Chapter 25 #2
I got up on my knees and crawled to the edge of the bed, meeting him there.
My face crashed into his like waves on the beach, mouths hungry, tongues lapping, fingers spreading over one another like neon stars covering the night sky.
I pulled his belt off, he unhooked my bra, I unbuttoned his shirt and pushed it off his brawny shoulders.
He took a bite of my bottom lip before kissing my cheek, my ear, my neck, my clavicle, and I rolled my head back as he moved down even further, decorating my breasts with light kisses that grew deeper and more starved the closer he got to my nipples.
Beckett held me in his hands, muttering expletives to himself, massaging me, rolling the hard peaks under his thumbs as his mouth began to nibble, then suck.
He removed his hands only to guide me down onto my back.
He hovered over me as I lay beneath him.
“Tell me what you want,” he said.
“Mmm,” I smiled, closing my eyes. It was my first time ever really being asked that. The freedom of the moment—the levity from the alcohol, mixed with the ambience of the room and the feeling of his body so close to mine—it was pure bliss.
“I want you out of these clothes, for one thing,” I said, not embarrassed, not caring that my voice sounded foreign, like it was coming from far away.
“Everything?” Beckett asked, and I nodded, drunk on love and high on pheromones.
He obliged. He unbuttoned his pants and pulled down the zipper.
Sliding his thumbs under the waistband of his boxers, he pushed everything down and off, revealing his entire length to me, which stood at attention, solid and rigid.
The sight of him sent a flurry of shock waves between my thighs.
I felt myself warm and dampen. He stood up to kick his legs free of the garments, and pulled his socks off as well.
At the foot of the bed, standing there, facing me, I was able to appreciate every line and contour of his sculpted torso.
His bulky shoulders strained down to his flexed pec muscles, which sat above the stacked boxes of his abdomen.
The V-shape of his hip bones were interrupted by a dark tan line that traversed his body below his waistline.
Light brown hair cropped close, similar in color to the walls of the room, trailed down from his navel to his groin, which pointed at the ceiling and bounced up and down as he climbed back onto the bed. “Now what?” he asked, lying beside me.
Without a word, I rolled him onto his back and straddled him; the only cloth remaining between our bodies was the thin strip of lace on my lower half.
He reached for it, but I caught his hand in mine and lowered my face to his chest, placing a kiss there.
I held his palm as I worked my way down his body with my mouth.
Beckett’s fingers clasped tightly around mine as I kissed his hip bone and my free hand encircled his stiffness.
It moved up, lingering to explore the soft, pink head, feeling the throbbing of his pulse there.
It slid all the way down, feeling every ridge and vein bulging from the stretched, hard organ.
At the base, I cupped him tenderly and relished in the sound of Beckett sucking his breath in through his teeth as I guided him into my mouth and closed myself around him.
My tongue flicked back and forth over his head as I began to move my face close to him and away, tasting his manhood, inhaling notes of sage and sandalwood as he threaded his fingers into my hair and moaned a sound so deep and visceral, it almost resembled a growl.
“Mmm, my God,” he encouraged me. I moved slow, then faster, then slow again, loving the feeling of him trying so hard not to thrust his hips into the back of my throat.
Occasionally, I lapped at the sweet nectar of rapture leaking from his tip, and sometimes I removed him from my mouth and traced my tongue up and down his length, teasing him.
Finally, I plunged him deep between my lips, and began to suck in earnest. “Holy shit, Mel,” he squirmed.
“You gotta stop. I’m so close.” I could feel his shaft pulsing, verifying this information.
He pulled himself out of my mouth and held still, breathing. “I’m sorry. Not like that.”
“What do you mean?” I asked, wiping my lips with the back of my hand.
“Let me calm down a sec,” he said. “Come here.” Beckett pulled me up to be parallel with him in the bed and kissed my newly swollen lips. “You’re way too good at that.”
“Yeah?” I beamed. No one had ever told me that before. I liked the idea of bringing him pleasure so intense that it took his breath away.
“Uh huh,” he exhaled. “Now, lie back. It’s my turn.”
It wasn’t a request; this was a demand. Before I could respond, he popped up and crawled down my body, pulling my thin panties off and depositing them on the floor.
Beckett positioned himself between my legs and began touching me with his hand, first light as a feather, then more firmly, focusing on the sensitive spot between my folds.
Eventually, a finger slid inside me and began to work its way in and out while his thumb continued to draw circles at my apex, making my breath catch in my throat.
I clawed at the covers, writhing at his hand.
Before long, he lowered his face, intent on delivering me the same euphoric intensity that I’d obviously just given him.
I, too, did everything in my power not to let myself go.
It wasn’t easy. His skilled fingertips and tongue worked in tandem to drive me to the edge, and finally, I had to retreat. I pushed his head away, catching my breath. “Get a condom,” I begged. “Please. I want to feel you inside me.”
He nodded, moved off the bed and fished through his bag until he found a small box.
“Hurry,” I whispered. Beckett ripped open the wrapper with his teeth and rolled it onto his pulsing cock. He approached me, standing at the edge of the mattress, led by his long, thick manhood. “How do you want it?”
I flushed with excitement at the simple question. Then I crawled to him, pushed him back by the chest, just a step, positioned myself immediately in front of him, and bent forward, reaching between my legs to grab him and push his thickness into my aching entrance.
“Holy shit,” he breathed. “From behind?”
I nodded, taking his hand and reaching it around so that he could touch me.
I arched my back, sticking my ass out, positioning him further inside me, and got closer to the edge as he bent over my back.
He groaned in my ear. “You feel incredible,” he said, and then began to move himself in and out of me.
It’s happening, I thought. Holy shit, this is really happening.
My pulse quickened as he penetrated me, in and out, over and over.
He took me with just enough force to satisfy the craving I’d been denied all week.
It didn’t hurt, didn’t make me uncomfortable.
I wanted all of it, I was desperate for every last inch.
I could feel the tension building inside as his fingers worked on me.
Before I could give it a second thought, a huge upsurge of ecstasy blinded me, sending my body into spasms that invoked the same from him.
I could feel the condom stretch even more as it filled with his pleasure, quivering against my G-spot as I continued to release.
When we were both done, covered in a sheen of sweat, I realized that we came together at the exact same time with the absolute bare minimum of conversation, as if Beckett knew exactly what I needed from him and how to get me there—and not only did he wait for me, but was able to shoot me into overdrive by letting go with me.
No one has ever done that before. The endorphins that rushed to my brain in celebration of the moment swelled with emotion for him.
Beckett tried to catch his breath as he slipped out of me, disposed of the condom and wiped the mess off on a hand towel from the bathroom.
I took it from him and dried myself off as well, and then he chucked it onto the floor and swept me into his arms. We lay together, facing each other this time, my hands on his back, feeling him work to slow his heart rate down.
Kissing me softly, Beckett said, “That was… Wow.”
I curled up with my head on his shoulder, his arm wrapped around me, holding me close. “Agreed,” I said.
He kissed the top of my head and breathed in the scent of my hair.
His fingers traced my wrist, which was adorned with his dainty, silver bracelet.
“I could stay here like this forever,” he whispered.
But we didn’t, because human nature is lustful and greedy.
The bungalow was its own form of sensual foreplay, filled with attributes we might never experience again on the island—and we only had hours left to enjoy it.
Of course, Beckett didn’t tell his millions of readers the details of what went on behind those doors.
His version was honey dripping from a spoon into a hot cup of herbal tea.
It was slow, warm, sweet, comforting. Intimate connection.
It was the truth, just a different side of it.
He failed to mention the rest of the night: the soaking tub for two that he filled with bubbles and sat with me in, until his hands got busy playing between my legs and delivered me my second orgasm.
He didn’t bring up the outdoor rain shower we took together after the bath, where Beckett had to hold his breath to stay quiet when he slid into me—without a condom this time, because we both wanted to know what his rippled cock would feel like without that barrier in the way.
He didn’t discuss the way he lifted me up and held my back against the stone wall of the shower, pounding into me until his climax rose, or how he pulled out and came all over my stomach.
He didn’t share that he washed me with hibiscus body gel and then dropped to his knees and gave me a tongue bath because he wanted to taste me again.
All of that, I suppose, would be too much for his readers to handle.
It was well after midnight when we finally collapsed into bed, naked, hair still wet from the shower. Tangled together, we slept the sleep of the dead, overflowing with endorphins and what I definitely thought might have been love.
In Beckett’s version, it was just fade to black.
But in hindsight, I guess that was the truth too.