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Beckett
I gripAdam by the back of his shirt and lift him off the ground. The collar of his jacket pulls tight across his throat, and I revel in the slight gagging sound it causes him to make.
I want to break his legs.
When he gets his feet back underneath him, I let go.
I want to rip his arms off.
He stumbles a moment as his hands reach up to cup his nose.
It’s bleeding, but it doesn’t look broken. More’s the pity.
I want to end this man, but I can’t. Not here.
“Sorry man,” I tell him in a tone that doesn’t sound sorry at all. “Thought you might be a pervert.” I slap him on the back. Hard. “You must’ve gotten turned around. Your tent is over there.”
The shove I give him sends him staggering away.
“Yeah, sorry,” he doesn’t meet my eyes, “I got turned around.”
Without another word, he hurries off.
My hands ball into fists.
That prick wasn’t lost and the thought of him putting his filthy fucking hands on Elouise has protectiveness pouring through my body. If this camp wasn’t filled with kids, I’d tear his fucking head off.
“Beckett?” Elouise’s whisper fills my lungs with air.
Crouching down, I look back into her tent.
That first glance I got wasn’t enough. Elouise, sitting up, cheeks flushed, hair down, tits on display in her thin, nearly transparent shirt.
I should’ve gouged Adam’s eyes out.
Goddamn she’s beautiful. Every last inch of her. And… I can see her nipples. Her perfect nipples are straining against the material, begging for attention.
Arms move to block my view as she crosses them over her chest, and I take my gaze away from her chest to the rest of her. A shiver rolls through her body and I see the small prickles of goosebumps covering her skin.
Shivering.
I take in the full scene in front of me. Freezing air. Tank top. Nipples alert from cold. And a too small, old as hell, sleeping bag.
I tilt my head, like that’ll help me make sense of what I’m seeing. “Is that…” I raise a brow, waiting for Elouise to meet my eyes, “Is that your brother’s old Turtles sleeping bag?”
