Chapter 28
Chapter Twenty-Eight
HATTIE
Beck tackles me and we crash onto the air mattress.
I thought sex in a luxury cabin was bliss. But this? Him? Me? Here under the almost indigo sky with night’s first stars blinking awake?
Holy Bob Ross, it’s divine.
Hallowed.
Sacred.
Until I hear Beck’s growl of desire, and then it’s a little feral.
Because, goddamn, I missed this man. And the way he inverts my sweater over my head and flings it out of the truck? I know he missed me too.
A hell of a lot.
He levers up on his knees, panting, gazing down at me.
“Have I mentioned—” he pants. ”How your hatred of bras gives me life?”
I tip my head back and laugh, but the sound dries up as soon as he whips off his shirt. And all that is Beck towers over me, the darkening sky over his shoulders like a cloak.
The night is cool but not cold. Cool enough that a cricket still trills in the tall grass nearby. I reach up and pull Beck down on top of me. His skin heats mine like a brand. He is hot and solid and strong.
And Beck.
“You feel amazing!”
I don’t care that it’s loud. I don’t care that the echo probably carried all the way to Ville Platte.
When his lips hit my neck and he nuzzles me, I sigh. When his stubble gently scrapes my breasts, I moan. And when he takes a nipple into his mouth and sucks hard, I cry out.
My hands can’t get enough of his shoulders, his back, his ass. When I jerk his hips to mine, ratcheting up the pressure of his cock against my sex, he makes a gruff noise and frees my breast.
“Not yet, honey—” he rasps, and then he’s hugging me around my middle, kissing a path down my belly.
One firm tug, and my comfy travel joggers and panties are gone.
And even though, this time, I know exactly what’s going to happen, when he shoves my knees wide and his mouth lands on me, I swear, the earth moves. The pleasure is an avalanche, threatening to bury everything in its path.
It’s fast. And big. And headed straight for me, but I don’t want it to take me under. Not yet.
“Please… Please, Beck… I want to be on top. I—”
He tears his mouth from me, eyes locking on mine. “Fuck, yeah,” he growls. And proving again just how physical farming is, Beck hoists me onto his lap before flipping us around and flopping back, leaving me straddling him.
“Je-sus,” I mutter. Because that was more fun than the Mad Hatter’s Tea Party ride at Disney.
We practically fight over his fly, but before I can chuck his jeans overboard, Beck grabs denim and fishes a condom out of his pocket.
“Good save,” I say, breathless.
And this time, I don’t fight because he needs to be wearing that thing like five minutes ago, and my fumbling fingers must steer clear.
But that doesn’t mean I can’t run my hands over him, paw at his pecs and dance fingertips down the golden arrow of hair that points to his sex.
“Christ, honey—”
“Tell me about it,” I mutter, clasping him as soon as he’s sheathed. I can’t move fast enough. And even though I’ve never done it like this before, I’ve fantasized about it plenty, as the walls in my room at Summit House could attest.
Hell, those walls are probably still blushing.
I hitch up, position his glorious crown at my entrance, and lock eyes with Beck. His smolder. The muscles in his jaw and neck stand out as though he’s straining for control.
This is for me. That look is for me.
Damn.
And I don’t know what’s better, the way he fills me as I take him. Or the tortured beauty on his face as his head knocks back.
When his gaze comes back to mine, his hands grip my hips. “So fucking good… You feel so fucking good…”
But I can only nod and hope he understands that this means You too… You feel so fucking good too.
Because sensory overload never felt so good.
The breeze tickling my hair. The scent of earth and fall.
The glow of the harvest moon rising just above the tree line.
The bounce of weightlessness under my knees.
The hot pulse of his shaft inside me, thrusting right against a place of such tender longing.
The fierce grip of Beck’s hands on my bare hips.
The downward glide of this thumb through my secret curls.
And then the stroke.
Good God, the stroke.
“Ohh,” I manage. And then, “Ohhh.”
Beck’s jaw is still tight, but a shit-eating grin lifts the corner of his mouth. “That’s it, honey,” he purrs.
The sound of it sends flames of pleasure licking through my sex.
“Oh, Beck—”
“Say my name, love,” he half coaxes, half demands. His thumb strokes harder. And I can’t help it. I rock harder. Wanting more of him.
Needing more of him.
“Beck—”
His jaw clenches. “Come for me, Hattie.”
He needs me to come. He needs me to come right now.
My man can be patient. He’s been so patient.
He waited for me. He waited for me to figure my shit out. Waited for me to find the confidence to trust him.
He might not have loved it. But he gave it just the same.
Is there any other man on the planet who would’ve stuck by me like he did?
Beck loves me like no one else has.
“Beck—” My voice is pulled tight, a mewl. A plea. “You love me so good… You love me so good—”
“Fuck yeah, I love you—” He says it almost angrily. But the look in his eyes isn’t angry. It’s deep. So goddamn deep.
I dive right in.
“I love you, B—”
He hooks me around the neck and tugs me down to his mouth as my climax hits, kissing me deep and then deeper as I feel him shudder beneath me.
Inside me.
Words slip through teeth and tongues. Promises. Vows.
Never leave.
Never let go.
Always.
Ever.
Love you.
Love you.
Love you.
It seems like ages before our breaths quiet enough to hear the cricket again.
We’re silent for what seems like a long time, still holding tight to one another. It’s only when I shiver that Beck shifts us to our sides, slips from me, and then tugs the sleeping bag over us.
When he pulls me close beneath the downy weight, I sigh in utter bliss.
“That was…” I search for the right words. The words to share that I’m surprised but wholeheartedly approve. “Intense.”
Beck chuckles and snuggles me into him. It’s the warmest earthquake.
“Yeah, I think we broke a few records.” He kisses the top of my head. “Next time, I’ll be able to slow down.”
I huff. “I make no such promises.”
My boyfriend laughs and squeezes me tighter.
The moon has cleared the tree line, and even though it’s not totally full, it’s close, and with almost no clouds tonight, it illuminates us like a spotlight.
Thank you, moon, I silently think. I’ve missed looking at him, and we’re in no hurry anymore.
I run a lazy hand through Beck’s hair, and when he moans, I give him my nails, scratching gently.
“Oh, God,” he groans.
“Good?” I ask, firming my touch, moving into a scalp massage.
“Mmm.” I feel him relax a little more, and it’s only then I realize how much tension his body is holding.
I move down to his neck and then one shoulder. I’ve felt frying pans with more give.
And I know I blurted that thought when he chuckles again and mutters, “That’s about right.”
I roll onto my back and take him with me. Chest to chest, he sinks into me, giving both of my hands a proper go at his muscles.
“Jeez. You’ve been carrying the weight of the world on these things,” I say, digging the heels of my hands into his shoulders.
He just grunts.
This man.
My man.
The way I see it, he’s spent his whole adult life taking care of everything and everybody. First, his mom. Then his dad. This farm. His crew. And now he wants to give up his future so he can make sure all of these people have what they need.
What about what he needs?
I consciously keep my mouth shut while these thoughts run rampant. But I hope my touch speaks for itself. I hope the position of our bodies isn’t lost on him.
You can lean on me.
And something must penetrate, because, little by little, his muscles under my hands ease and his weight sinks a little deeper onto me.
His breathing evens out. The rising moon has the perfect view of my strong, tireless boyfriend crashed out asleep in my arms.
But it’s a long time before I close my own eyes.
Because one of the things my time at Summit House taught me was that there are way more options out there than meet the eye.
There isn’t just one way to work. One way to live. One way to be.
And just because ninety percent of the species does things one way, that doesn’t mean it’s the right way.
Not even for them, but certainly not for people like me.
Being in the minority doesn’t mean being inferior.
Maintaining the status quo doesn’t lead to breakthroughs.
And, I could be wrong, but I might just have a breakthrough for the man I love.
I must fall asleep at some point because when I open my eyes again, the moon is directly overhead. I can’t believe how bright the night is.
And Beck is kissing my neck.
This time, we aren’t frantic.
Sure, we’re crazy for each other. But we taste and savor and caress and gaze. We make slow, exquisite love.
And then we drive back to the farmhouse. Because even though it's November and the mosquitos aren’t terrible, the hundred or so that are in the area have found us. And nobody needs West Nile virus.
Unlike the night of Margaret’s bachelorette party, I’m not drunk, so I think I do an okay job of making it upstairs without waking Beck’s dad.
It’s after midnight. Beck needs his rest. He practically collapses on his bed to take off his boots. But blame jet lag or the ideas that are taking shape in my head, I am wide awake.
“Mind if I take a shower?” I ask in my best attempt at a whisper.
Beck glances up at me, one remaining boot in hand. “Without me?”
“Aren’t you exhausted?”
He sniffs. “Sure, but I’m also not an idiot. You’re showering in my house? I’m not missing out.”
“It’s settled, then.”
I get everything I need out of my suitcase—super convenient—while Beck warms up the water.
By the time I’ve got my bundle of shampoo, conditioner, toothbrush, and PJs, he’s stripped down to his boxer briefs, and I’m wondering about the logistics of shower sex.