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She said, “You don’t have to.”
He froze again. Or still. “What?”
“I have … long-term birth control.” She was getting her mind back, and he didn’twantit back. “And I haven’t, uh … haven’t slept with anybody in over a year.”
He thought,It’s irresponsible anyway.And,Why would you risk it?But he could smell her, that sweet/salty scent of an aroused woman that he’d have recognized anywhere, and he was no more able to resist that scent than a stallion with his herd. The taste of her was still in his mouth, her arse was gloriously round under his palms, her thighs were shaking, and he …
He lost the battle, because he was inside her, and there was no leaving now.
Did he remember to get a hand around there and help her? Yeah, he did, with the two brain cells that were still functioning. Did she back into him like the most willing mare in the paddock? That happened, too. Was her head hanging down and her hands not holding her up anymore, so she had to go right down on her elbows, arse in the air, and take it?Hell,yeah.
When she started shaking again and tightening around him, his eyes nearly rolled back in his head. And when he felt the contractions start …
He was swearing, and then he’d lost the power of speech and he was groaning, emptying into her like she was the only thing there was. A dark vortex, sucking him down. A roaring in his head, the sound of her gasping breath, a prickling in his scalp, and an explosion he felt all the way to the soles of his feet. It took his breath, and then it took his mind.
Bloody, bloody, bloodyhell.
Which was when he heard the knock at the door, the scrabble of toenails, and the anxious little voice.
“Dad?”
31
BOY THINGS
It took Quinn a moment. She was still on her elbows and knees, and Beckett was still heavy over her. Her body was wrung out, so deliciously spent, and she knew that if she tried to walk right now, her legs would be shaking.
Then Beckett was off her, off the entirebed,and she wanted him back. She wanted him to hold her, possibly. Well, probably. She wanted him to kiss her, too, and maybe to have a little bit of conversation. She enjoyed Beckett’s conversation, and surely he’d want to saysomethingto her, not just fall instantly asleep, whatever men said about orgasm exhausting them. It didn’t exhausther,and she’d had three!
Was he actuallyleaving?
That was when she registered it. Troy’s voice. A sharp bark. And Beckett swearing, groping around the bed in the dark.
“Shit,”she heard, and wanted to giggle. “Hang on,” Beckett called, and then he was hopping as he pulled on his jeans and fastened his belt.
Oh. Wait. This was when it was bad that you didn’t have an ensuite bathroom. There was nowhere to hide unless she crawled under the bed. Her closet, maybe, but it was extremely shallow. She could get in there, but she wasn’t going to be able to close the door, not with all her clothes in the way. There she’d be, flailing around like mad, stark naked, pulling clothes around her and wishing she’d done more grooming if that was going to be Beckett’s enduring image of her. They weren’t performing a French farce here anyway, so she started fumbling, too. She found her turtleneck, but not her bra, and pulled the thing on. Beckett handed her her jeans and asked, “Do you see my shirt?”
“No,” she said, still struggling to get her jeans on. No underwear, but oh, well. “Oh. Light.” She switched it on, blinked against the sudden brightness, groped around the bed in a fairly frantic fashion, and laughed. Well, to be honest, she giggled. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d giggled, but she was definitely doing it now. “Darn it. I really can’t see your shirt. I remember taking it off. Whereisit?”
“Dad?” came the voice again. “I’m scared.”
“Never mind,” Beckett told her. “Ready?”
“As I’ll ever be,” Her body was still throbbing, of course, but …
Beckett opened the door, and there was Troy in his navy-blue Spongebob PJs, looking small and vulnerable. With Bacon at his side, tail wagging joyfully, barking and standing on his hind legs and appearing generally ecstatic to see the two of them. At least he smelled only faintly of carrion now.
“OK, mate?” Beckett asked. He sounded like he’d been running, but then, his heart ratewasprobably elevated. Could that possibly have felt as good to him as it had to her?
No. Not possible. That had been like … like anearthquake.Whereas to him, it was probably just Friday.
“I came down from the attic to go to the toilet,” Troy said, “because I had a bad dream, and I looked to see if you were breathing, and you weren’t there.”
“You looked to see if I was breathing?” Beckett looked confused. His hair was also a mess. And he wasn’t wearing hisshirt.Good thing Troy was five.
“I like to check,” Troy said.
Beckett had crouched down and put a hand around Troy’s shoulders. “Nah, mate,” he said, in a voice so gentle, it could make you weep. “I was breathing. I’ll always be breathing. I’m not leaving you.”
