Beck tries to lift his head to look back at me, but his neck gives out and he collapses forward again, shaking. He’s hard again, jerking himself while I use his ass to get myself off.
I growl, thrusting faster now, pushing his cheeks together and sliding through him with smooth, obscene friction. “Fuck, baby, I’m going to come all over this perfect ass.”
His answering moan is so fucked-out and needy it nearly finishes me on the spot.
I brace one hand on the small of his back, pressing him down, angling him just right. My other hand grips his hip, holding him still as my hips snap forward again and again, grinding between his cheeks, over his hole, smearing his cum everywhere.
“There,” I gasp. “Fuck—Right there.”
Sensation coils in the base of my spine, a tight, thick ball of pressure that expands, pushing out until there’s nothing but spine-tingling pleasure wracking through my body.
“Such a good fucking girl.” I come hard, spilling between his ass cheeks. Hot stripes paint his skin, mixing with his own release. Beck shouts his release, and I groan, riding out the aftershocks of my orgasm, hips rocking through the last pulses.
When the aftershocks fade and I can see straight again, I still and rest my forehead between his shoulder blades for a second, catching my breath.
I feel limp and destroyed and more fucking satisfied than I ever have.
Beck is quiet except for the small rasps of breath. I drag my fingers through the mess coating his ass, both of our cumcombined, and gently rub it into his skin in slow, soothing strokes.
“Good girl,” I murmur, kissing the top of his spine. “You did so fucking good for me.”
His breath catches again, softer this time. Fragile. I can sense the oncoming panic, but I’m determined to be with him through it all, so I don’t let him pull away.
CHAPTER 17
BECK
The cold hits me first, the bite of November air on my previously overheated skin, now pebbled with the chill of cooling wetness splashed over me and rubbed into my skin.
Then the embarrassment hits.
Brody stands behind me, his breathing steady and calm. Too calm for what he just did to me. I’m bent over the back of my car with my pants around my ankles like the world’s dumbest porn cliché. Again.
I try to pull away, my face burning. “I think I might have an extra t-shirt or something in the back seat.
“Be still.”
His voice, low and commanding, slices through me. Impossible to disobey.
I freeze.
He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a wad of napkins from the dining hall. He came prepared to turn me into a sloppy wrecked mess.
“Seriously? You brought napkins?” I mutter, my stomach flipping.
“Mm-hm.” He kneels behind me as if it’s the most casual thing in the world, grabbing my hips roughly when I try to move away from him. “Stay.”
“I said I can?—”
“Beckett.”
It’s one word. Only my name, but said in that tone, I shut up instantly.
He wipes me gently. Too gently, like I’m fragile. Like I’m something that needs tending, like a toddler who needs help wiping its ass.
“This is humiliating.”
“No. This is called taking care of you.” Another swipe. “Hold still.”
