“You sure?” he asks quietly, forehead resting against mine.
I smile. “It’s you. Of course I am.”
He smiles, bright and happy, and the sight of it warms me like sunlight.
He kisses me again, slower this time, like there’s nowhere else to be and no reason to hurry. Like the years between us are folding inward, collapsing until there’s only this—his mouth, his hands, the quiet understanding passing between us. When his fingers find the hem of my shirt, it feels less like a question and more like a continuation, as natural as breathing. I nod anyway, just so he knows.
“Sorry,” he murmurs when the fabric catches on my necklace and we stop to untangle it.
I smile. “It’s okay.”
We fumble for a second, then laugh quietly, foreheads touching before the shirt separates from the chain and he pulls it over my head.
He kisses along my jaw, my neck, pausing like he’s savoring every reaction, every soft sigh I give him. My hands slip beneath his shirt, skin meeting skin, and he lets out a quiet gasp. His restraint cracks. The rest of our clothing disappears between one breath and the next.
Beck spreads my legs and settles himself between them, half kneeling. The hallway light is still on, the door cracked open just enough that a soft spill of yellow light reaches the bed. It casts him in shadow and glow all at once, enough for me to see the way his eyes move over my naked body, how they linger on my breasts, my thighs, the apex of my legs. There’s desire in that gaze, barely held back.
He runs his hands over me, ending with both palms on my breasts, circling before lightly pinching my nipples. My breath comes faster. My hips swivel, searching for an outlet for the fire burning there.
Even though his touch is sure, there’s something a little distracted, unfocused about his expression. I’m just starting to wonder what it means when he asks in a hoarse voice, “Ca—can I taste you?” He flushes red, so dark I notice it even in the dim room.
I prop myself up on my elbows to look at him.
“I’ve wanted to do it,” he admits, his blush deepening. “Had dreams about it for years.” He peeks up at me, then quickly away. “Sometimes, in my mind, you’re wearing your cheerleading outfit…and sometimes it’s your lab coat.”
I raise my eyebrows, amused. “So cheerleaders and STEM girls turn you on?”
My grin slips when Beck meets my gaze and says quietly, “Youturn me on, Gracie.You.”
“Oh,” is all I can manage in response. A pause and then I say, “If you want to…you know, that’s okay with me.” Better than okay, but I hold that part in, not wanting to put too much pressure on it.
He positions himself lower, with his head between my legs. His fingers separate me gently while he kisses up my thigh. Once he’s reached my clit, he pauses and puffs warm breath over it. I’m so sensitive that the breeze is enough to make me cry out, but when his mouth follows with a long leisurely lick up my center I just about lose my mind. I say his name and tilt my hips, greedy for more. Beck is more than happy to oblige. He presses alternating open-mouth kisses, followed by licks and swirls of his tongue, slowly at first, drawn out, but then building with a quiet kind of intensity until I’m bucking under him.
He adds one finger, then two, moving them in and out in perfect rhythm with the sharp flick of his tongue against my clit. I fist the bedsheets beside me as the tension tightens in my core.
“I’m so close,” I say, my voice as much a whine as it is a moan.
He lifts his head, my arousal glistening on his chin. “No,” he says, his voice deep and commanding. “When you come tonight, it’s going to be with your pussy strangling my cock.”
Oh.
The word lands and I go still, not frozen. Listening. Every part of me wide awake.
Beck doesn’t rush to explain himself. He doesn’t soften it. He just holds my gaze, steady and unflinching, like he knows exactly where this is going and isn’t afraid to wait for me to catch up.
Heat curls low in my stomach. Not surprise. Not doubt.Desire.
I lift my chin, meeting him there, and let my body answer.
Yes.
That’s all it takes.
Beck moves immediately, like the decision was already made. He’s on his feet and crossing the room before my breath evens out, returning with a small square of plastic in his hand.
A condom.
I sit up, move to the edge of the bed, and hold out my hand. “Here. Gimme.”
