“Mmpf,” was his only response.
“We could be seen.”
He froze beneath me for half a second before he moved – carried me somewhere else. “Tack room. The door locks.”
“Perfect.” I kissed along his jaw and down his neck and rocked my hips against him.
Beckett maneuvered us through the open door and kicked it shut behind him. With me still in his arms, he strode across the room and lowered me onto the worktable.
Beckett cupped my face, his thumbs stroking my cheeks as he kissed me. His lips and tongue were so thorough in their exploration that I nearly fell off the table when he pulled away.
“Do not move an inch.” The command in his voice was clear, and the rough edge to it made me sit up straighter.
I could only reply with a breathless, “Okay.”
Beckett went back to the door, opened it and looked out into the barn before he closed and locked the handle and deadbolt. He pulled out his phone, typed something, and left it on the small table near the door.
I melted at the near-feral gleam in his eyes as he strode back to me. “I don’t want us to be interrupted.”
“Me, neither,” I admitted, reaching for him as he neared. I wanted him against me, his mouth on mine, his arms around me again. The sheer size of him, which used to just mean safety and familiarity, suddenly meant something different – more. It was heady, overwhelming, and fucking sexy as hell.
I grabbed the open lapel of his shirt and pulled him closer. “Kiss me, Beckett.”
He groaned and obliged. Beckett cupped the back of my head with one hand buried in my hair and wrapped the other around my waist.
I slid close to the edge of the table, until I could wrap my legs around his. I needed more – more of Beckett, more of his touch, his mouth, everything.
He kissed me with a passion I’d never felt from anyone else, and need and pleasure built and burned through every nerve, until I was near wild with it.
Beckett kissed and nipped down my neck. He pulled one strap of my sundress aside. He placed soft, tender kisses to my shoulder, along my arm. “Clara,” he whispered, my name more a prayer than anything.
“Mm,” was the only sound I could make. The entire world was fuzzy along the edges.
“You’re so beautiful, my little wren.”
I nearly preened under the nickname he’d given me when we were teens. He’d started calling me that not long after I’d saved Noah from Tate Starski, a bully who had a special dislike of the youngest Ashland. I’d basically tackled the kid off Noah. We’d rolled in the dirt a few feet and he’d tried to hit me, but Thatcher or Beckett had hauled him off of me. Beckett had said I reminded him of a bird defending their nest, like a wren. It had stuck, but he was the only one allowed to call me that.
His rule, not mine, though I secretly enjoyed it.
He kissed up the side of my neck, my jaw. “Hell, Clara, I need you.” The last line was said between quick kisses against my lips.
“I know the feeling.” I reached for the top of his jeans, but he caught my hand, his grip gentle but firm.
He tsked. “Me, first.”
There was a gleam in his green eyes as he deliberately released my hand – the command clear. He wanted to play and explore, and I would have my chance later.
Works for me. I answered the only way I could. I opened my legs to him, the fabric of my dress gathering in the open space. My entire body hummed with want and anticipation.
“Oh, Clara.” Beckett leaned his forehead against mine and trailed one hand along the exposed skin on my leg. “Look at how beautiful you are, opening yourself for me. I never thought I’d be so fucking lucky.”
Who knew this man could say such delicious things to me, praise and desire mingled in one.
“Please, Beckett.” I couldn’t stop my body from trembling as he slid his hand under my dress and up the inside of my thigh.
He leaned in, brushed his nose along my ear as he whispered, “Please, what, Clara? Use your words.”
“Please …” I could barely think beyond the feeling of his rough, calloused hand on my skin, so very close to where I wanted him. I rolled my hips, and he chuckled, the breath falling against my ear.
