“I think it’s nice,” he said. “Maybe later we can light it.”
“Sure,” I agreed, kissing him again. “But first, I have other things in mind.”
“Such as?”
“Take this off,” I requested, pulling at his belt.
“You first,” he replied. His fingers skimmed the edge of my dress.
“Gladly,” I said. I almost didn’t recognize myself. This man made me feel every sensation so intensely, it was as if there was fire running throughmy veins, sparklers igniting from my fingertips with every touch of his skin on mine. I was more than happy to rid myself of any fabric that tried to get between my flesh and his, so I lifted the dress up and pulled it over my head, dropping it on the floor. I turned and walked over to the massive bed, shrouded in sheer curtains that hung from the high, peaked ceiling. It was adorned with pillows in a variety of colors, which would probably have made typical me feel like the white lace of my bra and matching thong was boring. Plain, like vanilla ice cream. But not on this night. I was electric.
Alive.
I could feel Beckett’s eyes on my ass as I walked away from him, enticing him to follow me. I spun around and kicked off my shoes before climbing up onto the bed. The down of the comforter, coupled with what must have been some mattress engineered by God himself, was the most inviting feeling on my bare limbs, and I collapsed right in the middle of it, sinking into the soft, clean linens. “Come here,” I murmured.
“Hang on,” he said.
“What is it?” I asked. I couldn’t help noticing the subtle adjustment he made to himself as he slid his hand into his pocket.
“I just—you’re so beautiful, Mel—I want to burn this image into my brain. You have no idea what you do to me.”
“So show me.”
He nodded, then stepped out of his shoes and strode toward me.
I got up on my knees and crawled to the edge of the bed, meeting him there. My face crashed into his like waves on the beach, mouths hungry, tongues lapping, fingers spreading over one another like neon stars covering the night sky. I pulled his belt off, he unhooked my bra, I unbuttoned his shirt and pushed it off his brawny shoulders. He took a bite of my bottom lip before kissing my cheek, my ear, my neck, my clavicle, and I rolled my head back as he moved down even further, decorating my breasts with light kisses that grew deeper and more starved the closer he got tomy nipples. Beckett held me in his hands, muttering expletives to himself, massaging me, rolling the hard peaks under his thumbs as his mouth began to nibble, then suck. He removed his hands only to guide me down onto my back. He hovered over me as I lay beneath him.
“Tell me what you want,” he said.
“Mmm,” I smiled, closing my eyes. It was my first time ever really being asked that. The freedom of the moment—the levity from the alcohol, mixed with the ambience of the room and the feeling of his body so close to mine—it was pure bliss.
“I want you out of these clothes, for one thing,” I said, not embarrassed, not caring that my voice sounded foreign, like it was coming from far away.
“Everything?” Beckett asked, and I nodded, drunk on love and high on pheromones.
He obliged. He unbuttoned his pants and pulled down the zipper. Sliding his thumbs under the waistband of his boxers, he pushed everything down and off, revealing his entire length to me, which stood at attention, solid and rigid. The sight of him sent a flurry of shock waves between my thighs. I felt myself warm and dampen. He stood up to kick his legs free of the garments, and pulled his socks off as well. At the foot of the bed, standing there, facing me, I was able to appreciate every line and contour of his sculpted torso. His bulky shoulders strained down to his flexed pec muscles, which sat above the stacked boxes of his abdomen. The V-shape of his hip bones were interrupted by a dark tan line that traversed his body below his waistline. Light brown hair cropped close, similar in color to the walls of the room, trailed down from his navel to his groin, which pointed at the ceiling and bounced up and down as he climbed back onto the bed. “Now what?” he asked, lying beside me.
Without a word, I rolled him onto his back and straddled him; the only cloth remaining between our bodies was the thin strip of lace on my lower half. He reached for it, but I caught his hand in mine and lowered my faceto his chest, placing a kiss there. I held his palm as I worked my way down his body with my mouth. Beckett’s fingers clasped tightly around mine as I kissed his hip bone and my free hand encircled his stiffness. It moved up, lingering to explore the soft, pink head, feeling the throbbing of his pulse there. It slid all the way down, feeling every ridge and vein bulging from the stretched, hard organ. At the base, I cupped him tenderly and relished in the sound of Beckett sucking his breath in through his teeth as I guided him into my mouth and closed myself around him. My tongue flicked back and forth over his head as I began to move my face close to him and away, tasting his manhood, inhaling notes of sage and sandalwood as he threaded his fingers into my hair and moaned a sound so deep and visceral, it almost resembled a growl.
“Mmm, my God,” he encouraged me. I moved slow, then faster, then slow again, loving the feeling of him trying so hard not to thrust his hips into the back of my throat. Occasionally, I lapped at the sweet nectar of rapture leaking from his tip, and sometimes I removed him from my mouth and traced my tongue up and down his length, teasing him. Finally, I plunged him deep between my lips, and began to suck in earnest. “Holy shit, Mel,” he squirmed. “You gotta stop. I’m so close.” I could feel his shaft pulsing, verifying this information. He pulled himself out of my mouth and held still, breathing. “I’m sorry. Not like that.”
“What do you mean?” I asked, wiping my lips with the back of my hand.
“Let me calm down a sec,” he said. “Come here.” Beckett pulled me up to be parallel with him in the bed and kissed my newly swollen lips. “You’re way too good at that.”
“Yeah?” I beamed. No one had ever told me that before. I liked the idea of bringing him pleasure so intense that it took his breath away.
“Uh huh,” he exhaled. “Now, lie back. It’s my turn.”
It wasn’t a request; this was a demand. Before I could respond, he popped up and crawled down my body, pulling my thin panties off and depositing them on the floor. Beckett positioned himself between my legs and began touching me with his hand, first light as a feather, then more firmly, focusing on the sensitive spot between my folds. Eventually, a finger slid inside me and began to work its way in and out while his thumb continued to draw circles at my apex, making my breath catch in my throat. I clawed at the covers, writhing at his hand. Before long, he lowered his face, intent on delivering me the same euphoric intensity that I’d obviously just given him. I, too, did everything in my power not to let myself go.
It wasn’t easy. His skilled fingertips and tongue worked in tandem to drive me to the edge, and finally, I had to retreat. I pushed his head away, catching my breath. “Get a condom,” I begged. “Please. I want to feel you inside me.”
He nodded, moved off the bed and fished through his bag until he found a small box.
“Hurry,” I whispered. Beckett ripped open the wrapper with his teeth and rolled it onto his pulsing cock. He approached me, standing at the edge of the mattress, led by his long, thick manhood. “How do you want it?”
I flushed with excitement at the simple question. Then I crawled to him, pushed him back by the chest, just a step, positioned myself immediately in front of him, and bent forward, reaching between my legs to grab him and push his thickness into my aching entrance.
