“You have the perfect yard for a garden,” he says.
I grunt and step beside him, following his line of sight. The yard’s a decent size, even with the workshop out back. Flat lot, white picket fence. It came with the house—save the commentary. The grass grows like a damn jungle, so the soil’s good. Not that I’d know; I’ve never planted more than a hardware store fern.
Beckett’s frame sags, while his eye holds a faraway gaze. “I’vealways wanted a garden, but I’ve never had the space. California is so fucking expensive, getting a place with a yard was never an option… Oh, shit, I forgot,” he says, and I startle at the sudden change. “I got you something.”
Beckett starts pulling the ingredients for dinner out of the bags.
“You got me something?”
“Yeah, it’s no big deal, really. I just saw it and thought of you,” he says, holding out his hand to reveal a magnet.
“What do a cowboy, a chef, and a Dom have in common? They must whip it and whip it good.”
I groan.
“Get it? It saysDomandwhip.”
“Are you even old enough to know what song that is?”
“Wait, what? It’s a song?”
“Oh God, shoot me now,” I say, looking toward the ceiling.
Beckett barks out a laugh, and I bite back a smile. “I thought it would be perfect to display on your refrigerator. You know, in case people are wondering how old you are.”
“You little shit.” I grab at Beckett’s shirt, but he quickly moves out of reach. Then the chase is on. “Come on, little mouse, you know I can catch you,” I say, stalking his way.
His laughter echoes off the walls, the sound hitting something deep in my chest. For a simple moment, he brings the house alive.
Beckett dodges around the table, dragging chairs into my path like that’s going to stop me. It doesn’t take long before I’ve got him caged at the counter, his back to my chest, my hands braced on either side of him.
I’m playing with fire. I’ve been telling myself not to go there with Beckett. He doesn’t need someone who’s deeply stuck in his ways, with a control complex and a track record. Plus, I don’t thinkme shoving my dick in Beckett’s ass was what Jaxon had in mind when he asked me to keep an eye on him.
But my body doesn’t care about any of that.
My hips selfishly push against Beckett. He lets out a whimper that goes straight to my dick, and every logical reason why this is a bad idea goes up in smoke.
A strangled groan floats from my throat, and my cock thickens against his pert little ass.
I give one last roll of my hips, enough to make us both feel it, then force myself to step away like I’ve just grabbed a live wire.
“Where are your keys?” I ask, voice rougher than I’d like.
He blinks, dazed. “Wha—what?”
“Your keys, Beckett.” I hold out a hand. “I’m going to change your tire so you can get home.”
His eyes narrow. “You motherfucker.”
“I don’t think you understand what you’re playing with,” I say, taking a slow step back toward him. “We’ve been doing this cat-and-mouse thing for a while, but you need to be sure it’s what you want.”
He swallows thickly before straightening his shoulders. “What the fuck? I’m not a kid, I’m a grown-ass adult.”
“I should hope so,” I murmur, letting my gaze drag over him. “Considering the things I could do to you.”
His eyes burn, the challenge and hunger mixing. I lean in, close enough that my breath skims his ear.
“Could you handle it…” I ask softly. “If I decide that every time you fall apart, it’s going to be with me? For me?”
