The Beckett Boys- The Complete Series Box Set

by Olivia Chase

  I drain the last of my coffee. I’m done with this conversation. I’m tired of being told how much I just piss everyone off with every fucking thing I do. “You guys have wedding planning to do. Don’t let me get in the way.” I grab my keys from the side table and head to the door.

  “Asher—” Brooklyn starts.

  “And I’m going to find my own place to live,” I interrupt. “I think we all need space.” Because I can’t spend many more days like this, getting shit all the time. I close the door behind me and try to push back the irritation welling in me.

  I get in my car and turn it on. Not really anywhere I need to be today—I have tonight off work. Maybe I’ll just drive around, cool off a bit. Figure out what my next step with Whitney should be. Thinking about my hand on her thigh a couple of nights ago makes my dick pulse.

  God, her skin…so incredibly soft and creamy. I want to touch her all over.

  She tried so hard to pretend she didn’t get turned on, but her soft panting, the flare of her pupils, her lips parting…they gave her dead away. Whitney wants me still. Thank fuck. I have a chance.

  I pull out onto the street and see a sign for a local fair this weekend. Back in high school, Whitney used to go to it every year. A couple of times she even dragged me along. It’s cheesy, but maybe just the thing to get to spend some time with her. Hopefully she lucked out to get a Saturday off, too.

  I take a few turns and head toward Whitney’s neighborhood. The houses here aren’t new, but they’re nicely maintained. I get to her house and pull up in front of it. Memories come flaring at me one after another.

  Helping her sneak out her second-story bedroom window to come to a party. Then trying to sneak her back in and getting busted by her mom. Carpooling to school senior year and stopping by the gas station to get massive coffees to chug on our way…and inevitably running late.

  An ache hits me hard in the sternum. I threw away a year of time I could have had with her. And for what? So stupid. I try to fight back the swell of anger at myself and shut off the car, stroll up her door. Rap quickly on it.

  Wallace Cavanaugh opens it and gives me a wide, toothy grin. “Asher! How the hell are you, son?” He reaches over and gives me a one-armed hug, clapping my back. “Heard good things about your game last year. You thinking about going pro?”

  I give him a tight smile in return. “Not sure what my plans are,” I say. “Is Whitney home, by any chance?” Eyeing him closer, I can see that he’s a bit of a mess. Looks hung over or maybe drunk—eyes are red-lined and face is puffy.

  Wallace and my dad used to be good friends from back in high school, despite having different personalities and hanging in wildly different circles. He still hangs at the bar sometimes.

  He opens the door wider and ushers me in. “She is. I think upstairs working on some cleaning. Can I get you a beer?”

  “I’m good, thanks.” I step in and see beer cans littered on the coffee table. The TV is on, tuned in to a local college football game. Someone’s already gotten started with pre-gaming.

  Wallace goes back to the couch and flops down, then grabs his beer can and takes a chug. “Head on up, Asher,” he tells me.

  I go up the steps, noting the fifth one still emits its familiar creak. At the top, I hear a low humming. When I turn the corner, there is Whitney in yoga pants and a tight T-shirt, on her hands and knees halfway in the bathroom, scrubbing at something on the floor. I can see earbuds in her ears, and she’s grinding her delectable ass in the air.

  Oh God, my cock goes instantly on alert and my whole body throbs at the sight. She’s moving slowly, that ass swaying around, and it takes everything in me to not reach over and touch her. I lean back against the wall and cross my arms, enjoying the scene.

  After a couple of minutes, Whitney gets up, brushing off the knees of her yoga pants, and then turns around. When she sees me, she gasps and jumps. “Holy hell!” she says, ripping the earbuds out and pressing her hand to her chest with a startled laugh. “You scared the shit out of me.”

  I give her a smirk. “By all means, don’t let me interrupt your dance party.”

  “Very funny.” She shoves at my chest and rolls her eyes. “What are you doing here?”

  “I came to see if you wanted to go to Rock Bridge Homecoming.”

  Her eyes light up. “Oh, that’s this weekend?” Then her face falls a bit. “I can’t. I have too much shit to do around here.” Her dad cheers from downstairs and lets out a huge burp, and I see something flash on her face. “Go on without me and have fun.”

  Right. “What do you have to do?”

  She looks around the house. “It’s been ages since I’ve had enough time to do a proper cleaning. I can’t run off and play right now.”

  “Fine. I’ll help.” Her laugh of disbelief at my words almost wounds me, and I clutch my chest, bat my lashes at her. “You don’t believe I know how to clean?”

  “I think there’s no way that Asher Beckett is going to spend a Saturday in my house, helping me clean, so we can go to a fair.”

  I step toward her and touch her jaw with a light caress. Her sudden shiver makes me feel hungry. “Then you don’t know me very well, do you?”

  “I’m starting to wonder about that,” she murmurs.

  I reach over and grab the broom. “Point me in the right direction. No arguments, Whitney. We’re going to get this done.”

  She stares at me for a long moment. “Why?”

  “Why what?”

  “Why are you here, doing this? Why…” She bites her lip. “After…”

  “Did you miss me?” I ask bluntly. “When I wasn’t around here over the last year.”

  She sucks in a quick breath. “Um.”

  “Because I fucking missed you.” I rest the broom against the wall. Step toward her again and reach down to cup her hip. I can’t help it. The feel of her in my hand is so right. This is where I belong. Not on a campus away from here. Right beside Whitney. “I spent the last thirteen months in agony over what happened between us.”

  “Sometimes I wondered if I hallucinated it,” she admits, her cheeks turning a delicate pink. “But you avoiding me gave me enough proof that it was true, that it really happened. I thought maybe you felt ashamed of it, or grossed out or something that we almost…” She tries to pull out of my grip, turning her head to the side, but I tighten my fingers on her and cup the back of her neck.

  “Not ashamed,” I say. “Confused. Scared, even. I tried to convince myself that it was a fuckup for us to do that. Told myself I didn’t want you or need you.”

  Her body flush to mine makes my blood throb. My skin come to life cell by cell. Her breasts are soft and plump, the upper curve of her ass tempting me to slide my hand down, cup her against me, let her feel exactly what it is I’m feeling right now.

  Desire. Hard, hot, fast.

  Whitney’s lips part. “I’m… I…”

  “Did. You. Miss. Me,” I ask again.

  “Yes,” she whispers.

  I slant my mouth over hers and feel a rush of heat flood me. When her arms reach up and wrap around my shoulders, I grip her ass and pull her taut to my body. Oh, fuck yes. Her mouth opens beneath mine, so I slide my tongue in and taste her for the first time in over a year.

  God, her breath puffing into my mouth, her tongue dancing with mine, it makes my dick scream to be freed. I clutch her ass, her neck, own her, take her.

  Mine. Whitney is mine.

  Our bodies fuse together, desire molten in my veins now, my cock hard and eager to push inside her. Fuck, I want her so badly, right here, and I almost don’t care that her dad is downstairs. When her fingers bury in my hair, her nails scratching my scalp, I lose it. Push her up against the wall, sucking her gasp of surprise, deepening our kiss.

  “Fuck, Whitney,” I breathe against her lips. “You taste unfuckingbelievably good.”

  “Asher,” she says, her voice a low moan. She writhes against me, her right thigh raised and stroking the outsi
de of my leg, and I rub my cock along her crotch.

  The door downstairs opens and closes, and a woman’s voice calls out, “Whitney? I’m back from the store. Can you help me unload groceries?”

  Whitney tears her mouth away from me, hair mussed, lips swollen, eyes glazed, chest rising and falling. I press my forehead to hers and give a soft chuckle.

  “Fuck. Your mom has good timing,” I say.

  She laughs, her breath warming my face. “She’s the best cock blocker in the universe. I’ve gotta go help her.”

  I follow Whitney downstairs to find Fiona Cavanaugh standing in the kitchen, unloading a blue plastic bag full of fruit. When she turns around, her eyes widen in surprise. “Asher. I…didn’t expect to see you here.”

  A look passes between her and Whitney.

  Fuck. Her mom knows something. That knowing glance they shared tells everything—that she’s aware something went down between me and Whitney, at least. Not sure how much she knows.

  I straighten and go over to her mom, give her a hug. “Hi. I came by to hang out with Whitney today.”

  Her answering hug is a little stiff, but she pulls back and gives me a smile. It doesn’t quite reach her eyes. The back of my neck turns warm, and I fight the urge to rub it. “That’s nice of you,” she says. “How are your brothers?”

  “Busy running the bar,” I say.

  Whitney shifts from foot to foot. “Um, I’ll go get groceries.”

  “I’ll help.” At the trunk of the car, I grab an armload and she gets the rest. We bring them inside.

  “You don’t need to do this,” Whitney mumbles under her breath while we unload. “I don’t know what you’re trying to prove, but—”

  “I want to spend time with you. I want to do something that’s fun. That’s all. I’m not trying to prove anything.” Well, okay, I guess I am, truth be told. “Other than you should give me another chance, because I’m pretty fucking awesome around the house.”

  She shakes her head and ducks it down, but I see a small smile on her face. “You’re ridiculous.”

  No more arguments after that. She lets me help unload groceries. Her mom shuffles upstairs to go to bed, since she has to work the evening shift, so we take the cleaning supplies downstairs to the kitchen and get started.

  Whitney’s dad remains on the couch the whole time. I see Whitney giving occasional peeks over at him, but he has his feet kicked up on the coffee table, cracking open a fresh beer. No one says a word to him, though the tension is thick.

  I don’t remember their relationship being this…strained.

  “Hey, you okay?” I ask her, giving a knowing look at the back of her dad’s head.

  She frowns. Nods. “Um, yeah. Fine.”

  “You don’t look fine.”

  Her frown deepens, and she grabs a cloth and wipes down the counter. Her circles on the surface grow more aggressive. “Well, I am. It’s just been stressful. Dad’s having a hard time at work. He’s unwinding, that’s all.”

  I hold up my hands. “Whoa, I’m not attacking you.” I reach over and take the cloth. “You’re going to wear a hole in the granite if you keep that up.”

  She huffs a sigh. Wipes a lock of hair from her face. “Sorry. It’s just…I’m not sure what to do to fix anything. I feel helpless.”

  “I think you do enough.”

  “It never feels like enough.” Her words are so quiet I almost don’t hear them. Then she lifts her head and gives me a smile that is sugary fake. Takes the cloth back. “So, we should hurry and finish if we’re going to make it to the fair, right?”

  I let it go for now. I understand what it’s like to not want to be pushed to talk. “You got it, kitten.”

  She makes a face. “Ugh, I thought you forgot about that nickname. Haven’t heard that in…” She draws her lower lip between her teeth and shrugs. “Well, in a while.”

  I gave Whitney that nickname in tenth grade when she scratched a guy who grabbed her boob in the hallway. She came to me crying afterward, and I stroked her hair and praised her for standing up for herself. Of course, she didn’t know, but I made sure the dickbag never put his hands on her again…or even look in her direction.

  He never ‘fessed up to anyone where he got the black eye, either.

  Anytime that guy sees me even now, he makes sure to stay away, going as far as crossing the street or leaving restaurants mid-meal. No one fucks with the Becketts or the people we care about.

  I grab a dish cloth and begin drying off the dishes in the drainer. My gaze keeps sliding over to Whitney. Just being in her presence feels right. Perfect. She’s humming a song I don’t know under her breath, wiping down the countertops. Her movements are hypnotic, and it takes me longer than it should to finish the dishes.

  All I want to do is touch her again. Feel her mouth open up for me.

  And more. So much fucking more.

  She catches me staring at her and her lips part, a light flush crawling up her throat and across her cheeks. She’s so beautiful, it almost physically hurts to look at her. I don’t know how I didn’t recognize her true beauty before—God, I want to kick my past self for being so shitty to her and running away.

  I know Whitney’s hesitant to let her walls down around me. I can sense it, her shyness tinged with fear.

  I hurt her, I know, but I can make it up to her. I will make it up to her.

  “What…what are you thinking about?” she asks.

  “Do you really want to know?” I’m sure the answer to her question is in my voice. In my eyes.

  A pulse starts to throb at the base of her throat. She nods, though her eyes look a little uncertain.

  I move toward her, leaning down and drawing in her scent. My body goes hard for her again, my pulse jumping to match hers. “You on a bed, naked underneath me.”

  She licks her lips. Swallows.

  I continue on. “I’m thinking about your pussy soaked and tight around my fingers as I stroke inside you,” I say, wanting to see how much I can turn her on. “About your clit throbbing under my tongue, your wetness coating my mouth. I can’t imagine how fucking good your pussy tastes. I crave it so much.”

  “Oh God,” she says, reaching one hand up to grip my shoulder. Her voice is tight and she arches toward me. “You shouldn’t say things like that. It’s…wicked.” Her words say one thing, but her body is screaming another.

  “I’m just telling the truth. I’m going to taste you, Whitney. I’m going to make you come for me this time. And it’ll be my name crying out on your sexy lips.” I pull back and look her square in the eyes so she knows it’s a promise.

  A vow.

  Her eyes are hooded with desire, and I can see her nipples beaded through her thin bra and shirt. I want to dip my head down and draw the tip into my mouth. But not here. Not right now. I need her aching for me, not hesitant or nervous. I want her begging me to touch her.

  Desperate and hungry for a pleasure only I can give.

  “Now let’s hurry the fuck up so we can go,” I say, changing the subject. “We have a big fucking teddy bear or some other shit to win.”

  She blinks, then laughs. Shakes her head. “You keep me on my toes, Asher Beckett.”

  I press a small kiss to her lips and swat her on the butt. “That’s the point, kitten.”

  Whitney

  I gaze around the crowded fair, the afternoon sunshine spilling across my face and bare shoulders and legs. It’s a perfect late summer day. Park trees frame the wide expanse of fairground, where kids run around with ice cream cones and funnel cakes, and parents snack on pretzels or slushies.

  I can smell hot dogs, mustard, the warmth of sugary treats.

  A smile stretches across my face, and I clap with glee. “Oh my God, it’s perfect. I haven’t been here in so long!” I give Asher a hug. “Thanks for making me come.”

  “You didn’t go last year?” he asks. His brilliant blue-green eyes draw me in.

  My stomach tightens from his innocent question
, and I keep my tone light. “I wasn’t really…I wasn’t in the mood for it.” Last year, I was holed up in my room, lying in bed, missing Asher and angry at him and wondering how everything went to hell. Not knowing what to do to fix anything and feeling so painfully lonely.

  “Whitney.” His voice is low.

  I turn to him and smile, pushing away memories of the past. I can hang around him and not get hurt again. I just need to be careful. And I will be—no way will I experience that pain I went through before. I should have known better. More the fool was I for not remembering who he is. The unattainable Asher Beckett, sexy and beautiful and never mine for more than a moment. A night.

  I’m not going to ask for anything else from him. I do know better now. I also know I can’t deny the effect he still has on me.

  “Let’s not talk about that right now, okay?” I ask. “Let’s just enjoy this afternoon and have fun. I desperately need it.” I didn’t realize how stressed I’ve been until right now, doing something just for me, something silly and frivolous and totally needed.

  I’ve spent so many hours scrimping money and working, cleaning, trying to keep things afloat, that I haven’t taken any me-time in ages.

  A dinging sound from the right makes me spin on my toes, and I squeal. “Look, one of those water shooter games! Let’s play that!” I dig into my pocket to find a couple of dollar bills.

  “Oh, no. Put your money away.” Asher grabs my wrist. “You’re not paying for this—I asked you out.”

  My heart gives a painful thud of excitement. “This sounds suspiciously like a date,” I tease. If I keep a jovial tone about it, I can be okay. Remember to take things as they are and not expect anything else.

  Asher wants to be around me today. And honestly, I missed being with him. Even my non-friendly feelings aside. We always had fun together, no matter what we did.

  He gives me that smile that always makes my panties melt, and I try to keep my face straight and not give away the surge of lust I feel. “This does suspiciously sound like a date, doesn’t it? Maybe we should just go with it.” He takes my hand in his and leads me toward the water guns.