‘You deserve a lot of things.’ Her words are a puff of indignant air. ‘And none of them very pleasant.’
‘So you’ll torture me.’ My gaze flits over her, her nipples pebbling under the satin, my hand now bunched in her pyjama top as though it could stop her from moving away.
‘It wasn’t—’ Her lashes almost flutter as she slowly comes to realise what this looks like from my side of the bed. Did she expect me to reject her? Fuck, of course she did. I’ve been nothing but a bastard to her since we last fucked.
‘You left me here. Alone.’ There’s a husky quality to her words, something teasing almost.
‘I did.’ Because I’m stupid, apparently.
‘What was I supposed to do?’
‘When I was supposed to be here, touching you. Feasting on you.’
‘Yes.’
‘I left you no option but to touch yourself.’
‘I don’t need your permission.’ An arched brow and a husky defiance. ‘And stop looking at me like that.’
‘Like what? Like I want you? Like I’d sell my soul to be inside you?’ Her eyes track the movement of my fingers as I outline my erection through the thin fabric of my shorts. I lay my forehead against hers. ‘Show me.’ I kiss her, just one tempting slide of my lips as take her hand and slide it back between her legs. ‘Please.’
‘But you’re wrong,’ she whispers, her back arching into our joint touch. ‘You don’t deserve this.’ Her statement ends on a needful sigh as I curl my fingers around hers, pushing them against her pussy.
‘I don’t deserve you,’ I whisper, kissing my way across her jaw as I slide my hand from hers. ‘I don’t deserve a taste of your silken skin.’ I engulf her nipple over the satin, her body bowing with a stuttering sigh. My eyes follow the movement of her hand as it slides under the elastic waistband, and I tighten my lips to a sharp tug, my cock as hard as steel as she sighs her surrender.
As her fingers slide over her clit, I make short work of the buttons of her pyjama top, spreading the sides open like the pages of a book. I can’t take my eyes off her as she lies here in my bed, half undressed and playing with herself. My part in the proceedings a hum of filthy whispers.
That’s it, darling. Fuck your fingers.
See how hard you’re making me? How desperate I am to fuck you?
Until she isn’t playing anymore, arching from the mattress. Her movements are fast and her breathing erratic until she cries out, her eyes wide and unseeing, her body a live wire lashing the mattress.
She is glorious in her undoing.
Before anymore awkwardness sets in, I tell her so, wrapping my arm around her waist as she turns to her side.
‘I never want to hear you mention this ever again.’
‘Is it okay if I think about it? Actually, I’m not asking permission because I don’t think I could stop myself.’
‘Stop it,’ she whispers, but without ferocity this time as I tighten my hold.
‘I should’ve known this would be where Goldilocks chooses to sleep.’ At her questioning glance, I add, ‘And by that, I mean having you here in my bed feels just right.’
‘So you want to sweet talk me now?’ There’s no real bite in her response as she yawns deeply, almost nestling into the pillow under her head. There’s a pause, and I wonder for a moment if she’s already succumbed when she lifts her head. ‘Where’d you go?’
‘I had some work to do, like I said. But I also worked out.’ Worked off some of this energy.
‘Tthat’s not really what I meant.’ Opposing thoughts seem to cross her expression. ‘You did just leave me standing in your hallway, so an explanation would be good. But I’m asking where Beckett went—the Beckett I met in New York. Because when I woke up yesterday, the man I’d been hanging out with? The man who arranged from my grandmother to fly in to see me? He was gone.’
‘I thought you weren’t pleased about that. In fact, I remember there were things thrown.’
‘I wasn’t pleased how you handled it.’ She doesn’t react to my teasing, my attempt to lighten the act that annoyed her so, as she turns to face me. My eyes dip to her chest before she pulls the sides of her pyjama top closed. ‘I was so happy to see her. I speak to her every week, but the last time we were together was over a year ago. You made that possible.’ Her candour is surprising, it’s almost a compliment, but I try not to react. ‘We had a good day together, and then you turned up at the restaurant, and you wereniceto her even though she wasn’t particularly friendly to you, which made me warm to you a little more. I began to think maybe I’d misunderstood you. Maybe misunderstood isn’t the right word, but maybe I was seeing your layers, a little depth because there had to be more to you than just the man who enjoys pushing me around. Then we hung out at the bar, and it was fun. You laughed at my jokes and even cracked a few of your own. It was like you were revealing yourself piece by piece. If I put all the Beckett snapshots together, I’d somehow know you, and the puzzle would be solved.’
‘Maybe it’s that the puzzle isn’t worth solving.’
Her expression clouds, perhaps missing the intent of my words. ‘Are you punishing me?’
