“Perhaps I enjoy carrying you.”
She leaned her head onto his shoulder. “I like when you’re a gentleman.”
“I am no gentleman.”
“Beg to differ.”
He gently set her on her feet, holding on to her waist to steady her. “Do you always see the good in people?”
“You paid for an elaborate wedding for my brother, who up until today wasn’t even sure he liked you.”
“But you love him,” he said as he opened the door and they stepped through it.
“That’s what I mean. You do it with no expectation of return. ‘A wedding gift.’” She reached up and cupped his jaw. “You are a good person.”
“My present does not erase my past.”
“No, it doesn’t. But your past doesn’t define your future, either.”
Beckham stared down at her as if he were seeing his future written in her eyes. He branded a kiss against her forehead. She closed her eyes and breathed him in. He slowly walked around her, found the zipper at the base of her spine, and tugged it down. He slid the straps off her shoulders and let them fall. The fabric caught on her hips before pooling in a puddle at her feet.
She could feel him assessing her from behind. Her breathing hitched when he grabbed her ass fully in both hands, then traced her skin up to the thong she was wearing. She heard a tear before the slinky material shredded and fell on top of the dress.
Beckham nudged her feet apart, urging her into a wider stance. She moved to kick her heels off, but Beckham gripped her hips.
“Leave the shoes.”
She raised an eyebrow as she turned to look at him over her shoulder.
“I like them,” he confessed.
He leisurely trailed his hand back down to her ass. Around her cheeks and down the backs of her thighs, mapping all the things he liked that the heels accentuated.
“Bend over.”
With exaggerated slowness, she leaned forward until she had enough balance to bend over and grasp the footboard of the bed. Her ass was in the air and completely on display for him. His hand slipped back up her thighs, and then he was spreading her cheeks wide for him. She groaned as he pressed two fingers in her already soaked pussy. He used his slicked finger and circled the wet digit around her clit. She bucked against his hand, but he held her steady. He drew out her pleasure until her legs trembled and she thought they might buckle.
“Becks,” she pleaded. “Please.”
“What would you like, Little One?”
“Fuck me.”
“Don’t move,” he said.
He withdrew, and she nearly fell over at the absence. She heard each piece of his tux fall to the floor. It was agonizing, not being able to see him slowly undressing. But she could picture it with vivid clarity. The muscled torso. The long, strong legs. The length of his hanging cock as he approached her.
She trembled in anticipation as he returned to her in distressing slowness. His hands traced her body—up her back, over her hips, grasping her ass, down her inner thighs, and then back to her clit. She clenched to keep from bucking back against him at the stroke of her most sensitive bud. The soft husky chuckle as he removed his hand only made her want him more desperately.
The head of his cock angled toward her, sliding through her wetness. She wanted to push backward and beg for him to take her, but she just dug her fingers into the footboard and tried to hold still.
“Is this what you’d like?” he teased.
“Please.”
“You did so good following instructions. Will you come when I tell you?”
“Yes,” she promised.
