“Yes, oh god, Beckett. You feel so good inside of me.”
I moved my hips in an attempt to prove I was fine because if he didn’t move soon then I was going to die from anticipation and need.
It was the push he needed.
“You feel like heaven around me, Clara.”
I wrapped my legs around the back of his thighs as he found a rhythm and we moved together. I couldn’t focus on anything except the feel of Beckett around me, inside of me. Nothing else mattered outside of this one perfect moment.
Pleasure built and built but my release stayed just out of reach. I started to reach for my clit, desperate. Beckett grabbed my hand and held it against the bed.
He was above me, one arm braced to hold himself up, his hips still thrusting his cock deep. “What do you think you’re doing, beautiful?”
“I’m so close,” I whispered, suddenly shy.
Beckett’s grin was one of feral desire. “I know, little wren. I can feel your thighs shaking as your legs squeeze me. But if you think I’m not going to be the one to push you over that edge,” he leaned down to brush his lips against my ear, “you haven’t been paying attention.”
I whimpered. I couldn’t help it.
“Open your mouth for me, Clara.” The growl in his voice sent shivers down my spine. I obeyed without hesitation.
Beckett slipped two fingers in my mouth, and I licked and sucked them until he took them out. “Good girl,” he whispered and kissed me, a searing, claiming kiss of tongue and teeth.
Beckett slid his hand between our bodies and used those same two fingers to tease and torment my clit. I nearly bucked off the bed at the first touch.
He chuckled and then groaned when I used my free hand to dig my nails into his shoulder.
“Don’t stop, Beckett, please.”
“Never.” He’d moved to place kisses along my jaw and neck. “That’s it, Clara. You’re almost there, beautiful. Let me feel you coming around me. I need it, Clara, I need you to come for me.”
He kept up the teasing circles around my clit for a few more seconds and then put pressure in exactly the right spot as he thrust inside of me.
My back bowed off the bed, the orgasm shattering through me as I cried out his name.
I had a vague sense of Beckett sitting up. He held my hips in place with one hand, while the other didn’t stop the pressure and circles and drew out my pleasure.
“Hell, Clara, you’re beautiful when you come for me.”
Beckett’s words were barely loud enough for me to hear him, as if he were talking to himself. I reached for him, needing him closer. He finally released my clit from his attention and leaned down until he covered me with his body, one hand braced on the bed to keep from crushing me. He’d slowed his thrusts until he was still, seated fully inside of me, his cock still hard.
I stared into his beautiful green eyes and cupped his cheek with one hand. The stubble there prickled, and he turned to kiss my palm.
My heart swelled.
Beckett always gave so much of himself, and rarely – if ever – asked for anything in return. He’d always had that just-shy-of-self-sacrificial quality about him.
Even as a lover, as I recently discovered. He’d been so shocked the other night in the shower, as if nobody had ever taken the time to focus on his pleasure. The thought enraged me and broke my heart in the same moment.
I wanted to give to him as much as he gave to me, but I wasn’t sure what he wanted. Somehow, he’d already learned to read my body and could work me into a frenzy of pleasure in less time than it took me to do the same when I was alone.
“Beckett,” I said.
“Yes, little wren?”
I pushed up on my elbows and asked, “What do you need?”
His brow furrowed, “What do you mean?”
