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My palm presses to it and it swings open.
He’s sitting in the darkness, leaning against the headboard. I approach slowly, and he simply watches. He might appear bored to someone who doesn’t know him the way I do, someone who can’t feel the tension that pulls each sinew and tendon of his body tight. I stop at the foot of his bed, waiting for him to be the better person. To say, ‘Kate, go back to your own room.’
“Come here,” he commands, and his hands reach out, gripping my hips as if I’ve moved too slowly. He pulls me atop him, my knees planted on either side of his broad thighs, his thick erection wedged between us like a promise.
His kiss is not soft the way it was last night—it’s the kiss of someone who has been tortured for too long. He breaks away only to rip the T-shirt over my shoulders, flinging it somewhere to the side, and then, with a low growl in his chest, he rolls me beneath him, working his way along my skin with his lips. I run my fingers through that wild, unruly hair as he goes, pulling hard on it when he takes a nipple into his mouth.
His tongue flickers, followed by the sting of his teeth. I gasp and he glances up at me with a smirk, my nipple still pulled tight.
I knew you’d like it, that smirk says. And he’s right. I do. I like that he’s rough and unapologetic, that his focus on me hardly seems as if it’sforme but simply because it gets him off.
His hand trails over my ribs, between my legs. I’m drenched. His thick fingers slip inside me easily.
He thrusts against my thigh. “So fucking wet for me already,” he hisses. “I knew you would be.”
“Fuck me,” I demand, and he laughs.
“You’re not in charge, Kate. I’ll fuck you when I’m good and ready.”
His mouth moves from my breasts to my ribs, then my belly button. It presses to the sensitive skin of my inner thigh, and then his teeth sink in, hard enough to mark me, and I bow off the bed.
“Beck,” I cry, but he ignores me, yanking my panties off before he spreads my thighs wider and lets his rough tongue slide over my clit.
It flickers; it glides. His fingers push inside me and that tongue of his keeps right on going.
He is everything I imagined and more, reading every desire before I have a chance to voice it. Ignoring what I ask for, making me wait, and then rewarding me for waiting.
His tongue flickers, his fingers thrust, and there’s a sharp tug in my gut. Before I can even tell him I’m coming, I’m gasping and wordless, my back bowed off the bed. “Oh, Jesus,” I whisper, once I’m finally capable of speech.
I’m nowhere near done, and—thank God—he’s well aware of it. He leans over to grab a condom from the nightstand and tears it open with his teeth. Just the way he grasps himself to put it on—his cock thick, already leaking—has me breathless with impatience, fighting myself not to demand he hurry the fuck up.
He hovers above me, so hard that I gasp at the pressure before he’s even pushed in.
Caleb was large. Beck, some might argue, is too large. As wet as I am, he has to go slowly, inch by inch, waiting for me to adjust.
And then, at last, he thrusts, bottoming out, releasing a single, harsh breath. “God.” He swallows. “You okay?”
I have no idea if I’m okay because I can’t feel any part of my body aside from the place where he is lodged, but I nod, digging my fingers into his back and down to his ass, urging him to move.
He does, watching my face with feverish eyes. It’s the first time in my life that I have no instructions to give, no demands forfasterorharderormore. I have no words at all, only the press of my fingers warning him not to stop, which he already seems to know.
“Fuck,” he grunts, his eyes falling closed. “I knew it would be like this.”
I did too. Lying under him, the object of his desire, is everything I anticipated. From the moment I first saw him outside that club, I knew exactly how intense it would be. My skin burns for more, and he gives it, slamming into me as my hips rise. I gasp as my orgasm crashes down on me, squeezing him so tight it must hurt.
“Kate,” he groans. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” With a single, violent thrust he stills, gripping my hips, holding me tight against him, capturing my gasp with his mouth.
He thrusts twice more, jerkily, and then finally stops.
We are slick with sweat, pressed together. I’ve never felt this close to anyone in my life.
I don’t want to have a single conversation about what just happened. I only want to lie here, breathing him in, until he’s ready to do it again.
Eventually, he pulls out, tying off the condom and crossing the room to discard it. When he returns, his gaze meets mine, and I catch the briefest flicker of guilt.
“What’s the matter?” I ask.
His eyes widen as if he’s been caught at something. He pulls down the covers and climbs back into bed. “Nothing.”
