I am literally STARVING for him.
For a beat, we just lie there, chests rising and falling, faces inches apart.
“You need to tell me if anything doesn’t feel right, okay?” he asks.
God, I love this man.
“I will,” I whisper, brushing my mouth over his.
He nods once. Serious. Steady.
“And tell me if I hit it,” he says.
It. The nerves behind my clit. We actually talk about these things in full, glorious, grown-up detail, and I love it.
I grin. “Let’s do this.”
My hands find the button of his jeans, unfastening him quickly. He lifts his hips to help, and in under two seconds, the hottest man I’ve ever known is naked and over me.
Radiating heat.
Breathing hard.
Absolutely gorgeous.
When I move to slide off my skirt, Beckett stops me.
“I like you like this,” he murmurs, his hand sliding under the fabric, over the curve of my thigh, to the warm center of me.
His fingers still. His eyes widen.
“Are you commando?” he asks, already knowing.
I am. And it’s not the first time.
Something I’ve been doing… randomly. Just because…
He groans, low and guttural. “You know it kills me, right? Every time I see you now, I wonder—is she or isn’t she?”
I grin. “Keeps things interesting.”
“You’re evil.”
“I like keeping you guessing,” I say, lifting a brow, “It’s my secret weapon.”
He shakes his head, eyes dark and reverent and ruined. “As if you need any more…” Beckett’s eyes burn into me.
Then he shifts, lifting himself just slightly, braced above me.
His eyes sweep over my face, serious again. “Why do I feel like I’m test-driving a new car?”
We both laugh—nervous, breathless, so ready.
And then the laughter fades.
Because I want him.
All of him.
