Sex could complicate things. Make it messy. Maybe not with just anyone, but with him it would. Because I don’t know if I could keep sex and emotions separate, like I normally do.
He’s making me feel things I never thought I’d want to feel. Like a desire to let him in, let him stand by my side as more than a friend. Let him share my burdens and let him comfort and protect me.
Let him give me pleasure along with everything else.
Heat rushes through me at the exact second the bedroom door opens and Beckett quietly walks in, wearing nothing but a pair of low-slung pajama pants. His hair is standing up on end, delightfully messy, and his jaw is covered in scruff.
He looks delicious.
He pauses when he sees me sitting up. Something passes between us, an electric charge that is unseen but definitely felt by us both, if the colour that fills his cheeks is any indication.
“Thanks for letting me stay here last night,” I say, breaking the silence.
Beck nods, his face relaxing into the easy smile I’m used to. “How did you sleep?”
“Great. Seriously, first time I haven’t woken up three times since Grandpa died.”
His smile widens. “That’s good.”
And then I woke up to your morning wood.
I keep that to myself. I’m not sure Beckett’s ready for me to acknowledge what I am now acutely aware of in terms of the physical pull my body feels to his.
Hell, I’m not sure ifIam ready.
After I leave Beckett’s room so he can get ready for work, I go to my own and throw on some leggings and a sweater. My plan today is to head to the community center and meet with some of the people there about the mural I’m painting. I spent the flight back here thinking up ideas and sketching some things to show them.
Back in the kitchen, I pour some coffee, realizing it’s another first. It’s the first morning in years I haven’t felt like a cranky zombie before having my first cup of coffee.
Huh.
Beckett comes in, fully dressed in charcoal slacks and a deep maroon collared shirt with the sleeves rolled up. My mouth waters and I just about choke on my coffee.
He looks good. And there’s no denying that ever since moving in with him, my awareness of his hotness continues to increase.
Rumpled, morning Beckett is delicious and tempting.
Sweaty, post-workout Beckett is ruggedly handsome.
And this Beckett? Professional, put together Beckett? He’s downright sexy as sin.
“Have a good day at work,” I say cheerfully, hoping he can’t hear the unbridled desire in my voice. Thank fuck I’m sitting down so it’s easy to clamp my legs together.
This is not normal, having sexual thoughts and desires about Beckett.
Or is it?
I’ve had more questions than answers for myself this morning and it’s not even 8 am. I take another sip of coffee, mentally telling my inner self to calm the fuck down.
“Thanks, I’ll see you later.” Beckett walks past, pausing and dropping a kiss to my forehead. He freezes, his hand on my shoulder, his lips hovering above my face. “I…don’t know why I just did that,” he says hoarsely, still not moving away.
“It’s fine,” I whisper, my eyes darting between his, framed by his glasses, and glancing at his lips. If I tilted my head just slightly…
“Okay. Bye.” He steps back abruptly, pivots, and walks quickly to the front door without a second glance.
It’s only when the front door closes behind him that I exhale a loud curse.“Holy shit.”
By the time Beckett and I both get home that evening, I’ve managed to put this morning into a tiny corner of my mind labeledShit To Think About When Other Shit Isn’t So Shitty.Also known as something I know I need to make sense of, but I’m a little too scared to do it right now.
