“What are we doing?” Clara asked.
“Listening to wise words,” was my answer. My cock was already hard in my jeans. I’d been ready to get Clara alone since before we’d even left my cabin to go to the party.
I hadn’t been able to stop touching her either, as if to reassure myself she was really there as my date, and in a shameless display to keep other men from flirting with her or asking her to dance like they’d done at other parties in the past.
This year, I wanted everyone to know Clara was mine.
I craved her touch, and the sounds she makes when my body moves with hers.
We were finally at the door to my cabin, and I managed to get it open without trouble.
“Beckett,” she started as she walked in ahead of me.
I closed the door, bolted the lock, grabbed her by the waist and whirled her around until she was against the wood, and kissed her. My body covered every soft curve of hers, and it was enough to drive me mad.
My hands gripped her waist, and I nudged my thigh between her legs. The small moan she let out only flamed my need for her.
She threaded her fingers through my hair, her nails sliding along my scalp. I growled at the sensation.
Without breaking our kiss, I lifted and carried her down the hall to the bedroom. That damned blue dress rode up as I gripped her thighs.
Fuck, her skin was so soft.
Clara giggled against me and moved her mouth from mine to my neck. The small licks and nips sent jolts of pleasure straight to my cock. I could barely get a thought in place, much less focus on opening the door.
Clara ground herself against me, her nails scratching down my back.
I finally got us in the room and locked the door. There were now two locked doors between us and the outside world – nobody was going to interrupt us again. I carried her to the bed and gently set her on the floor.
“Little wren, you have been torturing me all night with that dress.” My voice was rougher than normal, and I was barely holding myself together.
The need to touch her, taste her, bury myself in her, was overwhelming.
Clara grinned up at me, a wicked glint in her eyes. She walked her fingers up my chest as she said, “Then it’s a good thing we’re alone when I tell you that I’m not wearing panties.”
Chapter Seventeen
Clara
Beckett’s groan after my whispered confession reverberated through me.
“You are full of the best surprises, little wren.” He leaned down to nuzzle my neck and pepper kisses along my jaw.
My heart thundered in my chest, and tiny shocks of pleasure raced through my blood with each press of his lips to my skin.
I pulled his shirt free of his jeans and slid my hands along his body. I marveled at the hard muscles of his back, along his sides, his ribs, his abs, and his chest. I dragged my nails ever so slightly along his chest, desperate for more of him.
Beckett released his grip on my waist and dropped to his knees. He pressed a kiss to my belly, the fabric of the dress still between us. Beckett ran his hands up my legs, his fingers dancing along my calves and thighs.
I sighed at the touch. Desperate to touch any piece of him, I tangled my fingers in his hair and dragged them along his scalp.
Beckett looked up at me, and I nearly lost my breath at the sight. My tall, broad-shouldered mountain of a man on his kneesin front of me, his hands trailing along my skin as if I’m precious, his hair mussed from my fingers, and greedy desire in his green eyes.
Beckett didn’t look away as he slid one hand up my thigh, higher and higher until his fingers brushed along the wetness at my core.
He groaned. “Fuck,” was all he said as he easily slid one finger and then another inside of me. I let my head fall back and rocked my hips against his hand. Beckett slid his fingers in and out as he licked and teased my clit.
My knees were weak. There was no way I’d stay standing if he kept at it like this.
