The Last Letter

by Rebecca Yarros

  Kissing me again, he slid his arms around me, and when he pulled me to the edge of the counter, I parted my thighs, bringing us together from lips, to chest, to hips. There was an edge to the kiss now, a rough desperation that could only be the result of the desire we’d both kept tightly leashed the last few months.

  I cursed the layers of fabric between us, wishing I’d chosen a shorter, less fluffy skirt. He broke our kiss, and I gasped, sucking in some much-needed air when he put his mouth to my neck. Holy shit.

  “Beckett,” I whimpered, letting my head roll back and giving him unfettered access to whatever parts of me he wanted. They were all his.

  He supported my arched back with one hand and flicked open the lone button of my shrug with the other, never pausing in his assault on my neck. He rained long, openmouthed kisses down my neck, over my collarbone, and down to my neckline.

  My heels hit the hardwood floor as I kicked them off, locking my ankles around his waist to bring him harder against me.

  That earned me another groan from his lips. Leaning back, I braced my hands on the cool granite, so at odds with the heat of my skin. He ran his hands over the sides of my breasts, to my waist, down over my dress-covered thighs, until he reached the bare skin of my knees.

  I’d never been so glad I refused panty hose in my entire life.

  Strong hands slid beneath my dress, running up the sides of my legs. His skin was rough and calloused, yet his touch gentle but for the press of his fingers when he squeezed at the top of my thighs. I had the insane urge to ask him to tighten his grip, to leave some kind of mark that would tell me tomorrow that this had really happened—it wasn’t all a dream.

  He kissed me, taking my mouth in a rhythm that made my hips arch into him, wishing his hands would move. I’d never been kissed with such expertise or care, never felt my blood rise to a fever pitch like this. It was utter, complete, delicious madness.

  His thumbs stroked down the line of my inner thighs, brushing the edge of my panties, and I felt the sensation everywhere. In my core, my belly, the tips of my breasts. That simple motion caressed my heartbeat and sent it skyrocketing.

  “More,” I begged, squeezing my thighs around him, needing the pressure to ease the ache, even if just a little.

  Like I’d bitten him, he released my thighs and stepped back, my shock loosening my grip enough that he broke the lock on my ankles.

  “Okay, that’s the opposite of more,” I said, my words as choppy as my breath.

  He leaned back against the other counter, his chest rising and falling just as rapidly as mine. At least I wasn’t the only one affected by that kiss. He looked flat-out tortured and a little angry as he ripped his tie loose.

  Damn, that was sexy.

  He closed his eyes as his hands tugged at his hair. He was the very picture of an intensely aroused man who couldn’t get a grip on his control, and maybe I was mean, but I loved knowing I’d put him there.

  “Beckett.”

  “No.” He shook his head as he opened his eyes. The way his gaze raked over me, my dress barely covering my still-spread thighs, was intense enough to send another wave of pure lust through my system. “Not like this.”

  A quick cut of fear slid down my sternum. Had the kiss not been the same gravity-bending event for him that it had been for me?

  “You’d prefer to wait another four months to make out? Because this is us, Beckett. I’m always going to be Ryan’s sister. I’m always going to want you, and if the way you just kissed me is any indication, you want me just as badly.”

  “I always knew it would be like this between us. From the moment I set eyes on you, I knew the minute my hands…” He caught the side of his bottom lip between his teeth for a second, then gripped the counter.

  “Your hands what?” I taunted, sitting up straight and giving my arms a rest.

  “I knew the minute I got my hands on you, it would take a miracle for me to stop long enough to get a rational thought in my head. Touching you… God, Ella, if you had any idea how badly I want you, you would not still be sitting on my counter looking at me like that.”

  “Maybe I do know.” I ran my tongue over my lower lip. “Maybe I feel the same exact way. And rational thoughts are overrated.”

  “Think this through.”

  “Why? Maybe I want to be reckless for once. Maybe I like the way you take every rational thought out of my head. Maybe that’s exactly why I need this—need you.” The ache centered between my thighs had me shifting my hips. Sex had never been something I sought out, or a big fireworks show, but I never remembered it starting with this torturous, clawing need, either.

  “I’m really trying here.”

  Trying my patience.

  The sting of rejection was sharp. I brought my knees together and buttoned my shrug with trembling hands. “I don’t get you. I tell you I want you to kiss me, and you jump across the couch. I shave my legs and put on a dress, and you hug me good night. I throw myself at you, and you kiss me like I’m the only woman in the world, and now you’re over there. Beckett, I can’t make my wants any clearer, and I can’t be the one who always has to chase you. If you want me physically, but don’t want me, then say it. Because I’m done listening to you tell me no like there’s something wrong with me.”

  He had the nerve to look wounded, like his constant arm’s-length approach to our physical nearness was more painful to him than it was to me. Like I wasn’t the one constantly trying to push our relationship out of the friend zone.

  “Do you see me as a sister? Is that it?”

  “Hell no!” He sighed. “And now I’ve sworn at you twice.”

  “I really don’t mind. You could throw in an F-bomb if it meant you were interested in using it as a verb.” I put my hands on the counter and prepared to jump down, find my shoes and my dignity, and take my sexually frustrated butt home.

  “Look at me.” His voice had taken on that gravelly tone that I loved.

  I brought my eyes to his, wishing I could understand what the hell the man was thinking about. What kept him from taking what I knew—or at least really hoped—he wanted. “What are you thinking?” I broke down and asked.

  “I’m counting how many glasses of wine you had. Two at dinner. One after the concert, and it’s been what? Five hours?” His eyes narrowed in thought.

  “I’m not drunk, if that’s what you’re implying! Like I need alcohol as an excuse—”

  “Oh no,” he cut me off, dropping his voice even lower. “I’m not asking for you. I’m asking for me, so that I know when I ask this next question, you’re not too drunk to answer it.”

  My tongue wet my suddenly dry lips. “Okay.”

  “Do you want me, Ella?”

  “I think I’ve been pretty clear that I do.”

  He shook his head. “No. I didn’t say ‘do you want to make out with me?’ Do you want me? Because I’m standing here, trying to keep my hands on the counter so I don’t send them up your dress to the insides of your thighs.”

  My lips parted, too heavy to stay closed.

  “Because I know once they’re stroking over that soft skin, there’s no way I’m going to be able to breathe without taking you, sliding inside you like I’ve fantasized about for entirely too long.” He enunciated that last bit, driving home exactly what he wanted to happen in case I hadn’t gotten the picture.

  That was exactly what I wanted, craved…needed more than the very breath he was talking about.

  “And once that happens, everything changes between us, Ella. So I need you to tell me that you want me, or walk out that door before something happens that you’re not ready for.”

  I couldn’t remember being more ready for anything in my life.

  “I.” I opened the button of my shrug. “Want.” I took it off. “You.” I dropped it to the floor.

  “Ella.” He
pushed off the counter.

  “Here and now,” I added, unfastening the button of the halter behind my neck, just in case the man needed my consent—hell, my plea—on record. The straps fluttered to my sides, the curves of my breasts holding the neckline in place.

  “Thank you, God.” He didn’t bother with the buttons on his shirt, just reached over the back of his head and pulled it off in that incredibly sexy way guys had. But Beckett made it about a hundred times sexier as his torso was revealed.

  All rippling muscles and kissable skin. Pretty sure I could orgasm just looking at him. Not that I’d ever had that happen without a little battery-powered assistance, but if there ever was a moment, this was it.

  “You are so…” I waved my hands in his direction. “All that is just… I don’t have words.”

  “Good,” he said, dropping his shirt to the floor. “Because I’m going to need to use that mouth for other things besides talking.” He closed the distance between us in two strides, took my knees in his hands, and parted my thighs. Then he made good on his promise, sending his hands up my dress until they reached the tops of my thighs, only to grip, then pull us flush.

  I locked my arms around his neck when he kissed me. It was deep, powerful, and primal, his mouth taking mine like he was staking a claim. Unleashed, Beckett kissed with a little less finesse and a lot more urgency. My body responded, tightening my breasts and rushing heat over my skin.

  I gasped against his mouth as his thumb slid beneath the edge of my panties, and my nails bit into his scalp lightly when he parted me and grazed my clit.

  “Beckett,” I pleaded, pushing my hips toward him in reflex.

  “I’ve got you,” he promised. Then he kissed me slowly, his tongue sliding with mine as his thumb worked me over, swirling, stroking, and pressing, turning that warmth in my belly into a knot of tension that he wound tighter and tighter.

  I moved restlessly, my need to feel his skin against mine warring with my equal need to keep his hands exactly where they were. As if he sensed my thoughts, his unoccupied hand skimmed up over my waist to my back, where he unzipped my dress.

  The fabric gave way easily, baring my strapless bra. I arched, pressing my breasts against his chest, and he pressed his thumb against my clit, sending bolts of pleasure through me, sweet and sharp at the same time.

  Stilling his thumb, he did some form of witchcraft behind my back that unsnapped my bra, freeing my breasts as it fell to my lap. He broke our kiss to look down at me, reverently cupping a breast and running his fingers over my hardened nipple.

  “Perfect,” he said before dipping his head to take it into his mouth. Moving his thumb at the same time, I arched my back and cried out.

  It felt so damn good.

  I threw my hands behind me to catch my weight and gave myself over to his mouth and fingers. That tension in me spiraled tighter until I was wound impossibly tight, my muscles locking in what I hoped might be my first—

  “Beckett!” I screamed his name when he pressed my clit in a deep stroke, sending my body into full meltdown as my orgasm took me over the edge, the release coming in powerful waves that tilted the earth’s axis.

  He kissed me down with light, sipping caresses of his lips against mine. Until I summoned the strength to open my eyes and found him watching me, a look of utter adoration on his face.

  “I could watch you do that a million times and still want more.”

  “That was…” What was it about this man that stole all my words and turned me into a half-sentence-producing moron? “Good job.”

  He grinned. “Good job?”

  Oh God, I’d just verbally high-fived the guy.

  “Well, yeah. I’ve never…without…well, with someone.”

  His eyes widened in understanding. “There’s so much more.”

  “Yeah, I like that plan.” Before I could say something else ridiculous, I kissed him, running my hands down his back. His skin was firm, warm, and so very soft. When I reached his belt, I skimmed my fingers along his waistline, savoring the way his abs flexed, and he sucked in a breath between kisses.

  When I got to his zipper, I grew bold and took his erection in my hand and lightly gripped him. He was as hard as the granite beneath me, long, thick, and—if it was anything like the rest of his body—no doubt perfect.

  His indrawn breath turned into a full-on hiss of air between his gritted teeth.

  “Ella…”

  I simply looked at him, letting him see how badly I wanted him, this, us. All of it.

  Instead of stopping me, he simply nodded and shut his eyes for the few seconds I had of stroking up and down his length.

  “God, baby,” he whispered.

  He gave me one more chance to stroke, and then took my hand away, putting it on the counter. Before I could complain, he took his wallet out of his back pocket, slapping it on the counter next to me.

  Then—thank you, all that is good and right in the world—he unsnapped his pants, kicking off his shoes and stripping down to nothing so quickly that all I could do was watch in appreciation.

  The man was straight-up perfection, and all mine for the touching.

  My mouth watering, I ran my fingers from his pecs down the lines of his abs, taking the time to fall from one ridge to the next. He wasn’t just defined, he was built, his muscles bulging down his stomach.

  He stepped forward, between my thighs, and kissed me until I couldn’t think of anything except the feel of his mouth, the warmth of his skin, the rhythm of his breath. He lifted me slightly, adjusting my dress so my butt hit the granite, then slid the fabric over my head, leaving me in nothing but my blue silk panties.

  Then he locked eyes with me, hooked his thumbs in the straps, and dragged them down my legs and off. There was no time to be embarrassed, not when he was kissing me, skin to skin. The contact heightened everything, and our hands were quickly everywhere—touching, seeking, discovering each other.

  When he slipped his hands between my thighs, that familiar pressure built again, the ache within me beginning to pulse.

  “So beautifully wet,” he said between kisses.

  Then he slid a finger inside me, and I almost came off the counter. “That feels incredible.” I rocked against his finger, and he added another, the stretch making that ache throb.

  He flipped open his wallet with his free hand, sliding a foil packet free.

  “Upstairs?” he asked.

  “Here. Now. No more waiting.” Nearly mindless over the steady, deep strokes of his fingers, I grabbed the condom and ripped it open. My hands shook as I brought it to the head of his erection. I’d been right, even that was perfect.

  “I don’t know— Oh God, Beckett!” He’d added a third finger while his thumb gently grazed my hypersensitive clit.

  “Need help?”

  “Yes. No experience with…” I groaned when he curled his fingers, finding that elusive spot inside me that had my hips moving to ride his hand. “These. Pregnant at eighteen, remember?”

  He covered my hand with his, pushing us down his length slowly until he was covered. “That may have been the most erotic thing I’ve done in my life,” I whispered.

  “Me, too. You take everything in my life up a notch.”

  His mouth met mine in a long, carnal kiss that ended with him gently tugging at my bottom lip. His fingers slid free of me, and I tensed as he leveled his hips with mine.

  “Nervous?” he asked, kissing the spot just beneath my ear.

  “A little. It’s been seven years since I’ve done this.”

  He took my face in his hands and kissed me softly. “Pretty sure it still works the same way.”

  I smiled and instantly relaxed with another kiss.

  “Don’t worry, I’ve got you,” he said again, and the words took my nervousness like it never existed.

  A
s if he wasn’t positioned between my thighs, he took my mouth with care and, within a few moments, I had my ankles locked around his waist, savoring the contrast of his hard frame with my curves. He stroked down my body, bringing that fire back even hotter than it had been.

  When my hips started rocking against his fingers he leaned his forehead against mine. And when that ache roared, and I reached for his hips, he gripped mine, nudging his erection at my entrance.

  “Please,” I said, arching against him.

  Keeping one hand on my hip, he gripped the back of my head with the other and brought us so close our breaths mingled, but he didn’t kiss me, simply watched my eyes as he pushed inside me inch by slow inch.

  I let out a soft moan as he seated himself, so deep that I could feel him throughout my body, as if he’d pierced my soul.

  “Ella,” he groaned. “God, you’re everything.”

  He shifted the hand on my hip to under my ass, lifting me slightly and pulling me to the barest edge of the counter before he began to thrust in a deep, sure rhythm. Our bodies moved like we’d been making love together for years instead of moments, like he was the only man I’d been created for.

  I wrapped my arms around him, holding the back of his head as he took me higher and higher, each stroke bringing that tension to the breaking point, until our bodies were slick with sweat.

  He didn’t change his pace, just took me over and over like it would last forever, like there was no goal other than feeling that moment. There were no alarm clocks, no schedules, nowhere more pressing to be than right here in the arms of the man I loved.

  My muscles locked, straining for release, and Beckett kissed me, at the same time sliding his thumb between us to stroke my clit. I came apart, crying out as the orgasm washed over me, deeper and harder than I’d ever felt in my life. He took my cries into his mouth, like he was feeding off my pleasure, like it was more than sex to him, too.

  I held him close, emotion taking me beyond reason.

  “I love you.” The words tumbled from my mouth without preamble or thought.

  He paused, his eyes flying wide. Then he kissed me deep and hard as he thrust wildly, without rhythm, tensing in my arms and letting go, burying his face in my neck as he found his release, my name on his lips.