“Lucky girl, if you wanted me to fuck you, all you had to do was ask nicely.”
He stands suddenly, his hands under my ass, lifting me up to wrap my legs around his waist. I’m protesting as he walks us back to the house, arguing that I’m too heavy, put me down, he’s going to hurt himself, but my fighting falls on deaf ears. The only time he acknowledges it is when we stop at the kitchen door, about to go in. He looks me dead in the eyes.
“I’m only going to say this once, Clover Jane, and I want it to stick.”
I blink at him, confused, but finally nod and ask what it is.
“We are about to go through this door. I will be carrying you upstairs, and you won’t say another negative word about your body. You are not too heavy, I’m not going to drop you, and I’m not going to hurt myself. When we pass through those doors, you aren’t allowed to say a single negative thing about your body, especially if my daughter is in earshot. You’re a goddamn goddess, your body is perfect, has been perfect our whole lives, and has carried you every day up to the moment when you crashed back into my life. I’ve dreamt of your curves, your body, for as long as I can remember. You, Clover, are the fucking gold standard in my book, and not a soul will compare to you as much as I wished they could have at times. All of you, including your beautiful body. I’m fucking grateful for it, and you should be too. Understood?”
My vision is blurry from the tears welling in my eyes. I didn’t know he felt so strongly about this, and to hear someone speak so reverently about my body is a bit overwhelming, to be honest. I nod.
“Words, Clover. You’re no longer allowed to talk down about my girl’s body, you hear me?”
I want to ask so many questions. His girl? Gold standard? No one compares?
“Yes, Sir,” I breathe, and he kisses the tear that has escaped down my cheek.
“There’s my good girl,” he whispers.
Just like he said, he carries me all the way upstairs, but we pass my room and go into his. Just like I promised, I don’t say another thing about my body. I just stare at him like he’s the only person I’ve ever loved, because genuinely, I think he actually is.
He closes the door behind us with his foot, walks over to the bed, and lowers me down onto his mattress. It’s a huge bed, and I want to swim in the blankets that smell so strongly of him. I want the scent to permeate my senses because goddamn, he smells so fucking good.
He takes my foot in his hand, rests it on his thigh, and unties my shoe, tossing it onto the floor before repeating the process with my other one.
“Well, are you going to ask?” His voice breaks the trance I’ve gone into while watching the veins in his arms and the way his muscles and tendons move as he takes off my shoes and then his own.
“Ask what?” My voice is hazy, dreamy.
He pulls his shirt over his head in one motion and unbuttons his jeans. My heart starts beating wildly as he crawls on top of me, stopping to kiss my cheek softly, then the other. His dark curls are tickling my face, and the sensations are overwhelming. He kisses my lips gently, so sweetly, before pulling his face back to focus those hazel eyes on mine. His voice is deep and rumbly when he responds, and it’s a different sound than I’ve ever heard from him.
“Are you going to nicely ask me to fuck you, Lucky?”
He tucks one of my curls behind my ear, and his perfect smile beams at me.
Oh. My fucking. God.
BECKETT
There’s a running mental list of things I want to do sexually. Things that I’ve read about or seen, or just random thoughts that pop into my head at night when I’m deep in my pocket pussy, or in the mornings, when I fuck my fist in the shower to get a clear head before I start my day.
That list now has a recurring theme: Clover. I want her in every scenario my brain can generate. Blindfolded. Running a feather across her nipples. Watching her ass turn red from a riding crop. Her spread open because she’s restrained on our bed.
I need to calm down, or I’m going to bust before I even get in her for the first time. I already jerked off twice today, but I don’t think my dick has gotten the memo. I don’t think it has in a while.
I’ve heard Clover’s soft moans at night. The wall behind her headboard is directly to my right, and I don’t think she realizes. I’m going to have to order more toy cleaner with the amount of times I’ve used the pocket pussy listening to her, trying to match whatever rhythm I can catch onto. I’m surprised she hasn’t heard my own release, or if she has, she’s been respectful aboutit. I don’t think I slept the night I heard her moan my name quietly before letting out a low whine. I wanted to kick down her door and slam her down onto my cock, giving her what she wanted.
She bites her lip as I stare down at her, waiting for permission from her. In this game, it seems like I have control, but it’s all Clover. I love it. She squirms under me and I watch the color flood to her cheeks. She’s blushing. Good. Pretend like you’re shy, Lucky girl. I’ve heard how you fuck yourself. It’s not gentle and sweet.
“Please, Beckett?”
“Please, what, Clover Jane?”
“Will you please fuck me?” She closes her eyes after she asks, like she’s afraid of being rejected. For a moment, my heart is crushed because I realize I’m probably one of the reasons behind that trauma. I make a mental note to broach that with her one day, because we need to actually talk it out. I don’t want her thinking I actually meant what I said. I want her to know that I was in love with her, fully, and was just a little bitch about it.
“You want me inside of you?” I ask her, leaving kisses from her lips down the column of her throat.
“Mhm.”
