Changing Lanes: A Creekwood Novel (Creekwood Series Book 2)

by A. Marie

  Or does he want me to admit I’m falling for him? Because I could. I could say it all and mean it with every cell in my body.

  But I won’t. I can’t. He’s not ready for that. I’m not ready for that.

  “What do you say, dream?”

  Dream?

  That ever-present glimmer of mischief only intensifies with his challenging tone. A challenge he’s tossing at my feet while smiling in my face.

  My heart pounds in my fucking throat like the clock in Hook’s alligator’s, the thrumming vein in my neck counting out the seconds. Tick, tock. Tick, tock.

  What do I say? And why can’t I make myself drop my hands from his confident arms?

  Just as he begins to turn his head, my hand shoots up, grabbing his chin and holding his face in place with his triumphant stare locked on mine.

  Time stops as we wait—him to see what I’ll do next, me to also see what I’ll do next.

  I swallow some of my heart back down to where it belongs, safe in its home, surrounded by strong ribs protecting the susceptible organ from any harm—even from me—and without breaking eye contact with Beckett, I say, “find someone else to explore with tonight,” to the pests.

  When they make no move to leave, I meet the girls’ disbelieving glares with one of my own, shooing them off, “Run along now. This one’s busy.” For tonight anyway.

  A low growl in Beckett’s throat builds, reverberating off my own vocal cords.

  “There she is.” A lazy smile curves his lips. “That possessive streak must run deep in your family.”

  “You don’t even know my family.”

  Beckett flinches but shakes it off before I ask why. They met at Coty and Angela’s briefly but there wasn’t any real bonding. Or talking really. Or general friendliness whatsoever. They just kind of co-existed in the same airspace, like planets in a solar system except without the chance of ever aligning.

  “Whatever,” we hear as they finally turn away but not before muttering, “nice dress by the way,” in a pissy tone I recognize all too well.

  Their jealousy coming for my jealousy is the final straw and I tip my head back, laughing a mocking sort of sound.

  What am I doing?

  “Do you want to stay with me tonight?” Cruz asks Cynthia with too much desperation for his own good.

  I’m about to argue on her behalf, even though I don’t technically know where else she could sleep, but when I look over to see them involved in a game of serious tonsil hockey, I drop the issue. They only break to wave goodbye then take off together for that pillow fort he calls a tent.

  Beckett rumbles his own amused laugh before he presses his lips to the side of my throat eliciting an embarrassing shiver. He pulls back to smile down at me like I’ve just given him a gift.

  “She’s right, you know? That dress-”

  “Is a shirt,” I finish, then clarify, saying, “your shirt.” Tilting my head, I ask innocently, “Still want it back?”

  I didn’t get a good look at the shirt I pulled from Beckett’s dresser last weekend until the next morning when I wore it back to my room. I should’ve known it’d be one of his infamous riding innuendo shirts, this one saying Put The Fun Between Your Legs. Once I saw it though, I found the irony too great to return it. His scent embedded in the dark material was an added incentive to keep the shirt that much longer. Then when he made my harmless thievery common knowledge in front of everybody at his shop, I figured a little payback was in order. I cut the sleeves off, distressed the shit out of it, threw some sexy panties on underneath, and a dress was born. A short dress. He’s tall but so am I. It covers all the important bits but barely.

  He eyes the short hem, admitting, “More now than ever.”

  “The offer still stands.” The one where he has to take it back. I’d prefer him use only his teeth but that’s just me.

  Beckett’s arms coast down mine, along my sides and down to the bottom of my heavily altered dress, fingering the fabric.

  “I can just get it off my floor in the morning.”

  “Your floor, huh?” I ask and he smirks. “Just because I chased off a couple of groupies doesn’t mean I’m rooming with you. Marc-”

  “Can go fuck himself,” he finishes calmly. “But I doubt he’ll need to. Dude has no problems finding chicks to warm his bed for the night. Which won’t be you ‘cause you’ll be in mine. With me. You’re in my clothes.” Fingertips snake beneath the fabric, rubbing the top of my thigh and goose bumps break out across my skin despite it still being in the eighties outside. “You’re alone.” Wandering inward, the pads of his fingers graze the lace edge of my panties, making my breath catch in my throat. “You better believe you’re in my fucking bed tonight.”

  One of Beckett’s nails catches on the front of the damp material covering my pussy.

  Suppressing a needy moan, I counter, “Why are you so concerned with where I’ll be sleeping tonight? Wouldn’t you rather know who I’ll be fucking?”

  He’s now frothing at the mouth, for blood…or something else. The feral look in his eye blazes as his entire body turns rigid and ripping his hand out from under my dress, he uses it to goad my backbone into submission to make my chest rise to his.

  “You got a sharp tongue yourself. Ever use it for anything else?”

  “Like this?” With a sweetness that could cause cavities, I raise my middle finger to my mouth and bite the tip, never backing down from Beckett’s crazed eyes.

  Deathly silent, he tracks the movement before gently pulling my finger away and nibbling the same tip I just had in my mouth, swirling his tongue down to my knuckle, making as much noise as a lion on the hunt—none.

  Damn…

  Hissing like his lioness, I clutch the top of my dress, surreptitiously waving air down the neckline.

  “But the shirt you’ve got on is so popular.”

  I’m grasping at straws at this point and they’re weak. So very weak.

  Without hesitation, Beckett reaches up, gripping his Bigfoot shirt at the top of his back and rips it over his head in one smooth motion.

  I love when guys do that.

  I love when Beckett does it more.

  What? No.

  He tosses the shirt down, raising an eyebrow.

  His hips begin to move with mine until we find a rhythm that doesn’t exactly match the music but fits our mood perfectly—teasing, with a promise of more…soon.

  Our friends long gone, it’s just us as my palms rest on his bare chest, feeling his increased heartbeat calling to me like a lighthouse to the wayward ship. Time to navigate to safer waters.

  Time to come home.

  “God, I missed you.”

  Beckett lowers his mouth to mine, kissing the shit right out of me. I’m breathless, legless, and over-fucking-heated by the time he’s done.

  “Your mouth is the thing that I think about most. I want to shut you up and make you scream all at once. Fuck, that mouth,” he groans deeply, pressing his erection into my stomach. “Do you feel what you do to me?” Swallowing thickly, I nod. “Say you’ll stay with me tonight. Put me out of my misery. I’m dying here, girl.”

  Our bodies continue to stay in sync while our minds are slowly getting on the same page. We’re playing this dangerous game that neither of us is ready for but both desperately want.

  “One night,” he pleads, searching my eyes.

  “You said that last time,” I challenge, feeling major déjà vu.

  “That wasn’t a full night! You snuck out halfway through.”

  We come to a stop, watching each other closely. Waiting. Hoping.

  “So, you want a half-night then? What could you even do with half a night?” I snicker mockingly, knowing damn well what he did with the last half-night I gave him. Beckett doesn’t need time to fuck everything up, he needs access. Access I have to deny him any way I can.

  With a mocking smirk of his own, he says, “Let me show you.”

  CHAPTER 27

  Paige />
  Together, we begin the trek back to the camping portion of the venue. There’s a long walkway between the amphitheater and the campgrounds that makes for an easy commute for concert goers who are also camping on-site.

  Hand in gigantic hand, we stroll past other campers drunkenly making their own way back and it’s not long before the tall canvas peaks of tents come into view.

  Beckett brings me closer, tucking me under his arm. Thankfully, he doesn’t smell bad. That’s something I noticed about him, that even after working his ass off all day in a sweaty garage in excruciating heat, he still smells good—like really good. If anything, the hard work smell on top of his usual musk only amplifies his attractiveness.

  He catches me eyeballing him and smiles knowingly.

  “Half a night,” I remind him, nerves scattering across my body like bats in an attic.

  This will work, right? We can do this, have sex again and still walk away as friends afterward? The last person I tried this with was Dean and he couldn’t. He couldn’t accept that I didn’t want anything other than sex with zero strings attached.

  But this doesn’t feel like it did with Dean. I don’t feel the same way I did with Dean. When I’m with Beckett I don’t want to fuck to forget. I want to be cherished, like I’m worthy. And he makes me feel that way. He’s as tempting as the devil himself but caring enough to rival any saint. He rides, he’s stable with a promising future within his grasp, and he goes down on me like I’m his favorite dessert.

  He also happens to be my roommate. Someone I cannot escape even if that option no longer feels like an option at all.

  I’m a disaster though. Disasters can’t be contained. They’re feared, not trusted. Tracked, not predicted. They aren’t going to suddenly quell their chaos because of some strong-as-oak man with crystal blue eyes and a gifted tongue.

  “Half a night, all night, whatever. Let’s not limit ourselves.”

  Stopping dead in my tracks forces Beckett to come to a halt as well and I turn a glare on him. A glare I should be directing at myself.

  His right hand comes up to cup my face but I flinch right, too.

  The look in his eyes freezes me to the spot and when he tries again, I let him.

  “I’m kidding.”

  I frown.

  “Fine.” He laughs. “Kind of. I’m kind of kidding. But I need-” His fingers tighten on my jaw. “I want you. If I only get you for half a night or two hours or twenty minutes, I swear someone’ll have to pry my fingers off you one by fucking one before that time is up. Give me the chance to show you why, okay?”

  My eyes search his.

  Why?

  I already know my reasons why. But despite my best efforts I really want to know his, too.

  “Ok-” His lips crash against mine, silencing my verbal answer but igniting my body’s response.

  One hand in my hair—grappling, claiming—Beckett lifts me off my feet then walks us the rest of the way with only one hand on my ass to hold me up. It helps that I’m glued to him like a spider monkey and soon we’re almost to the crew’s tents. I try to pull back so he can see better but Beckett’s not having it. Instead, he sculpts his hand to the back of my head, keeping me in place while maintaining a punishing pace of lip service. Without so much as breaking for breath, we make it back to his tent all in one piece.

  The man is a multitasker, I’ll give him that.

  “What the fuck is all this?”

  My eyes fly open to find him scowling inside and following his gaze, I cringe. Shit.

  “It looks like a unicorn puked all over the place.”

  “We needed somewhere to get ready.”

  To keep Angela away from Coty, we avoided their tent altogether. Beckett was occupying Marc’s, so his was the only logical place for us to get dressed. I don’t think any of us could’ve predicted how messy the glitter would be though. It could pass for a mythical crime scene in here. Unicorns, fairies, and sprites, oh my.

  “Were you naked?” he asks as I’m dropped onto the bed with Beckett following, positioning his body overtop of mine.

  “Yes. In fact, we all stood naked in a circle throwing handfuls of glitter at each other just hoping some of it would stick. The more crevices the better.” I’m actually not that far off. Aside from the naked crevices part. Ew.

  We stare at one another for a beat until my lips quirk making us both laugh out loud.

  “Why didn’t you say so?”

  Beckett lowers his mouth to mine again, placing a tender kiss to the corner of my lips.

  “All this for a shirt?” I tsk.

  I chase his lips with mine when he pulls away to look down at me, all traces of humor gone.

  “It was never about the shirt. It was always about the girl in it.” He guides the shirt over my head slowly, taking his time admiring every inch of my skin as it’s revealed. “And now out of it. Were you like this all week?” he asks, scanning my thighs and stomach.

  There are still some faint hickeys here and there that haven’t healed completely. Luckily, the darker ones were easily hidden under my work uniform while I had to use foundation to cover the lighter ones on my neck.

  “Yes,” I sigh, acting put out. I hated the extra effort toward hair and makeup this week but not the markings covering my body. I didn’t hate those at all.

  He leans down to swipe his lips across a yellowish one by my hip, and says, “I like that. I like that a lot.” The last part comes out jagged, like the glass in my throat.

  A choked sound breaks the silence as he makes his way to my bare chest.

  “Fuck, dream.” There’s that name again. “You were walking around without a bra on? Had I known that I would’ve dragged your ass back here sooner.”

  Just as I open my mouth to ask him about his little pet name, he drags his palm down my neck between my tits all the way to my belly button and another hiss comes out instead. His fingers hover at the top of my panties with the same gleam in his eye I’ve seen a time, or two, before.

  My knees raise on their own accord but he looks back up at me, hunger leaking out of his every pore.

  Oh, goddamn.

  The rip of fabric is all I hear before my panties are tossed to the side like the trash they now are.

  “Beckett!” I scold, just as he drops to his knees at the end of the bed, tugging my ankles to bring me to him.

  “Just like that,” he demands. “Keep my name on the tip of your tongue just like that while I fuck you with the tip of mine.”

  And he does. Beckett lowers himself, fucking me with his tongue until I follow through on my end of the deal and scream his name so loud the band onstage can probably hear it over their adoring crowd.

  Grabbing a condom out of his shorts’ pocket while trying to undress one-handed, he quickly rolls it down his straining cock once it’s freed.

  Catching me studying every detail, he says, “I like you watching me. Everywhere. At work. At home. In the shower. Now. I want your eyes on me always.”

  There he goes again with the eternal talk.

  I drop my stare to the pastel quilt, my fingers plucking at a stray thread.

  “Fuck it. Let’s go for another one.”

  “What?” I ask but Beckett doesn’t answer as he sits beside me, keeping his heavy-lidded gaze locked on mine.

  I break first to watch between my bent knees, mesmerized as he glides two fingers along my sensitive slit. When he presses both fingers inside, I clamp around him, moaning from the delicious intrusion. He rewards me by pumping in and out but in a slow rhythm that I swear will be the death of me. He may have asked me to put him out of his misery but I can promise I’ll be the one dying a slow, torturous death if he continues like this.

  To help him out, I press my hand over his, arching my back clear off the bed and moving with our combined hands in a faster, harder pace. Unable to resist, he matches me pump for pump, his eyes eventually dropping to watch us bring me over the same wall of ecstasy I just climbed only moment
s ago.

  I release his hand, letting my own fall limply beside me.

  “That was hot,” he says before snapping, “eyes on me now.”

  “Give me something to look at then.”

  “God, I love that mouth.”

  He removes his hand from between my thighs then proceeds to crawl up my body licking both fingers like he can’t help himself.

  “I might love your pussy more though.”

  Recovered and ready for more, I pull him to me, making sure every bit of his front is touching every bit of my front as my knees fall open to the sides. I crave his skin. I yearn for his touch. I need him.

  It’s like he said, I’ll never get enough.

  No.

  This wasn’t supposed to happen. None of this.

  But here I am, scrambling to get him closer. To let him in further.

  Leaning on one elbow, he looks down at us, his long body fitted to mine, and grips the inside of my thigh to push my leg open even wider. Lining us up, he plunges inside, fusing us together and continues to watch himself roll his hips then slowly pull his cock out only to plunge back inside all while using my thigh like a handle.

  A wobbly gasp flutters across his cheek and his eyes squeeze shut.

  “Careful. I could blow right now and I still got a point to prove.”

  “What point is that?” I breathe out.

  Slowly, he drags his gaze up to my face and says, “You’ll see.”

  Too many emotions bubbling to the surface, I close my own eyes, trying to keep them in. Keep them from him.

  I don’t need to see though, my body’s willing to blindly go wherever the hell his takes it. My mind, however, is working overtime to keep my heart where I need it. Where I can control it. My ribs have proven just how useless they are and now it’s up to my brain to protect my most valuable defense.

  He slides my left leg over his back giving him better access and his back muscles constrict beneath my fingernails as he lures me out of the self-imposed mental refuge I’m stuck in.

  A growl from his throat, from his very core, stirs me though and I open my eyes again. “Stay here. With me.”

  Something about the way he says it, it’s like he’s confessing. Revealing a truth he’s not used to facing.