Chapter 13

Beckett

She’d asked for it.

She’d begged for it, and she’d get it.

So what if it would destroy us both?

I suckled on that sweet clit, dipped my tongue into her cunt one last time, probing the delicious, salty sweetness. Fuck, she tasted so clean. So pure. She tasted like a drug.

Olivia’s arms collapsed, and she threw her head back, cried out. “Please!”

I gave her little clit one last kiss, nuzzling the smattering of pubic hair just above it. A soft little nest—I’d always pictured her totally smooth, but I liked this. It was more natural. It was a reminder that Olivia wasn’t who she’d once been.

She wasn’t only into the superficial shit.

I moved up her slender form, leaving behind a trail of kisses. I paused at her bellybutton and nuzzled it with my nose. I continued upward, appreciating each part of her, the scent of peaches and vanilla permeated my consciousness.

Christ, this was everything I’d ever wanted. Finally, I’d claim her. Finally!

I took the underside of her right breast into my mouth and sucked on it, then I worked my way up to her nipple and sucked that, too.

Olivia opened to me like a flower. I was her sun. She flung her arms around my neck and tugged on me. “Please,” she whispered, and it would be the last time.

I placed my dick at her entrance and waited. “Pill?”

“Yes,” she said. “Since college.”

I’d never had sex with a woman without a condom. I’d had shitloads of opportunities, but I wasn’t stupid. I wasn’t prepared to have a kid or catch anything.

“How many men?” I asked.

Her eyes widened.

The shock made my dick pulse against her opening. My pre-cum mingled with her juices, but I didn’t press inside.

“W-what?”

“How many have fucked you?”

“Beckett! This isn’t the moment to ask me that.”

I took hold of her chin, gently, forcing her to meet my gaze. “Tell me,” I growled.

“One,” she said. “Just the one. The ex-boyfriend you hated.”

That fucker. I couldn’t even remember his name, but I’d hated the bastard the minute he touched her hand. “Condom?”

“Of course.” She wriggled and the desire in her faded a little.

I remedied it with a kiss. I licked and nibbled on her bottom lip. “I had to know,” I said. Not that I needed to explain myself. To anyone. Least of all her. “I had to know, O. I had to know if you’d betrayed me.”

“We were never an item,” she hissed against my mouth, but her body responded to mine. She lifted her legs and placed them at my sides.

My dick sliced downward, and I entered her, swiftly. One hard punch into her body. I had to cling to sanity or I’d cream inside her on the spot. Fill her up with all the cum she needed from me.

“Christ.” I drew it out, long and slow. “Baby, you’re so hot inside. You’re soft as silk and so hot. So wet.”

She swallowed hard, then licked my top lip.

I pressed my forehead to hers. “You were always mine. I should’ve been your first.”

She didn’t answer, but her gaze screamed defiance. I’d fuck it right out of her and leave her a jellied, cum-filled mess on the bed. Mine, mine, mine!

I gripped her leg and forced it back, right up beside her head. Her body folded for me, her breasts shook and pressed closer together, and those pink, precious nipples puckered up all over again. Her jaw dropped.

“You want it deep,” I said.

“Yes.”

“Beg for it, baby. Show me you’re mine.”

“Please,” she whispered, her full bottom lip trembling. The defiance wasn’t gone, but I controlled her climax. I was her master right now, and if I decided to pull out, she’d lose it all. “Please, Beckett.”

“Say you’re mine.”

“No,” she whispered.

I pounded into her pussy, buried my entire length inside her, the angle perfect for that sweet, deep penetration she needed.

Her eyes rolled back in her head, and she shuddered, her jaw dropped. She was transported by my cock. I admired her. The hair splayed out on the sheets, the rise and fall of her chest, the crease in her belly as I folded her.

Every part of this woman had been made for me.

I fit inside her perfectly. I braced myself with one hand and used the other to tease her clit.

She gasped and shook again, but her eyes snapped back to the front, and she locked in on me. “Beckett,” she whispered.

“I’ve got you,” I said and pumped into her, rough, again and again. “I came for you.”

The question formed on her expression.

“I lost count of how many times over the past seven years,” I said. Her cunt clenched around my dick and massaged it. “Fuck, if you don’t let go, I’ll come.”

She didn’t let go. Her pussy tightened up even more, and she clawed at my neck, my biceps, scratching lines into my skin, new tattoos. These ones would fade.

I pounded, played with her, brought her back to the edge.

“Coming,” she whispered and rocked in time with my thrust. “Coming so hard. So—” Her words cut off as she choked on the orgasm, jamming into me, her walls closing around me again.

I couldn’t hold it any longer.

I was inside my O.

And I had my opportunity to fill her.

My balls tightened up, and my climax shot down my spine, through my dick. I squirted into her, lashed her walls with my cum, again and again. A never-fucking-ending orgasm inside the woman who’d taunted me for years.

Paradise.

Finally, it ended, but I didn’t pull out. She hadn’t quit clenching, lighter aftershocks of her own climax. She opened her eyes and showed me the ocean in them. Too much emotion to handle.

I lay down beside her and drew her onto my chest, before she had the opportunity to speak. I kissed the top of her head and stroked her back, allowing myself this one moment of weakness and tenderness.

This was my woman.

She can’t be your woman.

She was my woman.

Minutes passed, her breathing slowed, and I lay on her bed, naked, looking up at the ceiling. This one didn’t have the cute plastic stars on it. I stroked her back with the tips of my fingers.

This felt too right. Being with her, with Penny down the hall, all of it felt too comfortable. The insane need to conquer her had started long ago, but now that I’d fulfilled it, it hadn’t left me.

Or perhaps, it wasn’t a need to conquer at all.

“Fuck,” I muttered, then slipped my arm out from underneath Olivia. I positioned her carefully on the pillow. She let out a little fluttering whistle, and I froze, stifled the mirth bubbling in the put of my stomach.

What the fuck kind of snore was that?

I dragged the comforter from the base of the bed and laid it over her naked skin. She made the little whistle-snore again, and I snorted a laugh. Fuck it, why did she have to be this goddamn adorable?

I tugged on my pants and my shirt, but let that hang open. I strode out of the room, barefoot, and clicked the door shut behind me.

I couldn’t sleep now.

I’d just filled my temptress with my cum. Christ, I might never sleep again.

Years had passed since I’d made a promise to my best friend. Michael had cornered me in the hallway outside one of my father’s fantastic dining rooms while a party was in full swing and demanded I swear I’d never touch his sister.

He’d thought I wasn’t good enough for her. He’d meant it in the nicest way possible, and he’d been right.

I was broken. The parts of me that should’ve been capable of emotion were twisted beyond repair—probably had something to do with witnessing my mother breaking a chair over my father’s back. Or the countless other similar events. The lack of love and contact.

They’d taught me that love wasn’t a real thing. It was chemical or hormonal bullshit, and it faded.

Olivia deserved better. Christ, Penny deserved better than me floating in and out of this apartment.

I walked toward the sofa and sat down in the darkness, staring out over the New York skyline. The city that never slept, lights twinkling as far as the eye could see. Not that it was late, just past seven.

I’d officially fucked Olivia into a coma.

“Fuck,” I repeated and dropped my head into my hands.

I couldn’t force myself to regret this.

Guilt barreled through me regardless.

A promise was a goddamn promise, and I’d broken it, because I was too caught up in my need for her to stay away.

My phone buzzed in my pocket, and I drew it out, frowning at Kayla’s number flashing on the screen. I swiped my thumb across it, then pressed the device to my ear.

“What?”

“Well, glad to hear you’re in a good mood,” Kayla said. “I hear you expressed that perfectly at lunch with Mr. Holmes.”

“Fuck him,” I said, itching for a cigarette. I hadn’t smoked in a couple weeks—I usually did whenever I went out. It was purely social. I was not into the cravings, except for now, apparently. “Fuck him, and fuck Cooper. He came to that meeting with his mind made up.”

“You still burnt a bridge.”

“It was a rickety bridge. I didn’t hire you to judge my business practices, Kayla, only to make me look good. To make the company look good.”

She huffed a sigh. “And I can’t do that if you walk out of meetings with influential investors. Dane Holmes—”

“We’re done talking about him. If that’s the only reason you called, I’m hanging up. Call me back at a more reasonable hour.”

“No, Beck, wait!” Kayla yelped. She cleared her throat, took a second to regain her composure. “There’s more. We need to talk. Now. In person.”

“No.” My thumb drifted to the red end-call icon on the screen.

“Beck, listen, some reporter from a local paper snapped a picture of you outside a woman’s apartment and posted it on the paper’s social media page—Twitter. And there are rumors circulating that you have a girlfriend. Everyone’s freaking out online.”

Jesus H. Christ. How did news travel this fast? Fuck the digital age. This was none of anyone’s business. I remained silent, boiling about this. At least they didn’t know her name. She was safe from the hawks and vultures.

I was hardly an A-list celebrity, but people gave a shit about the billionaire bachelors of Manhattan, unfortunately. And me? They loved news about me. I was unattainable, hated, loved, despised. I was their walking soap opera.

“We need to talk about this,” Kayla said. “For your business, Beck.”

I clicked my fingers, ground my teeth. “Fine,” I said. “Fine. When?” My business had been everything from the minute I founded it with Michael’s financial backing—after my father had disowned me.

“Now, if you can. Not at the Granite Room. Somewhere more low-key.”

“Rusty’s.” The bar was probably the last place any of the people in my circles would go. They’d rather saw off their own arms than drink draft beer and sit on a stool. Pretentious pricks. “Twenty minutes.”

“Good,” Kayla said. “Good. This is good, Beck. Let me just tell you that. This could be very good for you if you play it right.”

I hung up on her to keep from snapping back.

Play it right?

Who was playing?