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Elouise
His breath is hot along my skin while his lips graze my neck, sending tingles up and down my spine.
“Beckett,” I groan out his name, not caring about our surroundings.
A large hand clamps over my mouth, as his body shifts until he’s above me, pressing me into the floor.
“Hush, Smoky,” teeth nip at the curve of my breast. “You don’t want to get caught, do you?”
My head shakes even as I try to ask him for more, but his palm is still silencing my words.
I writhe, not caring about the dirty carpet beneath me. And when his teeth scrape over my nipple I reach out and grip the base of the chair next to me.
Then his mouth moves lower… and lower… my heart rate increasing as he inches closer to where I want him. Where I need him.
Strong hands pry my naked thighs apart and I groan.
Shushing fills my ears… getting louder… until it’s all I can hear.
Opening my eyes, I look up and find an entire auditorium full of people looming over me, with judgmental looks in their eyes and fingers in front of their lips.
“I told you to be quiet,” Beckett says, before lowering his face between my legs.
I want to tell him to stop. We shouldn’t do this. Not here. But then his tongue laps against me, and then all I can hear are the wet noises between my thighs. The strokes of his tongue sounding like the strikes of a hammer.
Hammer?
My eyes pop open.
For a second, I almost expect to find a bunch of disapproving adults staring down at me, but it only takes me a few blinks to come back to reality and I recognize my bedroom ceiling.
I let out a deep sigh.
This obsession with Beckett is affecting my dreams.
But after a few more blinks I realize that the hammering sound didn’t end with my dream.
“What the…?”
Throwing back the covers, I glance at the clock, shocked to see I slept past 9:00.
I’m settling my feet on the floor when the hammering stops. My palms scrub over my eyes. And I have just enough time to think that I’m totally losing it when the unmistakable sound of an electric saw filters in through my window.
“Seriously?”
With an un-ladylike grunt, I stand and shuffle to my window. Pulling the curtains open, I see that Beckett’s truck is parked in my driveway. I can still hear the sounds of a power tool, but I can’t see him.
Half awake, I trudge down the hall, down the stairs and across the living room, stopping only to unlock the deadbolt before yanking open the front door.
I had a suspicion of what I might find, but that didn’t prepare me for the site in front of me. Because it’s not just Beckett. It’s Beckett in a tool belt. With little bits of sawdust stuck in his hair and a sweat-dampened white shirt clinging to his broad back.
Facing away from me, Beckett leans over a bench, moving his saw across a board, and just like that, my ovaries pop out of my body and roll across the porch, in an effort to get closer to the testosterone on display.
The way he’s bending highlights the fact that his jeans are molded to his ass. And, fuck me, even his usual black leather work boots look hot.
“Jesus Christ,” I mutter. “I had no chance.”
Beckett straightens but before he can turn around, I snap the door shut. If I’m going to deal with him, looking like that, I need to change.
