Beckett wanted to soothe away Samara’s worry for him. All he had to do was kiss her, and the magnetic pull between them would take care of the rest. He’d tow her into the bedroom and neither one of them would think too hard about the threats they were facing down for the rest of the night. With his body dragging against hers, her taste on his tongue, her cries in his ears…the rest of the danger would cease to matter.
But the danger would still be there in the morning.
It would still be there no matter what they did, but he wanted her to choose to let him stay without his steamrolling her. He wanted her to choose him.
Samara shifted a little and laid her head on his shoulder. “You’re staying here tonight.”
He should just let it go, but he wanted her to want him there—not to be offering because she thought he didn’t have anywhere else to go. “If you’re sure. You’re probably safer if I leave.”
“That’s a joke, right? You’re not doing this alone. I’ll have to deal with Lydia eventually, but for the time being I’m on vacation because she commanded it. There’s no reason I can’t go with you to talk to Walter Trissel tomorrow.” She nestled closer. “And you shouldn’t be alone tonight. Before you get your back up about it, that’s not pity talking. Don’t let your pride make you act like an asshole. Stay. We don’t have to have sex, but you’re sleeping in my bed tonight.”
Relief surged, the jolt so strong it nearly sent him to his knees. It’s not over between us. Even after everything we’ve seen in such a short fucking time, it hasn’t ruined the possibility of a future together. “I’d like that.” He reached over and scooped her into his lap. The sensation of having Samara in his arms soaked into him one heartbeat at a time. Her mass of dark hair pressed against the side of his face, soft and smelling of lavender. The subtle strength of her arms where they were wrapped around him, holding him as tightly as he held her.
Home.
Samara felt like home.
Beckett rested his chin on the top of her head. “Movie or bed?”
She tensed, but it barely lasted a single breath. “Bed.”
It felt strange to walk hand in hand to her bedroom. She dug around under her sink and came up with a spare toothbrush. He raised an eyebrow, but didn’t comment. It struck Beckett that this could be his life—brushing his teeth next to Samara every night. Watching her wash off her makeup and strip off her armor as she got ready for bed. Knowing that he’d be able to hold her for hours without having to worry that one of them needed to leave.
Beckett unzipped her dress, his gaze glued to the long slice of bare skin revealed as the black fabric parted. His hands shook with the need to follow the path, to drag his thumbs over the lean muscles lining her back, to find the dimples on either side of the bottom of her spine.
Tonight is supposed to be about comfort. Not sex.
He stepped back before he could do something to damage the fragile balance tonight required. He walked out of the bathroom and into the bedroom before he could come up with a bullshit reason to stay and watch her finish undressing. It didn’t help calm his suddenly racing heart. The bed invited him to imagine her laid out there, naked and beckoning him to join her. The closet was filled with bright dresses that had him remembering what was like to press her against that door and go to his knees before her, or how tempting she’d been when she rode him in his office. Control is overrated.
He should have stayed out of the damn bathroom until he could be sure Samara was covered again, but the sound of the shower running was too much of a temptation to ignore.
She stood with her face tilted up to the spray of water, something resembling peace in her expression. The shower was the only sign of extravagance in the condo. It was a good six feet with varying grayscale tiles and three shower heads—two normal and a sunflower one in the center. Samara had all three going, and with her brown skin slicked with water and the steam twisting through the enclosed space, she looked like some kind of divine creature who’d wandered into this place by mistake. The sight hit him right in the gut, even stronger than before. I want this.
Her. Us. The dinners and the comfort and the sex and the conversations. A future together.
I want it all.
She smoothed back her hair and turned to look at him. “I changed my mind.”
He forced his body still, using every ounce of his control not to take a single step toward her. “This isn’t about sex. Or the shit we’re dealing with both tomorrow and in the future. This is about us. I’m not here because I had nowhere else to go. I’m here because you’re here.”
“I know.” She pressed her hand to the glass. “Shower with me, Beckett.” Her wicked grin had his cock rising to attention. “You look like the best kind of dirty.”
He could no more resist her than he could make the sun rise in the west. Beckett shucked off his pants and stalked to the shower, never taking his gaze from hers. She stepped back as he walked into the shower, and the appreciation he found on her face warmed him even more than the steam, chasing away the last bits of numbness clinging to him like cobwebs.
The water was a temperature just shy of scalding. Beckett rolled his shoulders and ducked his head under the spray. When he opened his eyes again, Samara was right in front of him. She slid her hands over his chest, pausing at his scar. “You’re not alone, Beckett. Not anymore.”
He wasn’t alone because she was there. Because she might…keep being there. Longing nearly took him to his knees. “Samara, I—”
She kissed him as if she knew how close he was to saying something neither of them could take back. It was soft and bittersweet, and it made his chest ache all the way down to his soul. He laced his fingers through her thick hair and tilted her head back, the angle allowing him a slow exploration.
He licked down the long line of her neck and nipped the sensitive spot where it met her shoulder. Not enough. Never enough. He guided her to lean against the cool tile and cupped her breasts. “If I live to be a hundred, I’ll never get enough of you.”
“I’m familiar with the feeling.” She arched into his touch, her eyes half closed.
Let me keep you.
He ducked his head and captured one of her dark nipples in his mouth. Too many things left unsaid between them. Too much uncertainty in their future. Tonight, they could use touch to comfort each other, to convey all the things they weren’t ready to put into words. Beckett ruthlessly smothered the desire to claim her in every way that counted. “Let me take you to bed,” he breathed against her skin. Let me show you all the things we aren’t allowed to say.
She tugged him up and kissed him hard. Samara’s cinnamon taste teased him as much as her body sliding against his. She smiled against his mouth. “Beckett, I’m taking you to bed.”
The words were barely out of Samara’s mouth when Beckett moved. He scooped her into his arms, his hold sure. Her stomach erupted in butterflies, and she didn’t have a chance in hell of keeping it out of her voice when she said, “What are you doing?”
“No time like the present to settle the debate on who’s taking whom to bed.” He grinned. “For tonight, at least.”
He’s talking like he means more than tonight. Hope unfurled cautious wings inside her. Even as she called herself seven different kinds of fool, she wanted him to stay. To carve out a future with her.
To love her.
You are in the middle of a crisis and that is where your focus should be. She swallowed hard. “You’re going to break your leg trying to get out of this shower, and then we’ll have to spend the night in the ER.”
“You know what your problem is, Samara?” He opened the glass door and snagged two of her fluffy pink towels.
“I bet you’re going to tell me.” She dried off absently, watching him do the same. Beckett was…Beckett was obscenely attractive. He’d always been handsome, but grief had created a rough edge that called to her like a siren song. It was more than the seemingly permanent scruff on his jaw or the fact that his muscles were ridiculously defined. The events of the last week had honed the steel within, leaving him as something stronger. More determined. Infinitely sexier.
“Damn right I am.” He grabbed her around the waist and hauled her over his shoulder. Her world turned upside down, and the spectacular view of Beckett’s muscled ass wasn’t enough to detract from the fact that her ass was in the air.
“Hey!”
“Oh look—I’m taking you to bed.” He dumped her on the bed and snatched her ankle when she raised her foot. “I think that settles that argument.”
She glared, but a grin kept slipping through. “Pretty sure you’re not playing fair.”
“Pretty sure you’re right.” He grabbed her other ankle and flipped her onto her stomach. “I’ll tell you a secret.”
Samara shivered and tried to keep her mock anger going. “Fine, I guess I’ll settle for a secret.”
His low laugh rolled down her spine. “I’m never going to play fair where you’re concerned, Samara. Not if it means I have you like this.” The bed dipped as he leaned onto it. “Especially if I have you like this.”
He adjusted his grip on her ankles and pulled her until her hips hit the end of the bed. “You are so fucking beautiful, it takes my breath away.” Beckett lifted her hips with firm hands. He dragged his mouth along the curve of her ass, pressing open-mouth kisses every inch or two. Worshipping. “You were there for me tonight. Let me be there for you right now. I’ve got you.”
“Beckett.” The comforter muffled her saying his name, but he seemed to hear it despite that.
He shifted down to lick her clit, long and slow. Again and again, as if he was savoring her taste. That, more than anything else, had her fighting not to move. She wanted to arch into him, to ride his mouth to orgasm, but he was in the driver’s seat—for tonight.
He didn’t make her wait long.
Beckett’s mouth disappeared, and she couldn’t hold back a moan of protest. And then his hands were on her hips, urging her up and spreading her legs wider to take him. Through it all, he didn’t say a single word, and she couldn’t see his face to gauge his mood.
“No condom.”
His grip tightened on her hips. “I wouldn’t ask that of you.”
“I’m on birth control and clean.” It was easier to take this jump with him when she couldn’t see his face. “Please, Beckett.”
“I’m clean, too.” Still, he hesitated. “You’re sure.”
“I’m sure.” She wanted this closeness, this truth between them. Rationally, she knew this wouldn’t be some magic thing that sealed them together, but she craved the connection all the same. You are not alone, Beckett. I’m here. Feel me. Let me feel you.
She held her breath as he notched his cock at her entrance and pushed into her, inch by inch. His hands trembled against her skin, just a little, and his breathing hitched as if he was fighting with himself for control. “Samara.” In that tone of voice, her name became something more. Something profound.
His cock filled her, stretching her, and she gripped the comforter, fighting for her own control. To not slam back and take him fully. To savor every second of this. To memorize the feeling of his hands sliding over her hips and up her back as if he sought to imprint his own memories with this moment. As if he cherished her.
Beckett withdrew, and she couldn’t stifle her cry of protest. He didn’t make her wait long. One moment she was facedown on the bed, the next he’d grabbed her right leg and lifted it to prop her calf on his shoulder, turning her onto her side. He slid her further on the bed and knelt between her legs. As he slid his cock into her again, the new position had his thigh rubbing against her clit with every movement.
Better yet, she could watch his face as he fucked her.
No, not fucking. It stopped being fucking when we were in LA.
This was more. So much more. The truth was written across Beckett’s face as he watched her. Possessive, yes. But it was the thread of tenderness that did her in. As if he wanted to take care of her the same way she’d taken care of him tonight.
He leaned down and kissed her. His tongue seduced her slowly even as his moves became rougher. He slammed into her again and again, each stroke hitting her cervix and driving her pleasure higher. All the while he kissed her slowly, softly.
She writhed for him, soaking in the feeling that she was the most important thing in the world to him. Even if only for tonight. Pleasure sparked and crackled through her, almost painful in its intensity. The heat of his hands on her. The long line of his thigh sliding against her clit every time Beckett’s thrust jolted her body. His tongue sliding against hers as if savoring the taste of her.
Her orgasm took her by surprise. She cried out, her nails marking paths in his thighs. He kept going, pursuing his own pleasure even as he watched hers. She kept her eyes open through it all, memorizing every line of his face, the vulnerability of his brown eyes as he lost control, the way his lips curved when he said her name as he came.
No matter what happened in the future, she would always have tonight, and the unnamable thing that lay between them. He slid down next to her, his arm a comforting weight across her stomach and his harsh breaths making the sensitive skin on her neck tingle. She couldn’t quite catch her breath. There was no chalking her reaction up to the amazing orgasm. This went bone deep. “Beckett—”
“Not tonight.” He pressed a quick kiss to her lips. “We’ll have that conversation soon, but not tonight.”
He was right. She knew he was right. But that didn’t change the fluttering in her chest. She didn’t recognize the sensation, couldn’t tell if it was hope or despair. He’d blasted through every boundary she’d thrown in place between them, and now she felt like she was wandering in an endless fog without a signpost in sight.
I love you, Beckett King.
She couldn’t say it now just like she hadn’t been able to say it last time. “You’re right. Not tonight.” She kissed him. The orgasm had only sharpened the edge of her need, her desire to show him exactly what he’d come to mean to her. “You took me to bed. Now it’s my turn.”
“Insatiable.”
“Only for you.” She nudged him onto his back and straddled him. “You called me beautiful, but I think you might be more beautiful than I am.” She leaned down and kissed his scar, tracing its edge with her tongue.
Samara took her time exploring his body the same way he’d done to her in the past. She nipped the carved muscle of his pecs and trailed open-mouthed kisses down his stomach. His abs clenched with every swipe of her tongue, and she grinned against his skin. “Ticklish?”
“Woman, if you think I’m worried about being ticklish in our current position, then you’re out of your damn mind.” He cupped the side of her face with one big hand. “Come here, Samara. Let me make love to you again.”
Make love.
She held his gaze as she turned her head and captured his middle finger between her lips. Samara sucked him deep, flicking his calluses with her tongue. His eyes narrowed. “Get your ass up here.”
She released him. “Beckett—”
“Don’t care. Need you.” He hauled her up his body and took her mouth. She forgot all about arguing as he reached between them and eased two fingers into her. He stroked her as leisurely as he’d kissed her before. She quivered with the need for more, more, more. Beckett gently bit her bottom lip and then soothed the ache with his tongue. “Stay with me, Samara.”
She could almost hear the rest of what he wasn’t saying. Stay with me after this is all over. Stay with me forever. Or maybe it was her own feelings talking. “Yes.”
“Ride my fingers. Take what you need.”
“What I need is you.”
The only warning she got was him removing his hand, and then he flipped them. And then he was inside her again, thrusting slowly as he framed her face with his hands. “Have me, Samara.”
She twined her legs with his and rose to meet each stroke. Their earlier frenzy allowed for something slower, deeper. They shared breath even as their bodies moved in perfect coordination. Sweat slicked their skin, adding to the decadent feeling of friction between them, and she fought the pleasure spiraling through her, wanting to make this last as long as possible.
That moment. That place. Them together.
Perfection.
“Let go,” Becket murmured against her neck. “Give it all to me.” He slid his hands beneath her ass and lifted her against him, controlling the rhythm. It was too much and it might never be enough. Her desire for him—her love for him—rose from a well with no end, engulfing Samara completely.
She came with a soft cry, clinging to him even as he followed her into oblivion.
Samara would have given anything in that moment to make the night stretch onward for an eternity. If the sun never rose, they’d never have to take the next steps that led out of her home, into the dangers awaiting. They never had to deal with reality crashing into the fantasy they’d built together, never had to fight to keep from having everything fall apart around them.
Time marched on, whether she wanted it to or not. The sun would rise and they would rise with it. Tomorrow, for better or worse, everything would change. She was sure of it.
But tonight wasn’t over. Not yet.