“Your stress relief tried to murder us.”
“Come on,” I laugh, taking his hand and guiding him toward my bedroom. His palm is warm against mine, his fingers tightening for just a second before I let go.
I turn to the dresser, tug open a drawer. “Do you want anything to sleep in?” I call over my shoulder.
When I glance back, he’s already climbing into bed, the comforter rustling around him as he burrows in with a satisfied sigh.
Naked sleeping it is.
A soft laugh escapes me as I shut the drawer. The towel at my waist slips free, pooling at my feet. I lift the covers and slide in beside him. The sheets are cool against my skin until his warmth finds me.
“Come here,” I say.
“I’m pretty sure I’m dead. It’s okay, at least I had the best orgasm of my life before I was plunged into a frozen hell. My dick may never recover.”
I chuckle into his hair. “I’m sure your cock is fine, little mouse, but if you’re that worried, then I’ll volunteer to test its response time every couple of hours.”
“Yes, please,” he says, voice muffled by the comforter.
Beckett shifts until he’s sprawled across me, his head resting on my chest.
“I had fun tonight,” he murmurs. “Your aunt’s amazing. And the food—God, so good.”
I smile, brushing a hand through his hair. “She likes you.”
He hums, content.
“I’m still deciding how I feel about that,” I add, teasing lightly.
“I’m on to you.”
“Oh yeah? And why’s that?” I ask.
“Honestly, I thought you’d be more—” He pauses, searching for the word. “Controlling.”
I huff a small laugh. “You thought I’d be bossy?”
He tilts his chin up, eyes glinting with a mix of mischief and sincerity. “A little, Mr. I Need to Own Your Orgasms.”
I trace a lazy circle across his shoulder, considering. “Guess I just need the illusion of control.”
Beckett’s smile softens. “That’s still control.”
“Are you disappointed?”
He shifts, straddling my hips, his palms braced on either side of me. There’s a flicker of a smile before he leans down, close enough that I can feel his breath.
“Naw. You know there’s more than one kind of control. There’s the kind where you have to dominate everything around you… and then there’s the kind where you just need to feel like your life isn’t slipping out from under you.”
He pauses, voice softening.
“You strike me as the second kind. And I’m here to help give you that… Control me,” he whispers.
My insides feel splayed open, like Beckett is able to peer into the depths of my soul and understand what I need on a fundamental level.
Growing up, I had no control over what was happening around me. When my mother got sick, all I could do was sit back and watch her die. I felt helpless and alone. My father couldn’t have given two shits. He was never home, leaving me to care for her.
“You don’t know what you’re signing up for,” I warn.
