by Alam, Donna
‘One down, many more to go?’
‘Thresholds?’
‘Boundaries, Olivia. I plan on encouraging you to cross all kinds of boundaries tonight.’ My heart beats so loud I can literally hear the whooshing in my ears. Or maybe that’s the sound of my dress as Beckett lowers my feet to the bedroom floor.
There’s a champagne bucket on the table with a telltale golden wrapping protruding from it. Two silver stemmed flutes stand beside it along with a silver dish of delicate offerings. Tiny macarons, swirls of rich, dark chocolate, and raspberries, along with an embossed card offering us the hotel’s congratulations.
‘Do you think they thought we might get the munchies?’ My laughter is a nervous gurgle that’s not quite carefree enough to be classified as a giggle as I place my bouquet on the nightstand. ‘Or maybe we’d need a sugar boost.’ I bite my lip against the rest of that sentence. In between fucking.
‘Something’s missing.’ As Beckett comes up behind me, the heat of his presence almost burns.
‘I can’t think what.’ A balloon display? Banners that read “enjoy your first married people sexy-times”?
‘Condoms.’ He pauses a beat, his arms sliding from my shoulders to my wrist. ‘Do I need to call concierge?’
I shake my head in the tiniest of motions. I’m on the pill. ‘Not on my account, unless—’
‘You’re safe with me.’ He kisses my cheek and steps away.
As safe as I would be sharing a cage with an apex predator. Even though it may go against everything I think of him, in this instance, I believe him. I also believe he’d sell his grandma to get his hands on JBW, but at heart, Beckett remains a gentleman.
Or maybe I’m deluded. No more conversation. No more dancing around this thing that both terrifies and titillates in equal measure as I turn to face him. We stand a couple of feet apart, the dust motes dancing in the rays of the setting sun between us. While he’s always so powerfully handsome, the evening light seems to gild him, turning him into something less reachable. Something almost regal.
I take the first tentative step towards him, my tongue darting out to wet my bottom lip because my whole existence suddenly feels parched. Beckett’s eyes dip to my mouth, then farther still, his lazy perusal of my body igniting every nerve ending under my skin.
‘I see you wore a tie.’ If my hand shakes, it’s because I’m nervous. Plus a bunch of other things. I slide my hand down the strip of blue silk in my approximation of alluring. Is this what he’ll expect? Sexual confidence? Bedroom voices and purrs?
‘You like the tie, do you?’
‘Yes. I might’ve thought about strangling you with it.’
His chest moves with a soft sounding laugh before he replies, ‘That sounds kinky.’
My stomach dips unpleasantly.
‘No. It’s—I’m not. I don’t want you to think that because of the app. Besides, it’s not about hookups. It’s about finding love.’
‘I thought it was about making money.’
‘Well, yes. There is that.’ I keep my eyes on his chest as I speak. ‘I just don’t want you to get the wrong idea.’
‘You have no clue what I think.’
I tip onto my toes to brush my lips across his jawline, concealing my embarrassment. ‘Just don’t expect me to be something I’m not.’
His brows draw together, a question perched on his lips, but instead of asking, he turns his head, and our lips meet in a kiss. Soft, lingering brushes lead to wet slides and tight gasps. I’ve never been kissed this slowly, this tenderly, as he holds my face in his hands, his mouth almost savouring.
‘Don’t stop.’ I won’t let him anyway, not as my hands feed across his chest and shoulders, pushing his jacket off until it slides to the floor. The tenor of our kiss changes in that instant, and his mouth becomes fierce, his hands grasping as he feeds me his tongue. His mouth tastes of fruit from his earlier cocktail, his cheeks bearing the heady scent of his cologne. But under it all is the scent of man. Of male. Of Beckett himself.
And it’s kind of unravelling.
Need builds in my veins, the likes of which I can’t remember ever experiencing. Every cell in my body seems to cry out for more. More touch. More taste. More Beckett as I suck on his tongue as though it’s a substitute for his cock. The thought is jolting—and a truth. I want him in my mouth as much as I’ve wanted anything. His body bucks against mine, and a sound of such deep and masculine need rises from his chest, it’s almost as though he’s aware of my thoughts. His body vibrates with something that feels almost dangerous as he walks me backwards into the room.
‘Turn around,’ his gravelly voice demands, drawing my senses to the surface of my skin, my every molecule anticipating his touch as I turn. ‘We’re going to do this my way. Take our time. Don’t worry, you’ll enjoy it,’ he adds with just an edge of taunt before he slides my hair to the side of my neck, brushing it over my shoulder.
His fingertips slide a tantalising tease against the sensitive nape, and I shiver as he gathers the strands, almost as though he’s about to tie my hair back. Instead, I find my eyes rolling closed, my neck extending to the left as he presses a soft kiss against the curve between shoulder and neck. One kiss becomes two, two becomes a sense of delirium, every press and caress seemingly so intentional. As though he’s been thinking about this. Anticipating. Planning and preparing. Deciding ahead that he’ll tighten his grip at this very moment to pull my head to the side. This isn’t like the car or his office. There’s no frenetic motion or desperation, just time and desire and sheer will.
‘Do you remember what I said about the table?’ His words are purred directly into my ear. I try not to give in to a whole-body shiver as I nod my understanding, but I find I can’t. Not with my hair twisted in his fist. The sense of control is like a whole other level of sensation covering every inch of me.
‘What was that? I didn’t hear you.’
‘Yes.’ My tongue darts out to wet my lips, my breathing ragged. ‘Yes, I remember.’
‘Good, but I think we’ll start in here.’ A kiss. ‘If you have any objections.’ His free hand slides around my body to cup my breast. ‘You should say now because something tells me when I taste you.’ A press of his teeth. The way he tortures my aching nipple. ‘I’m going to want to make your sweet cunt my home.’
The dirty deliciousness of his words ignites a desire that instantly needs acknowledgment, his teasing attentions making it almost impossible to remain passive. But as I try to move, his grip tightens, the frustration and need layering and building until I feel I could crawl out of my own skin.
‘I’d like to see you undress. Would you do that for me?’
I nod, not trusting myself to speak, and as I reach for the concealed zipper, Beckett lowers himself to the edge of the mattress in front of me.
A king of his domain. A picture of manly confidence and ease.
It feels too much to strip while he watches, too personal, like I’m exposing more than just skin. But the zipper eventually stops, and I slide off one shoulder strap and then the other. The gauzy fabric falls and gathers at the curve of my hips. I shimmy a little because it seems less seductive to just shove it down. I notice how his eyes are mostly pupils and glued to the rise of my breasts. I shimmy again as I shake the dress loose, the fabric whispering against the backs of my legs. As I step from the pool of apricot silk, his gaze has focused on the creamy lace between my legs.
I bend to pick up my dress, because that’s what you do when you’ve learned to appreciate the value of pretty things, but also because the weight of his gaze is unnerving. As I lay my dress over the back of the nearby chair, Beckett’s hands clasp my hips, pulling me backward to where he sits. He’s so hard and so warm under me, the metal of his belt a cold contrast against my spine
‘You enjoyed teasing me, didn’t you? Enjoyed me watching you before you folded away your clothes like a good little girl.’
‘It’s been a while since I was a girl,’ I wh
isper, his eyes roaming over my skin once more as though seeking confirmation. Finding it in the curve of my breasts, and in the weight of them as he takes them in his hands. In the evidence of their hard peaks through the cream lace.
He doesn’t speak anymore. He doesn’t need to. His hands touch me in ways that make me feel treasured, then his lips follow with their praise. My bra comes loose without real sentience, his touch rough and tender in equal measure. The pads of his fingers. The drag of his blunt nails. My needy sigh as I turn, and he brings me between his splayed legs, his tongue sweeping out yet barely brushing my nipples.
‘Please,’ I whimper, pressing my body against his mouth when he takes my elbows, pulling them behind me. The position changes the experience in that instant. I feel and I see everything. The dark intent in his eyes as his soft breath blows over me. The pulse pounding in his neck and the echo of it deep between my legs.
My skin feels electrified as his mouth meets my breast, his teeth biting the curve. I cry out on a long, stuttering exhale, my nipples aching and hard, my skin singing out for more of this kind of torturous tease. The kind of rough relief only Beckett can give. Finally, he pulls the tight bud into his mouth, flicking, teasing, and circling his tongue. His fingers slide my panties over my hips as I wrap my arms around his neck, feeling like I need the assistance to stay upright.
‘Your skin is like moonlight,’ he whispers, his voice rasping and raw. ‘And your freckles are a constellation.’ His words are almost pondering as his hand trails across my collarbone, his eyes following. ‘And I’m going to cover them in cum.’
My reaction is visceral, my body jerking, the noise expelled from my chest a sharp vowel sound as I see exactly that in my mind’s eye—Beckett over me as milky ribbons splash my chest.
Immediately, and by some unspoken agreement, we begin to strip him out of his clothes. Tie pulled wide. Cuff links discarded on the floor. His custom-made cotton mistreated as the fabric is yanked from his body. My greedy hands run over his bare stomach and chest, the muscles reacting as I trail my nails over the warm ridges and crests, until my fingers reach the buckle of his belt, but only getting so far. Damn.
Flipping us over, Beckett lays me across the bed, adroitly inserting himself between my legs. His mouth teases and nuzzles, sucking on the inside of my thighs. Unexpectedly, I’m rudely cleaved, his hands sliding my knee higher to expose me as his tongue, arrow sharp, parts my flesh. I cry out at the contact, my hips bucking from the bed as the man over me just whispers, ‘Yes, that’s it.’
The heat of his words and his exhale blow across me, and I shiver, anticipation dialling my senses sky-high. With a swipe of his tongue, I almost levitate from the bed, but he avoids where I need him. Long swipes and shallow circles, dipping inside, his tongue arcing higher before starting again.
My body is a wire strung so tight it’s bound to snap, my hips chasing the cruel devotion of his lips and tongue when he bands my wrists with his hands, pressing them to the mattress, his rough reprimanding tsk vibrating deliciously.
‘I’ve lost my place now. I’ll have to start again.’
‘Oh!’ I hear myself whisper, swapping my thrusting hips for a soft cry as he starts the process all over again, his tongue seductively narrowing, drawing maddeningly close to the place I need him before moving away again. I whimper, on the verge of tears, when he licks my thigh, adding to the torment.
‘Beckett, please.’ My words are a plea for release, a cry for clemency.
‘Please what?’ He doesn’t even stop, doesn’t lift his head.
‘I need you to . . . please!’
‘What is it that’s not working for you?’ It’s not a serious question. It’s a smug one that makes me almost flounce. Can you flounce while lying down?
‘Just, please.’
‘Maybe I will. When I’m ready.’ His hot breath blows over me again. ‘You’re as soft as silk here.’
My body is shaking as a result of his torment. He is a villain. The worst of men. But oh, my God, he should give up finance and do this for a living.
Just this. Just for me. And I’ll pay him however he sees fit.
Because it’s. Just. That. Good.
‘Just . . . please!’
‘You do like that word, don’t you? Please what? Please where? Please . . .?’
‘Just. Suck on me. Lick me there. Touch it.’
And at my frantic demands, he does. He engulfs my clit with his lips. Sucks it. Kisses it. Makes out with my pussy until I’m writhing beneath him, thrashing wildly. He feeds his hands under me, drawing my hips up and my pussy to his face as he inhales me, sucking and swirling, flicking and repeating again and again until there are no more words. Or cries. Or screams. Just the feel of him tipping my being over into ecstasy. Light, heat, and the sensation of where his tongue meets my climax, my body rising to meet them both.
And when I finally come back to myself, he smiles up at me from between my legs with just the tiniest hint of cruelty.
‘Oh, God,’ I whisper, unable to manage much else. But he just licks me slowly, working me with the full flat of his tongue. ‘Beckett, please. It’s too much.’
‘No, darling. We’re only getting started.’
Chapter 22
BECKETT
‘Please. I need you.’
Were words better than this ever spoken? If so, I don’t remember them.
I love the way she cries out as I lick and tease her, trying to close her legs even as she presses her hand to the back of my head to draw me nearer. I knew it would be good. I just didn’t realise the magnitude. And I have so many plans. So many ideas. One night won’t be enough. Who knows, six months may not even do.
I push the thought from my head as I stand and begin to strip. Trousers, shoes, all of it, as she watches with those otherworldly eyes.
‘Don’t,’ I command as she begins to cover herself. To lower her leg. ‘If you get to watch, then I do, too. This,’ I assert, taking my aching cock into my hand. ‘This is what you’ve done to me. The question is, what are you going to do about it?’ I slide my hand up to the fat crown, twisting it just the right amount as a flash of white teeth digs into her kiss-plumped lip.
‘I could think of one or two things,’ she whispers, her eyes dark. In response, my abs tighten as though on command.
‘You’re staring.’ I slide the pre-cum from the tip over my shaft to lessen the drag, teasing myself, tormenting her.
‘It’s hard not to.’ By the small crease of her brow, she’d preferred not to have said so, which just makes my smile wider as something dark and sweet blooms in my chest. ‘I’m so conflicted,’ she mutters, covering her face with her hands. And she actually growls.
‘There’s no shame in wanting.’
‘It’s not that,’ she answers suddenly. ‘Part of me wishes that that part of you wasn’t quite as perfect as the rest. Physically perfect, at least,’ she adds as though annoyed with herself.
‘I’m . . . sorry to disappoint?’ Only, I’m not sorry at all. ‘But I don’t think you’re close enough to judge.’
‘What?’
‘You should come nearer. You’re too far away to find fault.’
‘Really?’ The word is more giggle than anything else. She probably thinks I’m crazy.
‘Yes, an odd-looking freckle or a slight bend to the left?’ For the record, I have no such impediments. And while this is the most erotic invitation I’ve ever tendered, Olivia is a different kind of girl.
Lashes lowered, she moves toward me, her hand reaching out and brushing softly against my thigh, feeding her hands higher until her thumb meets the crest of my hip bone. She makes small circles there as she studies me, so close to where I need her touch.
‘Damn.’ Her eyes lift, their depths lustrous.
‘Did you find a fault?’ The muscles in my thighs are pulled taut, and my balls are aching. She’s so close, her soft breath blowing over me. I just want to grab the hair on the back of her head and—
‘It’s not really any smaller up close.’
‘I feel like I ought to apologise.’ Is sex supposed to be funny? Before I can say another word, she presses her mouth to my crown, her lips like petals brushing against me. I groan, the feel of her lips and the soft brush of her hair causing my abs to tighten and flex. I suck in a breath, my hands falling away at her touch because she’s holding my shaft, tonguing my glans and slit, and my legs are trembling, my head fit to explode at the intensity of the feeling.
‘You’re not the only one who can tease,’ she whispers, looking up at me with a wicked smile. I’m sorely tempted to wrap my hands in her hair and show her exactly what her threats do to me. But instead, I press her shoulder, pushing her flat against the bed.
She’s so fucking perfect. And I am so fucking ready for this.
‘I’m going to fuck you,’ I rasp, sliding my cock through her wetness. ‘Tell me you want this, too.’
‘Yes, please.’
‘Tell me you need this.’
‘I need you.’ Try as I might to harden my heart to her words, I’ve never wanted to be inside someone as much as I do Olivia. Inside her head and her body, I’m picking her apart only to put her back together again. My skin feels like it’s on fire as I wrap my hand behind her knee and slide her leg higher up the bed.
Her soft sigh is an invitation, her languid gaze a provocation, but everything drops away as I exhale slowly. Olivia’s inhalation is deliberate and sharp, drawing out into a moan.
‘Yes.’ My grunt is a counterpoint to her cry as our bodies collide. The heat and pulse of her are unravelling as I fight the urge to thrust, to rut and fuck, need flooding my veins, hot and frantic. It’s almost as if I can’t believe we’re here—finally. Is the feeling in my chest relief? Whatever it is, I’m greedy for it as I kiss her, sharing the taste of her from my tongue. As I withdraw, we both give a taut moan, her thighs pressing my hips as though to hang on to the sensation.
‘Oh, God,’ she whimpers as I begin building an easy rhythm, lost in the tide of her body pulling me in. Wild and frenetic, slow and easy, our pace is punctuated with sucking and greedy kisses. She cries out as I go deep and whimpers when I deliver shallow thrusts, hungry for it all.
