I cut her words off, my mouth covering hers as I pull her across my lap with a sound somewhere between a moan and demand. Her legs slide over mine, the flare of her dress settling over us like the bloom of a flower, the smell of her perfume surrounding us.
‘We’re picking up where we left off.’
Her smoky words echo under my lips, her head thrown back as I work my way down her neck, skimming my tongue across her collarbone. But I don’t reply. I can’t open up anymore because I already feel torn apart. Flayed.
Her hands scramble against my belt as I reach to expediate things, tilting her in my lap as she pulls my cock free from the confines of my clothing.
‘You have such a beautiful cock.’
My laughter is a thing of joy, a sound that rings free in the confines of the car. She beams back at me wickedly as I wrap my hand around the back of her neck, pulling her in for another kiss. Frantic and fast. Teeth and tongues. Sighs and compliments about the satin and steel she holds in her hand. My mind goes hazy around the edges as her mouth finds my ear and she whispers, ‘I need to feel you inside me.’
Need.
To.
Feel.
I growl a feral sound as I find the zipper of her dress, pulling on it before wrestling the sleeves across her shoulders, almost restraining her until she pulls one arm free. My heart thumps and my dick pounds as she pushes it to her waist. The sight before me is like a fantasy, this languid eyed creature, all lush curves and her fuck me mouth. She pushes up on her knees, feeding her arms around my neck, her fingers teasing the soft hairs at my nape and as she presses her breasts against my face.Like I need the hint. She moans as I bite over the gossamer fabric, sucking her nipples into hard points, my fingers sliding across her hot centre in a bare caress. Her sigh plays along my face like a caress as I push the scrap of lace to the side. I grasp the base of my cock and she sinks down, taking me to the hilt.
I can’t touch enough. Suck enough. Fuck enough, as I buck up into her body, bowed and open to me. This is wild and unstrained, despite the confines of space, this thing that’s built between us too painful to express. The pleasure too great to prolong as my thumb finds her clit, the clasp of her hot walls too great, pleasure dragging us both under until there’s nothing left.
Her arms still around my neck, her hearts seem to beat in unison. At the hitch in her breath, I cut her words off a second time tonight.
‘Let me take you to bed.’
Chapter 42
OLIVIA
I wake to an empty bed, the same as usual. I roll over and check my phone and notice it’s gone nine. But it is Saturday. Saturday following a big night.
I stretch out, testing the aches. The overworked muscles of my stomach and thighs and the way my wrists seem to still bear the pattern of his fingerprints.
Last night was... like a revelation. I felt his need for me. Saw the raw truth of his vulnerability. We might barely have spoken but we seemed to say all we needed to without words. That doesn’t mean we’re fixed, but maybe that we have a change beyond our fucked-up beginnings.
It’s such a paradox, I reflect as I stare at the ceiling. As individuals we’re so reluctant to reveal our weaknesses, yet when we do, the results yield such intimacy. Like last night, because the experience wasn’t just sex. It was about closeness and understanding. Acceptance. Reassurance. Love.
Love we couldn’t speak of. Or at least I couldn’t.
I know that makes me a fraud because Beckett isn’t the only one hiding. In my defence, last night was not the time to call out in the throes of passion. Telling him that I love him, that I think we can have more than six months is something that needs to be said in a sane space.Sane, not mad with need. It should be discussed and understood as a truth, not misconstrued as the result of some mind-blowing fucking.
I am... reluctant to get out of bed. Another human weakness, and not a physical one. It’s not that I particularly want to spend my weekend in here, but because I’m avoiding the difficult things I have to say.
I love you.
I think you love me.
We need to talk about what we’re going to do.
With a deep breath, I slide my legs out of the bed and opt for a quick shower, wincing a little as I take in the state of my appearance in the mirror. My hair looks like an angry autumn bush, my cheeks pink from his stubble, and my collarbones decorated by the web of his sucking marks.
Need. Desire. Signs of a night well spent.
I take myself off to the shower with a smile on my face.
Slightly restored and wearing the work out leggings I don’t work out in, I take myself downstairs, coming up short at the sight of a monogrammed suitcase in the hall. A leather weekend bag plus Beckett’s laptop bag are placed next to it. My stomach flips but I try not to examine what this might mean.
‘Beckett?’ The rooms I pass bear no sign of him and his running shoes haven’t been abandoned at the top of the basement staircase. I find him in the kitchen, the broad outline of him dark against the bank of windows. Weekend Beckett in well-worn jeans and a pale blue shirt. ‘Hey, what’s going on?’
