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“Always like what?”
“You can’t go to a club without people freaking out about it?”
I was too shocked about seeing him again to really register the reactions to him the night I lied my way into his nightclub. I was mostly amused by the barista’s response in the coffee shop. Most of the time we’ve spent together has been alone in his apartment. Or in the park. At his parents’ house. I know he’s famous. But I’ve been sheltered, I guess, from the reality of what that means in his daily life.
“I usually stay in the private section,” Beck replies, not really answering my question.
“Does it bother you?”
“It’s part of playing.”
It’s worth it, he means. The attention he receives from playing soccer—from being really good at playing soccer—is worth it. He prioritizes it, the same way that I do.
I don’t ask any more questions as we wait for the door leading to the garage to open. A few minutes later, we’re parked, climbing out of the car.
Beck follows me to the elevator and then down the hallway to his front door. He unlocks it, gesturing for me to head inside first. I find the light switch by feel, illuminating the entryway to his apartment. Kick off my heels and smooth the creases that collected on my dress from riding in the car.
“Nice place.”
He raises an eyebrow, and I mentally shake myself for the asinine comment. I’m trying to act like this is natural and normal, and for me, that’s unfamiliarity. This isn’t supposed to be a place I’ve visited before—so many times I can find the light switch in the dark because I know exactly where it’s located.
“Want a tour?”
I smirk, relieved he’s playing along. “Only of the bedroom.”
He erases the distance between us in one stride. As soon as he kisses me, I know we won’t be making it to the bedroom.
The heat that hasn’t faded flares between us again as he hauls me tightly against his body. It’s a relief to shut my brain off and fall into sensation instead. To stop worrying about what I should say to him and what I should keep to myself. To stop resenting myself for being so cold while also lecturing myself for losing focus.
I pull away first, sinking down to my knees and attacking the zipper of his pants until his cock juts free. I swirl the flared tip with my tongue before sucking him deep into my mouth. Beck groans my name, his hand slipping into my hair as he fucks my mouth with rough, greedy strokes. I dig my nails into his thighs, leaving crescent-shaped marks behind before moving my hands down to cup the heavy weight of his balls.
He spits out a long stream of German as I pull away and then run my tongue along the underside of his erection. I don’t understand a word of it, but the tone is impossible to miss. Dark and decadent, like rich chocolate and smoky liquor.
I’ve done this before—to him—enough times I’ve lost count. I know what will make him pull my hair harder. What will make him thrust deeper. What will make his abs clench. I do everything I can to make sure he loses his mind, relishing the power that comes along with it. Imagining the way this looks, the two of us fully dressed in his entryway like two horny teenagers racing an imaginary clock. Like we couldn’t wait another second to do this even though we have all night.
The clock isn’t completely imaginary, though. We have an expiration date, and I never thought that would terrify me the way it does.
Tears burn my eyes as he hits the back of my throat, my thoughts distracting me enough that I lost the pace. I take a deep breath through my nose and swallow, satisfied when I taste saltiness. His hips jerk, a few final, fast pumps, and then he’s filling my mouth with hot liquid. I continue swallowing, another first of mine he’s claimed.
My thong is soaked, my pussy wet and throbbing. Seeing Beck come is the most powerful aphrodisiac I’ve ever experienced. He hauls me upward, lifting me effortlessly as he walks us over to the sectional couch. Cool leather brushes my skin as he lies me down gently, the considerate motion a stark contrast to the roughness when I was blowing him. He fucks me like a whore, then treats me like a queen, and I absolutely love it.
I sit up before he can crawl over me, straddling his lap instead.
He lets me take control, sliding his hands up my thighs until he’s bunched my dress. I reach over, grabbing a condom out of the drawer in the table where I know he keeps them. We’ve used one every time, because not using them would prompt a conversation I don’t want to have. Letting him come in my mouth was intimate enough.
Beck removes my dress and strapless bra while I rip the condom open and roll it on him. He’s still fully dressed, and there’s something surprisingly erotic about sitting on his lap in just my thong. I tug the lace to the side to line his tip up with my entrance, then sink down. I’m so wet, but it’s still a tight fit thanks to his size.
Beck grunts as I work him deeper into my swollen pussy, his hands roaming my body like he’s memorizing every inch.
I moan as he spreads and fills me, a pleasure that’s not just biological sparking through me. There’s a satisfaction that it’s him under me. Inside of me. He’s everywhere. All that I can see and hear and feel, consuming every single sense.
“Fuck. You feel so good.”
I lift my hips and then drop them again, swiveling my pelvis so he hits a different spot. Beck curses again, his expression pained and the tendons in his neck defined. Every time I move, my breasts brush against his cotton shirt, the soft material a tantalizing rasp against my bare skin. I can smell my arousal, mixing with the scent of his cologne and the leather couch.
His mouth lands on my shoulder, trailing hot kisses up my neck and along my jaw. He tells me how sexy I look like this. How tight and wet I am. How well I’m taking him. And God, it’s too much. All of it. Everything becomes a blur. What I’m saying. What he’s saying. Where I am. Who I am.
It spins into a sphere of pleasure that shatters, rendering me senseless and weightless and thoughtless as wave after wave of pleasure washes over me. It goes on and on, the contractions more powerful than anything I’ve ever experienced. It takes a good minute for me to regain enough control of my limbs to roll off of him and splay out on the cushions. A light sheen of sweat is covering my entire body, the inside of my thighs damp. I feel like a sponge that was just thoroughly wrung out.
