He placed taunting a kiss on my cheek before walking away effortlessly.
After a few seconds, I stumbled into the bathroom before I stared, practically horrified at myself in the mirror. Messy hair, one strap loose on my shoulder, mouth swollen—
Dammit. He stole my underwear.
I did my best to fix my hair and face, and before I left the bathroom, I was somewhat decent. Going back to the party, I took a seat beside Gavin once again, and he seemed preoccupied with what the person beside him was talking about.
Kira narrowed her eyes at me in suspicion, and I simply shook my head at her. Feeling eyes on me once again, she and I both looked over to see Beckham drinking a glass of whiskey as he stared at me from across the room.
My face burned as I helplessly watched the fabric of my burgundy red thong poking out shamelessly from his back pocket, though only I knew what it was.
“Oh, this is better than my K-Dramas for sure,” Kira chuckled, taking a sip of her wine.
Avoiding eye contact with Beckham, I took a deep breath as I sipped on mine to ease my growing nerves.
Getting home around midnight, Gavin was tired, so we immediately got undressed in the bedroom the second we stepped in. Instead of wearing one of my silk nightgowns, I settled on a comfortable sleep shirt with a pair of boy-short underwear.
Walking out of my closet, I watched as he sat at the end of the bed as he scrolled through his phone for a minute. I stood beside him patiently as he finished checking his calendar, and soon, he placed the phone to the side before he looked over at me.
“Ready for bed?” he asked.
I nodded, and suddenly felt compelled to hug him—almost like a guilty conscience trying to peek through.
I wrapped my arms around his neck as I sat beside him. “Thank you for going with me.”
He hummed as he caressed my back slowly. He didn’t say anything, and I was fine with that.
Crawling into bed, I watched as he left the room for a glass of water. I grabbed my phone to charge it and found I had an unopened message.
Opening it, my mouth went dry. A photo of Beckham filled the screen—shirtless, abs carved, V-line dangerously low… and my lace underwear held to his nose.
Beckham
You have no idea how much I fucking need you right now.
I stared at the message, my heart racing as the picture taunted me. I could barely think straight. I felt torn, wanting to delete the message, block him and burn my phone. The other part of me… couldn’t help but look.
My finger hovered over the delete button, but I hesitated.I should delete it. I should block him. I should—
Instead, I tapped the image.
It expanded to fill the screen, my breath hitching as my eyes devoured every inch of him: his head leaning back in ecstasy, his bare chest, the taunting way he held my underwear to his nose like a goddamn trophy.
As if he knew I was here staring at my screen, he sent another message.
It’s almost like I can still taste you, my little flower.
Swallowing the needy whimper in my throat, I shut my phone off before I lay back in bed, heart racing. Beckham was insane… unhinged, impractical, crazy.
He told me he had a hard time understanding or having emotions, but that didn’t entail me having to deal with a sex-crazed man who had no concept of what consequences his actions could have.
I had to stay away.
Yet the more I tried to convince myself that I could, the harder it seemed to be.
The next morning, I crept out of bed just before five in the morning.
I’d barely slept.
