Beck nodded, no tension at all between them, despite their earlier confrontation.
That was until Dylan leaned down and pressed his lips briefly to my forehead. Beck’s chest swelled as a rumble of anger ripped from his throat. “Don’t fucking push me,” he said, and Dylan just winked at me before straightening and leaving the room.
“Fucker,” Beck mumbled as he followed the same path out of the hospital area, taking me up the stairs again. I thought I caught a glimpse of a uniform clad man as we went past, but when I looked again there was no one. Clearly Beck liked his staff to stay out of sight.
I expected Beck to take me to the room we’d used for sex, but he continued on along that same hall until he reached the very last door. He opened it without jostling me at all, and I blinked when we stepped inside.
Unlike the generic spare room—pun intended—this one held personality. Warmth.
There was a massive king sized, or triple king sized more accurately, bed in the center of the room. It had a dark brown wood frame, and thick navy comforter. The wall to the right side of it was painted in a similar navy color, and was a feature of the room. Not just for the color, but because there was half a dozen guitars mounted to the wall on what looked like custom stands. Not in a million years would I have guessed that Beck played an instrument. He just didn’t seem the type, and it immediately struck me that I really didn’t know that much about Beck or any of the guys. So much of our relationship had been animosity and then fighting for our lives. I guess that was the brilliance of hoping for more years with them. It gave me time to learn everything.
Trust had to come first, and then the rest would follow.
As long as we had enough time.
Before I could examine anything else in his room, Beck placed me into the center of his bed. I lifted my butt so he could drag the cover over me. “Why did you bring me in here?” I asked sleepily, burrowing my head into cloud-like pillows. “I thought you never brought chicks to your room.”
He was silent for a beat, and I opened an eye to make sure he was still there. He was. Staring down at me with an unfathomable expression.
“You’re not just a chick,” he told me. “You never were.”
My eyes closed again, even as heat burned in my chest at those words.
For the next twenty-four hours, Beck barely left my side. Bringing me painkillers, and light meals, and waking me up all the freaking time even though the doctor hadn’t told him to do that. He couldn’t seem to help himself. My head improved quickly, and each time I woke it was to more clarity. I’d thought for sure I’d have a ton of nightmares, after almost being kidnapped, but I slept better than ever. Mostly because Beck was in bed with me a lot, and when I woke up I was often wrapped around him.
Early Monday morning, when I opened my eyes to a dark, cool room, a soft strumming sound caressed my senses. It was a low, simple tune, but the beauty and darkness in each haunting note had goosebumps rising across my skin. I just knew this was Beck, and I continued to breathe in and out rhythmically so he wouldn’t know I was awake and stop.
A minute later, he started to sing.
Holy fucking shit.
I’d never heard a voice like his, a low rasp of sorrow and anger and pain. I didn’t know the song, but I felt every word he sang while his fingers strummed smoothly through the notes. Tears burned my eyes as I bit my lip to stop a sob from escaping. When the words stopped, the music continued, and what had seemed simple, turned more complex as the tempo changed. “I know you’re awake, Butterfly,” he said softly, not missing a beat on the guitar.
Wanting to see him play, I lifted myself up, happy that there was barely a twinge in my head now. I was afraid that Beck would stop playing, but he didn’t. Our gazes locked, and I couldn’t say a word as his song wrenched emotions from me I hadn’t even realized I possessed.
He was on a chair in the corner, shirtless, his legs spread in that sexy way of his as he strummed the strings. I didn’t know the sort of guitar he played, but it looked almost delicate against all the masculinity of Beck, but whatever it was, he had it mastered.
“You play and sing beautifully,” I said softly, the darkness holding us in its cocoon.
His gaze stripped me of thought, and I stared like there was nothing else in the world but Beck. His hands stilled, and the guitar was slowly lowered down to rest on the wall next to him. He leaned back in his chair, that amazing, sexy-ass, inherentlyBeckpose. All of his delicious ink was on display and it pulled me from the bed like a magnet. My legs were steady as I crossed to him, clad in nothing but panties and one of his shirts which reached mid-thigh on me.
Standing before him, I held my breath as he reached out for me. His hands ran up my sides under the shirt, until he reached my breasts, cupping them and squeezing ever so slightly. My breath escaped in a hissing sigh as his thumbs caressed my nipples until they were hard aching peaks. I arched closer to him, my center aching as I desperately sought some sort of release.
“Are you feeling okay?” he rumbled, his head already lowering as he captured a taut nipple in his mouth, through the cotton shirt. I groaned, threading my fingers in his hair to hold him there. I never wanted him to stop what he was doing. When he eventually lifted his head the obvious wet spot there sent more swirls of arousal through me. “Riley?”
“Huh?” I blinked down at him, searching my sex-fuzzed brain for what he’d just asked but coming up blank.
“Your head,” he elaborated with a slow, seductive smile—that bastard knew exactly what effect he was having on me. “Is your head still hurting? Because I can…” He trailed off, his brow creasing with a slight frown, and my eyes widened.
“You’re not stopping!” I snapped, a little more desperately than I’d intended. “I mean, ah, apparently orgasms are the best form of natural painkiller. So technically…” I trailed off with a sneaky grin. Silently, I begged him to return to what he’d been doing a second ago, and thankfully he took the hint with a slow, smug smile of his own.
Beck’s hands explored my bare skin, pushing up my borrowed shirt and allowing his mouth unhindered access to my sensitive nipples. My fingers tightened in his hair, my breathing quick as he slipped one hand down the front of my panties and stroked me in time to his tongue on my breast.
It took all of my self-control—allof it—not to scream in ecstasy as he played my body as skillfully as he’d played the guitar. Strong, sure fingers sent my body into a frenzy, and when I couldn’t handle it any longer, I tightened my hold in his hair and pulled his head back from my breast. All so I could slide into his lap, leaving nothing but thin fabric between us as I pressed against him.
Beck hooked his thumbs into the sides of my panties and tore them clean off, leaving me spread bare as I straddled him.
A husky laugh left me. “You’re hell on a girl’s wardrobe, Sebastian.”
