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His mouth brushes my shoulder, teeth nipping before his tongue licks away the sting. My knees almost buckle. He spins me around so my back is against the cool tile, then his hands cage me in.
“Fuck, you’re gorgeous.” He kisses me, rough and deep, water cascading over our faces.
We stumble a little, and Beckett steadies me with a hand on my ass, squeezing and causing my blood to heat.
I’m officially one hundred percent jelly, but Beckett never lets me slip. I brace my hands on his chest and let him back me against the tile. Fuck. His eyes go molten, and the look on his face is pure, filthy promise. “If you keep touching me like that, I’m going to be late for work,” I manage, even though my brain is screaming to ditch the clinic and climb this man like a cat tree.
He just grins, that knowing, wolfish smirk that tells me he knows exactly what I’m thinking. “Call in sick. I’ll write you a note.” His hands are everywhere, sliding up my ribs, tangling in my hair, palming my ass so hard my knees wobble. I want him so bad it actually hurts.
My inner voice is shrieking “YES!!!” but my rational side is waving frantic warning flags. Surgery at eight. “God, I wish I could.” I call on the last few ounces of my control. “But Mr. Olson’s little Pookie-Poo needs to have his boy parts removed before he knocks up any more cats in the neighborhood.” I groan as he kisses a path down the side of my throat. He kisses a path down the side of my throat, and I almost melt right into the tile. Part of me is ready to say screw it and call off work as his lips brush behind my ear, sending a shiver through me, but then he pulls back and grins down at me. The regret in his eyes is real, but so is the damn pride.
“Go save Mr. Olson’s neighborhood from Pookie-Poo,” he murmurs, voice rough with wanting. “But I want a rain check.”
I shiver, practically vibrating. “Count on it.”
He plants one last filthy, perfect kiss on my mouth, making my toes curl all over again, then smacks my ass as he steps out of the shower. He grabs a towel and wraps it around me. He dries my hair, then grabs a second towel for himself and does a quick pass over his chest and arms.
I stare at him, slack-jawed and zero percent subtle. This man is unfair. There should be warning labels. Caution: Wet, Shirtless Beckett May Cause Spontaneous Ovary Detonation.
He grins at me like he knows exactly what’s going through my head, then takes two steps closer and yanks me in for a hard, filthy kiss that leaves me dizzy. My knees are total noodles.
“Stop looking at me like that or I’ll forget we both have to get ready for work.” Beckett’s voice goes all lethal and low.
I clutch the towel a little tighter and try to remember we both have responsibilities. “It sucks to adult,” I grumble as we both get dressed and prepare for the day.
