by Laura Kaye
“Holy shit,” she said as she stood there, water dripping off of her until a small puddle formed around her completely water-logged sneakers. She toed them off, peeled off her sodden socks, and wrung out her hair. As a small stream fell to the floor, Kat couldn’t help but chuckle. She looked down at herself as a shiver ran over her skin. Her T-shirt was plastered to her body. Couldn’t go see the guys like this.
Leaving her shoes and socks to dry by the door, she padded in bare feet to the stairs. Just as she reached the second-floor landing, the gym door opened. Beckett stepped out, his big body seeming to fill the whole stairwell. Of course, it would just have to be Beckett.
Kat hugged herself against the cold. And to hide how her body was reacting visibly through her soaked shirt to his. No matter how much of an ass he was, he was harshly beautiful and muscular and had an angled jaw that had to have been chiseled from granite.
His gaze scanned up her body and locked right on her face. “Why did you come back early?”
Kat couldn’t read his tone, but the frown he wore made it feel like an accusation. “Because I need to talk to Nick.”
His eyes narrowed. “It couldn’t wait?”
Why was he interrogating her? She tilted her head, irritation curling into her belly. Like having this conversation with Nick wasn’t stressing her out enough.
He shook his head. “What I mean is—”
“You know what? Save it. This isn’t the Army. I don’t have to report to you.” She turned on her wet heel and stepped toward the door to Nick and Jeremy’s apartment.
A hand closed around her arm.
No! For a split second she was yanked back to Friday morning. To Cole grabbing her from behind and shoving her into the wall. She yelped and whirled, trying to free herself.
Beckett’s hands flew up like he was surrendering. His expression was a mask of horror and fear. “What just happened?”
Kat shook her head and cleared the knot from her throat. What a stupid overreaction! “Nothing. I just . . . nothing.”
“You’re shaking,” he said, his brow cranked down.
“Just cold,” she managed, her voice raspy. Get a grip, Kat. She forced a deep breath.
“Katherine—”
“Leave it, Beckett. Okay?” She rubbed at her arm, the bruises from Cole’s hands still tender. No way for Beckett to have known they were there, of course. In fact, that was the whole point of the long sleeves. She didn’t want anyone to know. The fact that she’d let Cole’s stalkerish behavior go unaddressed for so long made her feel stupid enough. The last thing she wanted was for anyone to see how far it had gone.
She and Cole had started dating after close friends of theirs performed a bit of matchmaking. With the schedule Kat kept, she’d otherwise rarely made time for non-work-related socializing, and her friends joked that she’d end up married to her desk if she wasn’t careful. So she’d gone on the date with Cole to humor them. Kat hadn’t regretted it. At the beginning, he’d been dashing and intense and someone who impressed her with the sharpness of his intellect, not to mention his charismatic charm. As a bonus, the fact that he worked in another division at Justice meant he understood her schedule and the demands of the job. They’d dated for almost four months. Kat still sometimes wondered exactly when his weirdness had truly begun . . .
Beckett stepped toward the apartment door, pulling Kat from her thoughts, and punched in the code that unlocked it. Click. He pushed the door open for her and gestured for her to go first.
Slipping past his big body, Kat made sure not to touch Beckett as she entered the loft-style apartment. Jeremy had refinished it a few years ago, using the money their parents had left. Nick had given him most of what they’d left him, too. The space was all exposed brickwork, wide plank flooring, and high ceilings, and the kitchen and living room formed one big open space, separated by a long granite breakfast bar. Normally light and airy, it felt dark despite the kitchen lights because they’d blacked out all the windows to mask their presence in the building.
Beckett’s gaze was hot on Kat’s back as she beelined to the hallway that led to the bedrooms. Hers was the first one on the right—or, at least, it was the one the guys always reserved for her occasional visits. She closed herself in and immediately stripped out of her wet clothes, which fell to the floor with a plop.
Though she’d arrived five days ago, last night had been her first sleeping in this space. Her room had been in use by Nick’s SF commander’s son, Charlie Merritt, who’d been kidnapped by a gang and rescued by Nick’s team. But yesterday, Charlie had moved into the bedroom next door—Jeremy’s room. As in, with Jeremy.
The thought made her smile as she grabbed some dry clothes.
Her brother and Charlie were possibly the most adorkable couple ever. Despite Jeremy’s crazy outgoing playfulness and Charlie’s shyness, they just worked together in a way that made Kat’s chest all warm and fuzzy. Jeremy would flirt with pretty much anyone, but she’d never seen the younger of her two brothers so obviously enamored. Come to think of it, she was the odd-woman-out among her siblings—both of whom had found someone special during the past few weeks.
Meanwhile, she was trying and failing to get rid of her ex. The one who, two months into their relationship, had gotten jealous of a colleague she’d been spending a lot of time with working on a case, including a few working dinners. Despite the fact that the colleague was happily married. At first Cole had apologized and convinced her that he just missed her, and his charm and her friends’ endorsement of his character made her believe he was genuine. But by the third month of their relationship, his comments and his behavior had come off as unreasonable, insecure, even controlling . . .
The memories made her shiver. Or maybe she’d just caught a chill from the rain.
She stepped into dry panties, hooked her bra, and pulled on a soft pair of black yoga pants. Examining her arms, she confirmed she still needed the long sleeves, and tugged on a white V-neck.
God, how she hoped Beckett didn’t make a big issue of her freaking out. He’d just caught her off guard—in the exact same way Cole had. And, truth be told, she was mad at herself for not reacting faster to Cole surprising her.
More worried about Cole than you’re admitting to yourself, Kat?
“No,” she said out loud as she tugged a brush through her hair. Sighing, she opened the door and walked right into someone. Someone who was all hard muscle. Someone who smelled like soap and spice and man.
Beckett stood like a wall, arms crossed over his chest and a stormy expression on his face.
Kat’s heart raced. “What are you doing?”
“I hurt you.”
“What? I didn’t run into you that hard.” Rubbing her nose, she retreated a step so she didn’t have to crane her neck to meet his eyes. God, they were startlingly blue, the right one surrounded by a series of crisscrossing scars.
His eyebrows cranked down. “When I grabbed you.”
Duh, Kat. But feeling Beckett’s body up against her own, even for that split second, had short-circuited the wiring in her head. “Uh, oh. No. I’m fine, Beckett,” she said, hating for him to think that her yelp had been from pain. He could irritate the crap out of her, but she felt absolutely safe around him. He would never hurt her. None of Nick’s teammates would. And, unlike Cole, Beckett hadn’t squeezed or dug his fingers into her flesh. Now that she really thought about it, his grip had been rather gentle. “Really.”
“Nick’s like a brother to me, and I’d never do anything to hurt you.”
“Beck—”
“So, I didn’t mean to.” He shook his head and his eyes seemed to look somewhere between them, like he didn’t want to meet hers. Or couldn’t?
Why wouldn’t he believe her? Why did he seem so upset? Almost . . . ashamed? The vulnerability in his demeanor was so unlike the Beckett she’d gotten to know over the past five days that it tugged at her chest. Made her want to make it better, any way she could. She stepped for
ward, patted his mountainous arm and gave him a wry smile. “If you’d hurt me, Trigger, do you really think I’d deny it?”
The corner of his lip quirked, just the littlest bit, but the humor died away again just as quick. He braced his hands against the door frame on either side of her. “I’d want you to tell me,” he said in a voice so low it was almost a whisper.
Kat was suddenly sure something else was going on here. That something else was responsible for the almost haunted look in his beautiful blue eyes. But what the hell could it be? “Beckett, I’m okay,” she said, willing him to believe her. “You didn’t do anything. Just caught me off guard and I overreacted. Okay?”
His eyes searched hers like he might be able to read the truth in her gaze.
The odd tension between them changed . . . intensified . . . flashed white hot.
Her heart suddenly thudding against her breastbone, Kat’s gaze lowered from Beckett’s eyes to his mouth to his chest. He was so freaking gorgeous she could hardly stand it. The basest parts of herself just wanted to climb him.
Wait. What?
She forced her eyes back to his. And those baby blues were absolutely on fire.
“Beckett?” she said, her voice embarrassingly breathy.
But she didn’t have time to think about that, because Beckett’s gaze dropped to her lips, and she was suddenly, totally, one-hundred-percent sure that he was going to kiss her.
Chapter 3
Time slowed and Kat’s heart raced as Beckett slowly leaned in.
By the time her mind shoved through the haze of surprise and lust to react, his lips were brushing hers.
Just a brush of skin on skin, amazingly soft and tentative. So surprising given his size.
The world froze for a long moment, but then that little bit of contact set off a flash fire in Kat’s blood. And apparently Beckett’s, too.
Because the kiss turned instantly and blisteringly devouring. On a groan, his tongue invaded her mouth, and she sucked him in deep. Their hands pulled one another closer and their bodies collided. Their height differentiation was so great that Kat had to push onto her tiptoes and Beckett had to lean way down. Kat wasn’t sure if she pulled herself up or Beckett lifted her, but the next thing she knew her legs were wrapped around his hips and his hands gripped her ass.
They stumbled into her room and Beckett kicked the door shut behind them. Kat moaned as her back came up against the wall and his erection ground against her core.
With his tongue in her mouth and his hands roaming her body and his hips pressing maddeningly against the center of her need, Kat was possibly more overwhelmed than she’d ever been in her life. Beckett Murda was all she felt, saw, smelled, tasted. Her mind was on a repeating track of Wait . . . wait . . . omigod . . . what’s happening? But her body had totally left the station.
Whatever small part of her wanted to pull back or slow down gave way to the more urgent need to let go. Let go of worrying about Cole. Let go of the fear she felt for her brothers. Let go of the horrible images she carried in her mind of the Hard Ink roof collapsing and Jeremy going down with it, which was the scariest thing she’d ever seen.
Not to mention the conversation she needed to have, the one that would force her to break confidentialities and put her job at risk.
So she did. Kat let it all go in favor of letting Beckett pull her under the waves with him.
She plowed her fingers into his hair, which was just long enough to grip and tug, and squeezed her legs around his hips, bringing them closer. Creating more of that delicious friction. He groaned low in his throat, and the sound reverberated into her belly, causing her to grind her hips forward against him.
Wait . . . wait . . . wait . . . turned into want . . . want . . . want . . .
“Jesus, want you, too,” he growled. He kissed and licked at her jaw, her ear, her neck.
“Beckett,” she rasped as he trailed little bites down the side of her throat. She bowed off the wall, thrusting against him. And, God, he was deliciously hard and thick between her legs.
Suddenly, she wanted to know: Just. How. Thick.
She lowered her legs to the floor and grasped his cock in her hands through the denim. His head fell back on a throaty, “Fuck.”
It was all the invitation she needed. Kat sank into a crouch, her back against the wall, unzipped his jeans and roughly pulled them down over his hips. The outline of his erection filled out the dark gray boxers, and he helped her push those down, too. And then his cock was spilling free of the clothing. And, holy fuck, it was freaking magnificent. Like, work of art magnificent. Thick and long and veined in ways that made her need to tongue him.
As she took Beckett’s hard length in hand, Kat spied a series of hash marks on his left hip—groups of five vertical lines with a diagonal line across them. In passing, she wondered what they were for, but now was not the time to ask. Instead, she peered up his body, meeting those blazing blue eyes as she licked him from root to tip. The abject need she saw staring down at her drove her on. She licked and stroked him until he was wet and throbbing hard. And then she sucked him in deep.
And, God, was he a mouthful. So long that even when she had his head buried in the back of her throat, she could still fit her fist around the base of his cock. But never let it be said she didn’t like a challenge.
Pulling back, she gulped for air, then sucked him in deep again. She went slowly, taking a bit more each time, until Beckett unleashed a near-steady stream of curses and encouragements under his breath. “Yes, Kat. Fuck. Take it, take it.”
His hands fell to her head. He stroked stray strands off her face, cupped her cheek in his big palm, and tangled his fingers into her hair to guide the pace. His hips began to move and Kat gripped onto the corded muscles of his thick thighs.
“Look at me,” he rasped, drawing her gaze up his body.
And holy fucking hell, he’d never looked hotter than he did just then. Arousal drew sharp lines onto his already chiseled features. His mouth hung open. His eyes were hooded and flashing.
“Ah, fuck,” he bit out. And then he pulled free of her mouth and lifted her up with his hands under her arms like she weighed nothing at all. When she was on her feet, he shoved the soft fabric of her yoga pants and panties down to her ankles in one swift motion. Boxing her body against the wall, he slipped his fingers into the slick heat between her thighs. “Drenched for me, aren’t you?” he asked, lip curling up in the hint of a smile.
Pretty hard to find his arrogance annoying when the proof of what he said was all over his hand. And when the smug satisfaction of his words made her core clench around the aching emptiness she knew all too well that he could fill—that she wanted him to fill. And when the way he stroked her made her whimper and rock against his fingers.
So she nodded, and stepped the rest of the way out of her pants.
Beckett leaned down and kissed her, his fingers still moving against her core, circling her clit, and then moving deeper and finding her opening. He kicked her ankles apart until he could fit his whole hand between her legs and penetrate her fully with his thick middle finger. Kat moaned into the kiss and grasped at Beckett’s shoulder, her hands fisting at the cotton of his T-shirt.
Beckett broke the kiss to fish something out of his jeans, still hanging around his thighs. His wallet. He flipped it open, reached into the billfold and pulled out a condom. Looking her in the eye, he ripped the foil wrapper open with his teeth. And then he rolled the rubber up the thick column of his cock, glancing at her to see if she was watching.
She was.
Because she was so lost in her arousal for him, in this stolen moment with him, that there wasn’t a single part of her that didn’t want what she knew he could give.
She pushed off the wall and took a step toward the bed.
“Where you think you’re going?” Beckett growled. And then he lifted her up, her back sliding up the cool wall and her arms going round his neck, hooked his arms under her knees, and lowere
d her down until the head of his cock nudged her opening. Slowly, so very slowly, he penetrated her inch by goddamned thick inch.
“Omigod, omigod,” Kat said as her body adjusted to the invasion. She gripped his neck tighter as she tried to take more of him.
“Take it easy, Kat. I don’t wanna fucking hurt you,” he gritted out.
She nailed him with a stare. “Don’t snap at me when you’re fucking me.” Which didn’t sound nearly as assertive with her voice being so breathy. But whatever.
Then he was seated all the way inside her. It was a fullness unlike anything she had ever felt. Intense and overwhelming and delicious.
“Leave it to you to get bent out of shape because I’m trying to watch out for you,” he rasped.
“Bent out of shape?” She glanced down at herself, at how he had her pretty much bent in half between the wall and his big body. “Really?”
Humor crinkled the corners of Beckett’s eyes, even the scarred one. “No more talking.”
Kat inhaled to argue—
“We’re clearly better at fucking than talking.” He arched a brow.
“Moderately,” she said. Though, to be honest, it was hard to affect a convincing blasé attitude while impaled on a glorious, nine-inch cock.
Beckett’s eyes narrowed, and the scars around his right eye made the expression even more severe. “Moderately? As in, you think this has only been moderately good?” He withdrew his hips on a long, slow stroke, and snapped back in again.
Kat gasped at the impact, at the slick friction, at the maddening fullness that made her want to squirm and scream. It was so much better than moderately good. It was fucking phenomenal. But no way she needed to tell him that, especially not when the look in his eye told her she’d thrown a red flag in front of a bull. A stubborn-headed bull. “Yeah,” she managed.
“When you’re screaming my name, we’ll see about moderately,” he said, his voice a raw scrape.
“I thought you said no talking,” she said, the words turning to a moan on another slow withdraw and hard, fast penetration. The moan made her wonder if Jeremy was in his room, and then Beckett shifted his hips again and Kat decided this felt so good she didn’t even care.
