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I went up on my toes and he met me halfway. The kiss was slow and soft. The damp balcony under my feet, the coolness of his lips, the warmth of his chest—I wanted all of it imprinted on my brain.
I had to let him go.
Reality was intruding with each bit of sun breaking over the orchard.
The kiss spun out, the late night desperation bleeding into the misty morning air.
I turned him, both of us stumbling the few feet to the outdoor chaise. He sat down hard as I stood in front of him. Deja vu from last night. This time, he allowed me to be in the power position. I was pretty sure he was only letting me think so.
One night and I already knew so much about him.
He peeled back the sheet I’d tucked around me with a low groan. He pressed his forehead to my belly for a moment and the heat of his breath fanned over my skin. I threaded my fingers through his hair as morning sounds dented the quiet. The birds in the trees, the breeze through the leaves, and the hum of animals waking up.
Then he looked up at me.
His eyes glittered in the faint light as his rough hand glided over my hip to tug me closer. My fingers slid down to grip his shoulders as he stroked his tongue over my nipple, dragging it deeper with strong, sucking pulls.
He nudged my legs open, drawing me even closer.
I hissed out a breath when his fingers slid between my legs. After hours together, he knew exactly how to touch me. The roughness and the gentleness becoming a sensory delight of mouth, fingers, and even his beard.
All leaving marks on me.
Leaving Beckett tattoos on my skin to take home with me.
At least until they faded.
Then I’d just have memories.
I wanted to watch. I ached for every moment to be catalogued, but he knew me too well. Knew exactly how to drive me high and fast so that my head fell back with a cry.
My legs shook and knees went to water and still, he pushed for more.
Sensitive and raw, I accepted that the last time wouldn’t be sweet.
It really couldn’t be.
It was a tempest. Just like our first time together under the booming thunder and lightning, this time, it was a storm inside of me. My heart raged as I dragged in oxygen around each seismic shift inside of me. From the woman who didn’t know what it meant to connect, to this one who would be forever changed.
I gripped his forearm as he thrust rough fingers inside me.
Not enough.
Not nearly enough.
My name was a hoarse expletive as he turned his hand to curl those clever fingers deeper inside of me, the pliant tissues inside swallowing each bone-jarring invasion. I soaked him, soaked my thighs. Coming one time after the other at the angle he’d found.
I gripped his shoulder so I didn’t fall down. “Inside me. Inside me,” I chanted.
“I am.”
“No.”
“Helena, I—”
I dragged at his hand and climbed onto his lap, fumbling with his boxers. I took him in hand and dragged the head of his cock along my slit.
He tried to stand, but I was too far gone.
