“Beckham,” I finally say when I can form words again, my fingers tracing lazy patterns on his back. “You know it doesn't work like that.”
His chest rumbles with a chuckle against mine. “I know, baby. But let me be fucking delusional for a bit until I can convince you to get off birth control.”
We both laugh, the tension from earlier completely dissolved. He pulls out slowly, and I feel his cum immediately start to leak out of me. The sensation makes me shiver.
Beckham rolls over onto his back, tugging me against his side. His fingers thread through my hair, stroking gently in a way that contradicts how roughly he just fucked me.
“I know this is another mixed fucking signal,” he says, his voice low and serious. “But tonight pushed me over theedge. Seeing that punk with his hands on you...” He tightens his grip in my hair for a moment, then relaxes. “I don't want slow anymore, Hennessy. I want fast and messy and for you to belong to me. No one fucking else.”
I prop myself up on my elbow to look at him.
“I'm tired of being the morally right guy,” he continues. “I've spent a long time trying to do the right thing, keep my distance, not corrupt you. But I don't give a fuck anymore. I want you, all of you, and I don't care who knows it.”
“Even my dad?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.
His jaw tightens. “Your dad's gonna hate my guts either way. Might as well give him a real reason.”
I can't help the smile that spreads across my face. “So what are you saying? You want to go public? No more sneaking around?”
“I'm saying I want you to be mine, officially,” he says, his hand sliding down to cup my ass possessively. “I want to take you out and not give a fuck who sees us together. I want to fucking claim you, Hennessy.”
The raw honesty in his voice makes my chest tight. This is what I've wanted since the beginning—not just the sex, but him. All of him.
“What changed your mind?” I ask, genuinely curious.
“Watching that kid touch you.” His voice drops to a growl. “Seeing how easily someone else could step in and take what's mine. I'm done pretending I don't want to mark every inch of you as my territory.”
His fingers trace the red blooms on my skin from his beard and fingertips. “These are just the beginning.”
“Possessive much?” I tease, but my body is already responding to his words.
His eyes meet mine, dark and intense. “Yes. I want you.All of you. Not just when it's convenient or when we can hide it. I want you in my bed every night. Want to wake up with you every morning.”
My heart stutters in my chest. “Beck. I like this side of you,” I admit, leaning down to nip at his bottom lip. “The one that takes what he wants.”
His hands slide up my bare back, tracing my spine with a possessiveness that makes me shiver. “You have no fucking idea how long I've wanted this,” he says, voice rough with emotion. “How many nights I've lain awake thinking about you.”
“Tell me,” I whisper, pressing my lips to the pulse point in his neck. “Tell me how long you've wanted me.”
Beckham's hands tighten on my hips, his fingers digging into my flesh as he pulls me closer. “Since before I should have,” he admits, his voice dropping to a dangerous growl. “Since the first fucking time I saw you.”
Chapter 22
Beckham
Ismell her before I see her—vanilla and spice. So distinctly Hennessy and it’s seeped into my sheets, my towels, my goddamn skin. My cock stirs instantly, like a fucking Pavlovian response.
“Troublemaker?” I call out, dropping my gym bag by the door. The lights are dimmed, Christmas tree twinkling in the corner. Just one of many additions she's made to my previously spartan apartment. Watching her fucking decorate the tree and my living room was worth every dollar and minute spent at that godforsaken craft store.
She wasn't supposed to be here tonight. She said she was having dinner with her friend Naila, some girls' night bullshit that I pretended not to be jealous of. But her boots are by the door, her jacket thrown over the back of my couch.
I follow the scent of cookies toward the kitchen, curious what the hell she's doing in my apartment when she's supposed to be out. When I turn the corner, I freeze in place.
Hennessy's dancing around my kitchen, her hipsswaying to music I can't hear because of those fucking pods in her ears. She's barefoot, wearing nothing but my old college practice jersey—the black and gold one from my college days that hangs down to mid-thigh on her short self. Her hair's pulled up in a ponytail, tendrils falling loose around her face as she spins.
My kitchen looks like a fucking bakery exploded. There's flour dusting the counter, mixing bowls stacked in the sink, and a tray of what looks like chocolate chip cookies cooling on the rack. Another batch must be in the oven because I can smell them baking.
She hasn't noticed me yet, too caught up in whatever song is playing. Her lips move silently along with the lyrics as she reaches for spatula, using it as a makeshift microphone for a moment before going back to scooping cookies onto another rack.
