my teeth.
“Fine,” he relented. “I will. But we’re not making love here. Not like this.”
A lump formed in my throat. “You said, ‘making love.’”
He lowered his voice and narrowed his eyes at me. “I know exactly what I said.”
Beckett looked at me like a starved cheetah, all carved muscle and voracious need.
With our mouths suctioned together, he effortlessly lifted me up and placed me down gently on the sink counter.
I wrapped my legs around him, just like I had in the water, only this time even closer and with more ease because I didn’t have to balance myself.
He slid his throbbing erection against me, allowing me to feel every inch of his length against my rapidly dampening panties.
My sundress sat loosely around me on the sink’s edge as I dug my nails into his back, savoring the taste of his tongue against mine, the warmth of his lips against my lips, then on my cheek, then my ear, then my neck.
He traced a finger down my clavicle and further between my breasts. “This okay?” he whispered.
“Mmm,” I consented. “More.”
Beckett slid his hand down into my sundress then and cupped my breast under the lace of my bra. “God,” I heard him whimper. “Still good?” he asked, pushing my shoulder straps down and lifting it out of the underwire cup.
“Uh huh,” I replied, weakly. I was tingly everywhere, my libido silently begging for him to place his mouth on me. He rolled my nipple between his thumb and forefinger and it immediately stiffened at the touch.
“You are the most exquisite thing I’ve ever seen,” he panted, lowering his head.
My hands fumbled through his hair, down his back, around to his stomach. “I want to feel you,” I said. “Let me. Please.”
“Mm mm,” he denied me. “I’m already too close. You’ll make a mess of me.”
“Please,” I begged.
“You first,” he replied.
“What do you mean?”
He placed my breast back into my bra and kissed his way back up to my face. His hand, now free, snaked down the side of my body to my hip and slid up my thigh, beneath my dress. At the hem of my lace underwear, he again sought consent. “May I?”
“Only if you let me,” I replied on shaky breath. I placed my hand on his belt buckle. It was a challenge.
“Fine, but just this. Nothing more,” he said.
“Deal.”
With that, Beckett dipped his fingertips beneath the lowest part of my panties and began to explore me.
I arched my body into his touch, trying to remain focused on unbuckling his belt, but the flood of sex hormones in my brain threatened to render my hands incapable of any kind of coordinated movement.
Finally, I got his pants open, pushed them down a few inches and his full length sprung out between us, still covered by his boxer shorts.
There was a small, wet circle on the fabric where the tip of his head was, and somehow this drove me to the edge, overcome with the knowledge that I had put it there.
He worked me with his thumb and his thick, middle finger, and just as I freed his length from the confines of his boxers, I felt my throat close, my blood pressure spike, and my arousal build, until—
“Come for me,” he whispered.
I sucked in my breath and held it, biting down on his shoulder. My body unraveled like a ball of yarn into the palm of his hand. Insurmountable levels of pent-up tension rolled through me in waves, releasing me from any stress, any worry, leaving me awash in relief and joy.
“Holy shit,” I heard him say under his breath, clearly pleased with himself.
But I wasted no time in reciprocating. I wanted to feel Beckett crumble, wanted to see what he looked like when he came undone.
I skimmed my hand up and down, lingering at the top, cupping him underneath at the bottom.
I righted myself so that I could let my other hand help too, gliding it up and down while the first one remained wrapped around his head, massaging him there.
“Get a paper towel,” he urged before too long.
“Be careful, I don’t want to get it on you. ”
I did as he asked, placing a barrier of hotel paper cloth just in front of him, so that as I guided him through his own cresting waves of release, I could catch as much of it as possible.
He leaned his head into my neck as the spasms coursed through him, audibly modulating his breath to match the swells of pleasure as they crested.
When we were both done, we froze in place, breathing through the moment.
Beckett’s head was still pushed up against my neck, and my eyes opened slowly.
I could feel that the paper towel in my hand was wet.
I adjusted my vision as he planted a kiss on my lips and pulled away from me slowly, inhaling a final, cleansing breath.
“God damn,” he said.
“Yeah. My thoughts exactly.”
Then we both began to giggle.