Chapter 18

Olivia

How could one man be this infuriating and this irresistible at once?

I had nowhere to go in his home, but I had to be away from him, and I couldn’t leave until Penny woke from her nap. The fake engagement thing…I needed time to think. I’d do anything to keep Penny and fulfill my brother’s last wishes, but this felt like a deal with the devil.

The devil in his shirt and suit pants. The devil with his dark eyes and “oh my god, harder” cock.

I walked down the hall to clear space between us. The longer I was in his presence, the weaker I became. God knew, I couldn’t afford weakness with Penny to look after.

If I even get to keep her.

And that brought me full circle to Beckett’s proposition.

I had to mull this over. I had to speak to someone about this.

Except there was no one to talk to, except for Bebe, perhaps, and she’d never get this. She’d also slept with Beckett, which made all of this so much worse. I couldn’t blame either of them for it.

Beckett had been single. Bebe had had no idea I’d been in love with him years ago.

How could I possibly be jealous? I had to be as rational as possible about all of this, otherwise I’d fly off the handle, and that wouldn’t help anyone right now.

I pressed my palm to my forehead and walked on, passing closed and open doors, affording me glimpses of bathrooms and another living room, a dining area, and—a library. I wrinkled my nose and scratched it.

A library in Beckett’s apartment?

That was like finding an elephant in a swimming pool. The guy had always been more about acting than sitting back and reading. He wasn’t like me. Yet, here it was.

I pressed my palm to the door and opened it, stepped inside, and was shrouded in the scent of old paper and stiff spines. I bathed in it. I adored this smell—it had to be the best one in the world, apart from Beckett’s cosmic-dust cologne.

I walked past a walnut desk and a set of moss green sofas to the shelves that lined the opposite wall. Books of every shape and size sat upon it, stacked haphazardly in some cases. Several of my favorite authors were here: Carl Hiaasen, Stephen King, Nora Roberts, Robert Jordan. Most of the books I’d dug into throughout the years sat upon the shelves, some of them dusty.

I ran my fingers down their spines, shaking my head.

“You can’t run away from me, Olivia. You never could.” He spoke behind me.

For once, I didn’t flinch and freak out. “And you’re just the opposite. You’re always running away.” I turned around.

He leaned against the doorjamb of the library, so painfully beautiful in his own way. The tattoos creeping out from underneath his shirt, the dark hair, the matching eyes. He stroked a finger down his jaw, along the stubble there. “I never read these books.”

“Then why do you have them?”

He shrugged.

“There’s everything here,” I said. “Every genre.”

“I know.” Beckett flicked his fingers to dismiss the topic. “It’s not important what I have or why. What’s important is what we do next.”

“We? Since when is there a ‘we?’”

“Since we both have a common goal. You need to protect Penny and chase off those pieces of shit. I need to look good. No one looks better than you, O.”

The sultry finish sent another wave of shivers through me.

“No one.” He crossed the room, and I backed into the shelf. The books wobbled and bumped but didn’t fall. I immediately rebounded, fists clenched to fend off the embarrassment. “This is the perfect plan,” he said. “You’ve got to admit it will solve all our problems.”

“Doubtful,” I replied. “It’s just a cop out. No one will believe we’re engaged, Beckett.”

“They’ll believe it if we sell it to them, and we will sell it to them,” he said. “I haven’t asked for your trust in all the years I’ve known you. I haven’t asked for anything.”

“Except to own me.”

He chuckled. “That’s your opinion.” Beckett halted right in front of me, once again, with no regard for my personal space. He brushed my hair back on both sides of my face and studied me. “I don’t ask for anything. I take what I want. But I am—fuck, fuck.” He swallowed. “I’m asking you for this. Be my fake fiancée so we can save ourselves.”

“I think you mean damn ourselves,” I whispered.

He cupped my cheeks. “I was damned the minute I met you.”

How could he make this romantic? He wasn’t proposing to me, for god’s sake. He was fake proposing to me, and it still made my stomach bounce around like it’d fabricated a trampoline and decided to go for gold.

Beckett’s lips drew closer, and once again, I was stunned by him.

The fabric of what I was hummed when he was close by. I’d have given anything for that not to be the case, but it was. There was something about him, about what he was made of, that was irresistible to me.

It couldn’t be the same way for him. I was just another conquest in his eyes.

So why didn’t I turn away?

Because this was my opportunity to feel something real and satisfying and true before it all fell apart. Maybe I was just a masochist. This would only end in pain, after all.

Beckett’s lips were so close I could feel the heat from them. The right side of his nose touched the left of mine. “Do you know what I mean when I tell you you’re mine?” he asked, his chest rumbling against mine.

“That you’re a jerk?”

“That if there’s some grand fucker up there in the sky, he twisted the strings of our fate together. We’re fated,” he said. “Like that cheesy movie with Leonardo DiCaprio and that other chick.”

“Titanic?” I frowned and shifted, breaking the moment.

“No, no, the other one where she wears the wings on her back and he spots her through a fish tank or some shit.”

“Romeo and Juliet,” I replied, then snorted. “That was a movie adaptation of Shakespeare, Beckett. William Shakespeare.”

“Don’t be a dick about it.” The corners of his lips twitched. “You know what I mean. You’re my Juliet. My star-crossed lover.”

“You remember ‘star-crossed lover’ but not the name of the movie? Or the fact that it’s written by the most famous playwright to have ever—”

“Christ, you’re sexy when you sass me.” He slipped his hand to the back of my neck and up into my hair then drew me in. Beckett’s lips started a fire against mine.

I kissed him back.

Fake fiancé or not, I needed more of him. More of his touch and his smell. Regardless of whatever had happened in the past. If he was going to use me, I’d use him right back. I’d take what I could get, and I’d walk away with a little piece of him.

This had to be the last time. The last time.

More than this and I’d be lost. Perhaps it was already too late.

He kissed a trail down my neck to my collarbone, flicked the silk fabric of my blouse to one side to get to it. He suckled on the skin there. “This is my favorite spot,” he grunted. “You taste good, O. You taste so good.”

I moaned and ran my fingers through his hair and gulped. “It feels good.”

“Tell me more,” he said and unbuttoned my shirt, taking great care this time. One button and then the next. No ripping or tearing, just a slow stripping of the layers between us.

The cups of my white lace bra appeared, and he nipped at them.

“That’s good,” I whispered.

He hit the clip at the front of my bra and my breasts popped free, nipples puckering at the sudden change of temperature. “Fuuuuck,” he groaned and lavished my chest with kisses, staring at my décolletage and moving to either of my nipples, sucking them into his mouth, nipping, tasting, sucking.

“So good,” I repeated and leaned into him.

“Tell me what you want,” Beckett said, around a mouthful of my breast.

I sucked in a breath. What I wanted? He usually just took and gave without asking. This was new. “You,” I said.

He bit down on the underside of my breast. “Be specific.”

“I—I want you to bend me over that desk and fuck me until I scream your name,” I managed.

Something animal. Not romantic. No eye contact.

Beckett grunted then raised himself back to my lips and pressed his erection against me. He moved his hips, slow and seductive, and I lost it.

I launched myself at him, kissing him hard.

Beckett chuckled against my lips but kissed me back. He took control, immediately, grabbed the back of my neck and twisted me around on the spot so I faced that desk. “I’ll give you what you want, baby.” He looped one arm around my waist and tucked me against him, resting that thickness between my ass cheeks, still trapped in their jeans.

He walked me forward three steps, then bent me over, his hand still in place. I turned my face, and he pressed my cheek to the wood.

Beckett was a presence behind me.

The zzziip of his pants being undone curled me up inside. Anticipation tingled down the backs of my legs, and I strained to catch a glimpse of him.

“No,” he said and pressed two fingers to my cheek. “Don’t look. Just feel. Just listen. Just live in this moment, Olivia, because you’ll never forget it. I’m about to change your life.”

His fingers touched the button of my jeans next. He undid them, tore them down, and exposed my matching lace panties.

“Look at that,” he whispered and touched the already soaked triangle of fabric between my thighs. “Look how wet you are for me.” He rubbed his fingers against the lace, and the sensation drove me into another dimension.

Holy fuck.

The lace, his fingers, my swollen pussy. I couldn’t keep it together.

“Sorry about this,” he said and grabbed hold of my underwear. He tore them to one side and ripped them free of my body. “Actually, I’m not sorry at all.”

Cool air hit my pussy lips, and I shuddered, squished my tits against the padded desktop beneath me, and gripped the end of the desk.

“That’s right,” Beckett said, and his hot, thick head pressed against my core. “You’d better hold on.”

“I want it hard,” I squeaked. “And fast. I want you to fill me with your cum, right now.”

The noise Beckett made next dried my mouth completely. It was too sexy. I squeezed my eyes shut and wiggled my ass, trying to force him inside. To make him do it, right now.

His hand came down on the back of my neck. His other slapped my ass, hard.

I cried out.

“Shush,” he said. “If you don’t quiet down, we won’t get to do this properly, O.”

“I can’t help it.”

He spanked me again.

I moaned even louder. I couldn’t control this reaction to him.

“Fine,” he growled, and the pressure disappeared. Rustling, followed by a low chuckle. “Either you quiet down or these are going in your mouth.” He dropped my torn panties, still wet with my own juices, next to my head. My eyes widened, and I clenched tight.

Why is that so hot?

Because it was the least romantic thing ever? Because I could detach myself from feeling.

“Let’s try this one last time,” Beckett said and spanked me so hard it stung right up the side of my ass cheek.

I groaned louder. On purpose.

“All right,” he said. “You asked for it.” He lifted the panties and tapped them against the side of my mouth. “Open up.”

I did as he asked.

He balled up the lace and inserted it between my lips. I opened wide and accepted it, bit down hard on the fabric.

“Good girl.”

I gave a muted moan.

“Hold on.” Beckett drove inside me, no hesitation, burying himself deep.

I cried out, tasted lace, felt the veins, the ridges, every part of his magnificent cock. The combination brought me closer and closer to the edge. “Fuck,” I groaned, into the panties.

Beckett’s fingers dug into the back of my neck. His other hand rested on my hip, and his dick, oh, my god, his dick owned me. He pumped into me, owned me entirely.

The removal of control made me wetter still. The fact that I couldn’t moan, couldn’t speak. It was a surrender to him. The first and last time I’d surrender my body so completely.

The pace increased. The friction was unbearable, and I sailed higher, higher, too high. I clenched so tight, Beckett was the one who cried out. “Jesus, O, relax your cunt. I’m going to come if you don’t.”

And that was it.

I crashed into an orgasm, pulsed around him, so full, so deliciously full of him. My vision whited out, my jaw dropped, and keening sounds crept past the ball of lace in my mouth.

“Coming,” he grunted.

His dick swelled inside me, driving me through the last throes of my climax with one of his own. Hot fluid washed my walls, that distinctness that was so totally him, and my keen turned into a muffled shriek.

At last, it was over.

I lay across the desk, spent.

He bent over me and kissed the side of my cheek. “Tomorrow,” he said, “I’m going to buy you a ring.”