“I am going to lick every inch of your body,” he says, voice husky with want and something deeper. “I am so proud of you. I’ve never seen you do anything as hot as it was watching you stand up to your father like that.”
The words hit me so hard I feel it all the way to my toes.
We stumble around his dorm, kissing like we’ve been holding this tension under our skin for weeks—because we have. Our hands get clumsy, sliding over fabric, fumbling buttons, greedy for skin. Shoes, coats, hoodies and everything but shirts and pants are dropped directly on the floor and forgotten.
When Brody lifts his mouth from my neck, I hear myself whisper something I’ve never said out loud before.
“Brody… I want you to fuck me.”
CHAPTER 24
BRODY
“I want you to fuck me.”
Everything stops, like a full-on cartoon worthy, vintage record scratching stop. I stare at Lincoln Beckett biting his lip and looking at me so earnestly, I don’t know how to react. I’m not sure I heard him correctly.
“What did you say?”
“I want you to fuck me…” he says, voice trailing off as if he’s unsure of what he said and might want to take it back. But then he lifts his chin and pulls his shoulders back. “You heard me, Brody. And I mean it.”
“You want me to?—”
“—Fuck me, yes. Do I need to repeat myself again or try another language? I speak some French, but I’m not sure this is in my conversational wheelhouse.”
I let out a chuckle, but it’s a bit humorless considering I’m still struggling to figure out if this is real.
“Brody,” he snaps, raising his arms and getting me out of my head. I blink up at him, trying to clear some cobwebs or something from my mind. “Are you hearing me?”
“Yeah. You want me to fuck you.”
“Yes,” he says, dropping his arms as if the journey was exhausting.
“What I’m confused about is how we got here.”
Beck puts his hands on his hips and stares at me like I’m the biggest idiot he’s ever met.
“Don’t look at me like that. I need to know that you’re in your right mind and know what you’re asking for.”
“We’re here because you looked at me like that in the courtyard.”
“Like what?”
“Like I’m something special or some shit. Not because of my academic or athletic achievements, or because you want something from me. Not because I have something to prove. It’s because you looked at me likethat, then kissed me like you just did, and it was hot and I fucking want to. Are you saying you don’t want to?”
“To fuck you…”
“Yes! Brody, what the fuck?!” Normally his exasperation would amuse or even arouse me, but I’m genuinely blown away.
Beck has begged me for a lot of things. He’s begged me for more, more fingers, more tongue, more intensity. But he’s never come out and fully acknowledged that we were doing anything or building up to anything more than the games we’ve played. In fact, he’s purposefully put us back in that place over andover again. Every time we take a step forward and I think he’s accepting this thing between us, he drags me, kicking and screaming, as he takes two steps back. And I just keep shuffling along with him, because as much as I like to play the big strong dominant, I think we both know who’s in charge here.
I step forward and take his mouth again, deeper and slower than before. He lets me control the pace, slowly guiding us to my bedroom. Once we’re shut inside, Beck starts working to open the front of my pants, but I bring his arms back around me instead.
I just want to kiss him like this for a little while longer. Balancing on the edge of something that feels monumental. Something that will change everything.
What if we do this and he changes his mind? What if he gets scared and runs away for real this time? What if he hates me after?
But at the same time, what if this is Lincoln Beckett truly coming around? What if this is him accepting me? Acceptingus.
