Unfortunately, the closed door does nothing to help settle the need raging through me.
I force myself to get ready for bed, and instead of turning on film, like I normally do, I lie there, unable to think aboutanything except what would’ve happened if I hadn’t shut that door. If Beckett had kept his beautiful mouth closed and had leaned in and kissed me instead.
Would I have stepped into him, closing those last breaths of space between us? Would he have tipped my chin up and run his thumb over my lip before kissing me?
I fight the desire to slip my hand into my sleep shorts, knowing I shouldn’t get off to images of Beckett Kane.
A low sound comes from the other side of the wall, and I still. It was quiet, but something about the deep sound feels… needy. And what if he needs help? I slip from my bed and tiptoe to the wall, placing my ear against it.
There’s a rhythmic sound I can’t quite place, and after listening for another moment, I’m suddenly hit with the fact that it’s sexual. Did Beckett pop down to the bar to pick up one of the puck bunnies loitering there after I slammed the door in his face?
My stomach twists into a knot as I bite the inside of my cheek. I know I should stop, but instead, I move a few paces forward, right where I imagine his bed would be.
I listen for a few seconds, jealousy and need warring within me, before I realize he’s alone. That he must be fucking his own hand.
The jealous part of my brain now fully appeased, the need takes over, and I lean back against the wall, licking my index and middle fingers before sliding them into my shorts.
My fingers slide around my clit before dipping into the wetness between my legs. Listening to Beckett on the other side of the wall, I match his rhythm as I let my mind wander… What would it be like to be there with him?
The hunger in his eyes as he stared down at me, spread wide on his bed. The slow way he would prowl toward me beforedropping to his knees, his hands sliding up my thighs before slipping a finger inside my pussy.
There’s a low groan on the other side of the wall, and in my mind, it’s the sound he makes the first time he tastes my core.
I increase my tempo as I imagine him feasting on me.
“Fuck, Beckett,” I moan lightly, and the sound from his room stops.
Oh, shit. He heard me. Oh, God. Not only does he know I was fucking listening to him like some kind of pervert, but now he knows I was getting off to the sound of him masturbating.
I want to stop, but I can’t. My body demands release.
Then, as if nothing happened, the sound of him stroking himself starts again. Possibly even slightly louder than before.
“Fin.” The sound is low and anguished.
Oh fuck. He… We… We’re doing this.
I slide my fingers across my clit again, and when a moan slips out, I don’t even try to keep it quiet. “Mmmm. Yes,” I whisper. Hoping he hears me. Praying he doesn’t.
“Fin. God. Yes. So good.” His deep voice is a rumble.
I work myself with my fingers, no longer imagining what could be, but instead, living in this moment. Knowing Beckett is on the other side of the wall, his hand wrapped tightly around his cock as he pumps to the image of me.
It’s the most scandalous thing I’ve ever done, yet I can’t stop myself.
The pressure builds, and my head drops against the wall, a dull thud echoing as I quietly chant, “Yes, yes, yes.”
There’s movement, and then a thud on the other side of the wall, right where I am, and I tell myself he’s moved. He changed position, so he could be here, as close to me as possible, as I unravel.
“Fin,” he chokes out, and the sound of his hand sliding over his dick slows, becoming inaudible over the blood pumping in my ears.
I don’t know how long I stay there, leaning against the wall, but when I’m fully back inside my own body, I press my hand against the wall and say, “Goodnight, Beckett.” I can barely hear it, so there’s no way he can, but I needed to say something. To commemorate what just happened—what can never happen again.
“Goodnight, Fin,” I swear I hear as I move back toward my bed.
Chapter 23
Finley
