by Marie York
Footsteps sounded on the stairs, and I peeked out my door, to see Nix and Beckham passing by on the way to Nix’s room just as I knew they would. I closed my door, and went over to my mirror, checking my hair and makeup.
I spritzed a little perfume on my neck, before sitting on my bed and I waited. Minutes turned to hours, and I was just about to give up, when I heard the unmistakable creak of Nix’s bedroom door. I jumped, then took a deep breath to calm my nerves.
I flung my door open just as Beckham passed my room. “Beckham, thank god. There’s a spider on my wall. It’s huge. Can you kill it? Please?” I pouted my lip out, and pointed to my room.
He laughed. “Sure. Show me where this monster of a spider is.”
I stood back, and let him walk into the room first. “It’s right there in the corner,” I lied, and eased the door shut, so he couldn’t hear the click of the lock.
I turned around, pressing my back against the door, as I watched him scanning my walls.
“Where? I don’t see it.”
It was now or never. I pushed the straps of my dress off my shoulders, letting it fall to the floor. The material pooled around my feet, and I took another deep breath.
“I guess it got away.”
Beckham turned at the breathy tone in my voice, and when his eyes settled on my almost naked body, they widened with shock.
His lips moved, but no words came out. He stepped back, bumping into my dresser, and knocking over a picture frame of my family and me. Noises started to come out of his mouth, but every syllable on his tongue failed to form a word.
I stepped toward him, and he pushed further into my dresser until his back was a stiff arch. “There’s only one thing I want for my birthday,” I purred, moving closer and creeping my fingers up his rock-hard chest. “You.”
His hands wrapped around my fingers, but instead of the gentle touch from earlier, it was rough and rigid. “Kennedy, no. This can’t happen.”
“Why not?”
“There’s a million reasons why. But I’ll start with number one. Your brother is right there.” He pointed to the wall. “If he caught us, he would murder me.”
“He doesn’t have to know.” I leaned in, taking charge, and pressed my lips to his. They were just as soft as I imagined. I could detect the faintest taste of beer, and finally knew what he and Nixon did every night.
Beckham didn’t react. He stood there, refusing to kiss me back, so I swiped my tongue across his seam, matching his refusal with my own stubborn determination.
Beckham’s grip on my fingers loosened, and his hands grabbed my cheeks, as he plunged his tongue against mine. I had kissed boys before, but nothing compared to this sensual assault of my mouth.
A soft moan rumbled up my throat, and I laced my fingers through his hair, tugging at the soft strands, and pulling him closer. He dropped his grip on my face, wrapping his large hand around my tiny, bare waist, and yanking me tight against him.
It was everything I had dreamed about and more. Beckham Fox was actually kissing me back. I relished in his touch, the way our tongues moved effortlessly against each other, and how perfectly I fit pressed against his body. His arousal was evident by the hard bulge pressing into my belly.
I reached down to his belt buckle, anxious to undo it, and to get a closer look and feel of his engorged manhood when he jerked his lips from mine. “No!” he barked as he rested his forehead against mine, gasping for breath.
“Why not,” I insisted, reaching past his belt, and down to the huge bulge in his pants.
He swallowed hard, and I knew he would give in to the desire, and the unyielding attraction I knew was between us.
“Make love to me,” I whispered against his ear.
His grasp on my waist tightened, but instead of pulling me close, he pushed me away.
“No,” he said, but this time there was no question in his tone. He was stone cold serious.
He was kidding. He had to be. This felt so right; it was almost perfect. “What do you mean no?”
“I mean no. We can’t do this. I should never have even let it get this far.”
I looked down at my lacy pink bra and panties, and tried to keep the tears at bay. “Don’t you think I’m pretty?”
Softness flashed in his gorgeous hazel eyes, and hope flickered inside of me. I stood there, waiting for him to tell me how beautiful I was, but the softness vanished, and his cold resolve retuned.
“It doesn’t matter what I think. You’re a child. Now get dressed, and never do that again,” he warned, and my heart shattered into a thousand tiny shards.
My hands instantly covered my body, and I spun around to grab my dress. I yanked it over my head, and tugged it back into place. “Get out,” I managed through the hot thick lump of embarrassment clogging my throat.
“Kenny,” he sighed.
Hearing that nickname only fueled the angry fire building inside of me. “I said get out,” I growled through my teeth, afraid if I parted my lips, I would scream. “Now!”
Beckham threw his hands in the air, and backed away from me. I grabbed the comforter off my bed and wrapped it around myself, wanting to disappear.
“I’m sorry,” he said before leaving. As soon as the door clicked shut, the disappointment and utter humiliation consumed me, and I fell to the floor sobbing.
End of Excerpt
About the Author
Making You Fall in Love One Bad Boy At A Time.
Marie York works the corporate circuit by day but come nightfall transforms into a steamy writer. She loves the city life and a good cocktail.
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