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I frowned, my vocabulary rapidly diminishing in size.
Beckett blew out a long breath of air and ran a hand through his soft, blond curls. “That’s what I came to say. I’m sorry it took me two years to get there.”
“I…thank you, Beckett,” I said, rather anticlimactically.
We eyed one another for a while longer, waiting for something that never came. Beckett, finally, touched his knees and got up, facing me.
“Guys are probably waiting for you at the pub,” I whispered, struggling to inhale. Beckett wasn’t moving back. Instead, he seemed to be getting closer.
“They won’t miss me,” he said confidently. He took another step toward me, then halted, waiting. His pupils dilated, his pulse visible on his neck. “Unless you’d rather I wasn’t here.”
We stood in silence for just long enough that Beckett took half a step back, pulling away from me. The action was small enough to mean nothing, except it meant everything to me at that moment.
I grabbed his wrist and yanked him back. “I’d rather you stayed.”
Beckett’s face flashed with surprise, quickly transforming into that signature cocky smile of his. “Oh?”
“Oh,” I breathed.
The corners of his lips ticked higher up. “Then, I guess, I’ll stay.” He pulled his hand back, but not all the way. It slipped out of my grip, but his fingers threaded with mine as he stepped forward and closed the distance between us. “You know,” he said, his chest an inch away from mine, eyes scanning my face and neck. “You’re much nicer when you’re not plotting my murder.”
“You’re nicer when you don’t give me a reason for it,” I said, not even trying to free my fingers from his hold. His hand was warmer than I’d expected. “And, I guess, you’ve given me the chance I asked for…” I sucked in a shallow breath and licked my lips. “It’s only fair to…you know…”
Beckett’s eyes were ablaze, a cool flame burning in them. “Return a favor?” He laughed softly. “Nah. I’d rather if you wanted me.”
I swallowed and blinked. He was as forward as he’d ever been and I let myself find it irresistible. “I do want you.” I murmured.
Beckett’s ears perked and he cocked his head as if to ask me if I were sure. He pulled himself together fairly quickly and licked his lips. I had a hunch as to why he was licking them and my heart gave a flutter. “Can I kiss you already?”
“Hell yeah,” I whispered, riding the relief of not having to talk anymore. The tricky diplomacy between us and the mountain of misunderstandings dissolved and disappeared as Beckett reached for the back of my head with his other hand. He leaned in and tilted his head down as I lifted my chin up.
Finally, words were redundant. Finally, fighting was over.
Finally…
…his lips grazed mine.
And every lusty thought I’d had of Beckett Partridge resurfaced from the depths of my subconsciousness, converged around him, and took over the control of my limbs.
That was a good thing because I was slowly melting away, losing myself in the tingling sensation that Beckett’s lips impressed onto mine. The tip of his tongue slipped into my mouth, playing with mine, probing, exploring.
Fuck. I whimpered over his lips when Beckett tore his hand free of mine and pressed the small of my back. My abs pressed hard against his; my crotch pressed harder. The unbearable urge to rub myself against him traveled from my brain to my hips before I could process it. I felt his smile pressed against my lips and I felt his cock harden and throb as my hips swayed.
“Holy shit, you’re horny,” Beckett said, returning his lips to mine as soon as the words were out. “So horny,” he murmured.
Very decidedly, my brain was shutting off all the unnecessary functions, like speech. I moaned and murmured something, my head falling back; Beckett bit my lower lip hard, then sucked it into his mouth. He played with it for a few moments before letting it out and pressing kisses on my chin and down my neck.
“Christ,” he muttered, his voice vibrating against my tender skin. “Why haven’t we been doing this all along?”
I would have answered him if I could string any words together. But all I managed was a choked laugh, followed by my fingers digging into his muscled back, arms tightening around his body.
Beckett took the bottom edge of my T-shirt and lifted it a few inches until I released him for just long enough to be undressed. My T-shirt flew over my head and landed on the floor, followed quickly by Beckett’s.
Though I had looked at Beckett’s body three times a week for the past two and a half years, I had never seen it. Not really. I had always looked at it with my spiteful goggles, blocking him out of my vision.
Now, though, we paused. By the look on his face, I was guessing he’d never seen me either, though we’d showered side by side countless times. Finally, we let our curiosities off their leashes.
Beckett examined me from a short distance as thoroughly as I did him. His shoulders were rounded with defined muscles, his chest broad and waist narrow. He was bulkier where I was more cut. And his sweatpants…well, they were revealing a lot that was happening below Beckett’s waist.
