“Morning,” he murmurs against my skin. “I was thinking of making omelettes for breakfast. Sound good to you?” His tongue swipes up my slit, punctuating his question.
“You want me to decide how I want my eggs cooked when your face is between my legs?” I gasp.
His answering chuckle sends a gentle vibration across my skin, making me squirm. “Sorry, should I be focusing on something else?”
“Fuck, yes,” I say emphatically, my hands gripping the short hair on his head.
“Hmm. Should I focus here?” He nips at my inner thigh. “Or maybe here?” The next little bite comes to just above my clit.
“Goddamnit, Beckett Donnelly, stop teasing me,” I whine, but the smile stretching across my face belies my frustration.
“I’m sorry, do you have somewhere to be?” He raises himself up just enough so he can rest his arms across my stomach, leaning his head down on top. Without his glasses, in the soft morning light, he’s my favourite version of Beckett. Open, unguarded, intimate, andmine.
I don’t know when the idea of that stopped being so scary, but I suspect last night had something to do with it. I’ve never allowed another person to blindfold me in bed, but with Beckett, I knew I was safe. I knew I could give him all control, and he would take care of me.
Like he always does.
“I’ll find somewhere to be if you don’t get busy,” I snark at him, meeting his grin with one of my own. “Or I’ll just take care of things myself. You’ve got me halfway there, but if you can’t seal the deal, then I guess I’ll do it.” I pretend to try and move away from him, but his mock growl sends me into a fit of giggles instead.
“Like hell you will.”
Those four words are the only warning I get before his mouth is on my pussy and Beckett makes good on his words.
Twice.
It would seem as if Beckett has decided daily orgasms are now a necessity. Trust me, I’m not complaining.
But after he left for work today and I finally wiped the dopey-ass smile off my face, courtesy of the shower we took together this morning, I found myself in his kitchen, scouring the pantry for ingredients.
Once my surprise was in the oven, I rolled out my yoga mat outside in the sunshine and worked through some poses for an hour.
Finishing on my back, staring up at a cloudless sky, I realize something.
I’m happy.
Not just content, but happy. Being here with Beckett feels so good, soright. I’m not ready to define it, because labeling it as anything more than friends with benefits is still scary as fuck. Especially in light of the ongoing tension between Beckett and Sawyer.
Beck might say he’s not worried, or I’m worth the risk, but I’m not sure I agree. He’s such a good man. The best, really. And he deserves somebody who can give him their whole heart like I know he would give his to whoever he’s with.
I just don’t know if I will ever be capable of that.
But I do know I’m not strong enough to walk away from what we have right now. Sure, even if we weren’t hooking up, I know Beck would still hold me when the grief hits, which occurs less frequently as more time goes by, but it still happens. I know that even if there wasn’t a secret marriage or sex between us, he’d still happily look for opportunities for me. Like the mural and that vacant storefront that keeps calling out to me every time I walk past it. Hell, I would most likely have come to Dogwood Cove to stay with him after Grandpa’s death, regardless of the need to keep up the pretense of being married.
He's my best friend. That’s the part I’ve always felt confident in, always trusted, and never doubted.
But for Beckett to be more than that? Formeto be more than that to him?
What if Sawyer’s right, and I can’t give him what he deserves? What if I end up hurting him?
The ding of the oven timer has me rolling up my mat and dragging my feet back into the house. When the smell of fresh banana bread hits me, it lifts my spirits a little to think of Beck’s reaction. But the doubts are still there, nagging at me like an itch I can’t reach to scratch.
After changing out of my yoga clothes, I package up the banana bread and head out. Beck left without lunch today since our shower fun made him late, so I want to surprise him with an office picnic.
My plan was to drop it off and leave, but as soon as I walk into his office a short while later and see the smile light up his handsome face, I know that won’t be happening.
“To what do I owe this surprise?” he says, rounding his desk and pressing a light kiss to my forehead. I know the second he gets a whiff of the banana bread because his whole body freezes. Looking down at me, the smile that was already there grows impossibly larger. “Is that what I think it is?”
I nod. “I’m surprised I remembered how to make it. I haven’t baked it in years.”
