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Elouise
Waiting nextto my car in the dark garage, I watch as Beckett climbs out of his truck, his long strides closing the distance between us up the driveway.
The drive here was the longest three minutes of my life. Just enough time for me to freak out, get myself under control, and freak out again.
His footsteps sound like the beat of a drum reverberating through the quiet neighborhood.
Breathe, Elouise. Just breathe.
Beckett doesn’t break stride when he reaches me, he just hooks an arm around my waist and propels me through the door that leads into the house. I hear the sound of him blindly slapping at the garage door button, and the matching rumble of the door lowering. And a second after the house door clicks shut behind us, I hear the soft clunk of him turning the deadbolt.
We take a moment to kick off our shoes, then Beckett is back to guiding me forward. Through the living room, past the kitchen, and up the stairs.
I don’t know if he’s been up here before or if he’s just good at guessing, because we pass my old room, a bathroom, James’s old room, and then we’re there. At the open door leading into the master suite. My room.
Framed photos from family vacations line my pale blue walls. My queen-sized bed, nightstands, and dresser are made of chunky wood painted a silvery grey. And white curtains match my white bedding. Bedding that’s unmade. The blankets still tossed back from when I got up for work this morning, and that somehow makes this moment feel even more intimate. Because this is it, the real me, and Beckett’s here anyways.
Beckett’s chest expands against my shoulder as he inhales. “It’s perfect. Exactly how I imagined,” his voice is a low rumble that I feel everywhere.
Before I can respond, Beckett is striding across the room to the door that leads into the master bath. Reaching inside the doorway, he flips on the light, causing illumination to streak across the room. Across the bed.
From the other side of the room, Beckett faces me, “I need to see all of you this time.”
My throat works, but I can’t think of anything intelligible to say. Instead, I take off my cardigan.
One piece of clothing, that’s all I’ve removed. But he’s looking at me like I just stripped naked.
Fuck it.
The distance between us gives me the confidence I need to strip. So, keeping my eyes on his, I grip the bottom of my tank top and pull the material up over my head.
He doesn’t move closer, but he drops his hoodie to the floor at the same time.
Thank you, past self, for wearing cute underwear today.
With trembling fingers, I undo my pants and slowly drag them down my legs.
Beckett’s chest is heaving, and as I stand upright, he reaches back with one hand and tugs off his t-shirt up over his head.
While his shirt is covering his face, I unclasp my bra and let it fall away from my body.
A choked sound leaves Beckett when his vision clears, and he sees that I’m left in nothing but my thong.
While he works to undo his belt and jeans, I hook my fingers in the top of my panties and discard them into a pile with the rest of my clothes.
“Goddamn,” Beckett wets his lips and takes one step, moving to round the foot of the bed towards me.
But I step to the side, putting the bed back between us.
He stops, and a wicked gleam fills his eyes. “Babe,” he says it like a reprimand while he palms the erection straining the front of his boxer briefs.
I tip my head towards his hand, “Take them off.”
The look in his eyes is predatory, but he doesn’t hesitate. And before I can blink, he’s completely naked.
Jesus.
My eyes won’t look away. Can’t look away. I had him in my mouth, down my throat, but I didn’t get to see him. Not like this. And dear god, he’s perfect.
