Animal Instincts (Gilded Knights Series Book 3)

by Emilia Finn

  “Beckett—”

  “But I’m not sorry,” he continues. “I’m jumping in, and I’m gonna swim in us until we’re both dead and buried. I’m not gonna be scared, and I’m not gonna ruin us by trying to micromanage and worry about every little thing.”

  “You make it all sound so easy.”

  “It is easy.” He slides his tongue past my lips, and draws a sigh from deep in my chest. “You’re here, and I’m here, and for as long as we agree to keep being here with each other, we’ll always have our island.”

  He slides his hand beneath my shirt. Not to touch, but to feel. Not to grab something he has no permission to grab, but to press his skin to mine and anchor us together. “I love you, Tabitha, so to me, the answer is really quite straightforward; I’ll continue to love you, I’ll continue to be with you, and I’ll sure as shit continue to make sure I deserve you. The rest will work itself out in time.”

  My hands shake, my fingertips tremble. But I bring them to the hem of his shirt anyway and slowly tug the fabric up.

  Surprised for a single second, Beckett’s eyes whip to mine in question. But he’s no sloth, and his brain works quickly. One-handed, he reaches back and grabs his shirt, then, while he holds me with the other, he pulls the fabric up and over his head to reveal his broad chest.

  The shirt pools around his left bicep, since I’m yet to move out of his hold, but this angle allows me a perfect view of his chest. His shoulders. His throat and the underside of his jaw.

  He’s tattooed on one side; just one shoulder and half of his left arm. Wings and angels, candles and flowers. It’s all kept hidden from the rest of the world, a reward given only to those who get to be intimate with him.

  Pushing up in his lap, I press a kiss to his chest, then another over his heart. I stretch, I work to reach further, but the way I half-lie in his lap makes it difficult to do much.

  “Hold on.” I push away, quick enough to hurt Beckett’s feelings, but then I slide into his lap again, this time, my legs straddling his and my arms resting atop his shoulders.

  Hurt feelings flee the moment I’m settled in again. Then Beckett’s hands explore. My hips, my ribs, the sides of my breasts. He remains respectful, but truthful. He doesn’t have to tell me he’s desperate, because I already know. He doesn’t have to tell me he won’t touch until I give express permission; I know that too.

  Bravely, I reach down and grab the hem of my shirt. Beckett’s eyes follow my movement, widen when my fingertips pinch the fabric, then his lips quirk up as I bring my shirt up. For every inch of belly I show, his lips wrinkle and rise. When I stop just beneath my chin, his eyes, dancing with glee, meet mine.

  He’s like a child in a candy store. A child with twitching hands and a hunger to sample every single thing, but he also has a healthy respect for those in charge, and the knowledge that he might lose an entire arm if he starts before permission is granted.

  He sits on the floor, his legs crossed, his hands pressed to our makeshift picnic blanket. And I sit atop him, my entire being a quivering mess, my jaw shaking from nerves as I bring the shirt over my head and set it somewhere to the side; hopefully not in a tureen of gravy.

  “Don’t stare for too long,” I whisper, as he does just that. “You make me nervous.”

  “Don’t be nervous around me.” His hands fist and ball, clench and release. He wants to touch, and despite his gentle words, I’m certain he fights his hunger with every ounce of willpower he possesses. “I don’t know if you know this about me, but I’m kinda obsessed with you,” he jokes. “I’m staring because I think you’re so fucking beautiful.”

  “What if you find a hair on my chin.” My voice cracks from nerves. “What if I have a blackhead on my boob, or a pimple on my butt?”

  “That’s okay.” Unable to stay away, Beckett brings his hands to my thighs. He holds me. Caresses me. But he doesn’t take more than that. “I have hair on my chin, blackheads on my chest, and if we looked, we’d probably find a pimple on my butt too.”

  I burst out with muted laughter, only to slap a hand over my mouth to stop the sound. “What if the murder family is in the hall listening to us?”

  Beckett’s eyes move to the door and stop for a moment. He listens, perhaps he tries in vain to harness the power of X-ray vision. But when that doesn’t work, his gaze comes back to mine as his smile quirks up. “Then they’re gonna get a treat tonight. I know I said no pressure,” he pushes his hard cock up until it touches my core, and my breath catches. “I still mean that, Tabby. I swear, no pressure. But fuck, I want you.”

  “I want you too.” I cup his jaw and bring my lips down to his. “The last time I got lucky, I was on the phone with you.”

  He snorts and slides one hand up into the back of my hair. Holding on tight, he angles my head, tilts me to the left, then he comes closer and bites until I whimper. “Finally, you admit it. It’s you and me, Tabby. It has been for a long time.”

  “I swear I thought it was a dream. I felt so naughty.”

  He sniggers and nips at my sensitive skin. “So naughty. So fucking tempting. You’re lucky I’d been drinking, too. Otherwise, my stupid ass would’ve gotten into my truck and let myself into your apartment just so I could watch the things you were doing to yourself.”

  Heat pools in my stomach. Fiery hot and potent. “I wish you could’ve. That would have made me come so much harder.”

  “Fuck.” Throwing gentleness to the wind, Beckett pushes to his feet and takes me with him, despite my squeals.

  My legs wrap around his hips, my arms around his shoulders, but when his hands go beneath my ass, and the tips of his fingers touch a little too close to the target, my entire being freezes up; my breath, my pulse, my brain spasms as my clit thuds.

  “Over here,” he murmurs, working hard to carry me through our landmine of plates and silverware. He’s strong, much stronger than his suits would have people think on a day-to-day basis. He carries me with ease, around the basket, off the blanket, then into the gap between the bed and the wall.

  The gap he slept in last night.

  Beckett sets me on the bed, and though his movements are gentle, his placement exceptionally slow and careful, the bed frame squeaks so loud that a nervous giggle races along my throat. “Oh my god.”

  “Show me the things you did on the phone.” He follows me onto the bed, his knee between my legs, his lips cruising around my bra. But he doesn’t lay on me, he doesn’t impede my movement, or that of my hands. “Show me, Tabby. I wanna see how you got yourself off.”

  “How I… You wanna…”

  “I want to see you cream,” he purrs. “I want to see it all.” He stops kissing my pebbled flesh, and instead glances up from beneath long lashes. “We don’t have to have sex. We don’t even have to touch. We don’t have to do anything you’re not comfortable with. But I really, really want to see you come.”

  “What if…” The bed squeaks purely because I lick my lips. It squeaks because my heart pounds. “What if I’m not comfortable doing that?” I ask him. “What if I don’t want to touch myself?”

  “Then…” He draws a deep breath and swallows so his Adam’s apple bobs. “Um… UNO?”

  I giggle… and the bed squeaks. “What if I want you to make me come instead?”

  I grin when his gaze whips back to mine. “I will always and forever prefer you making me come than me doing it myself.” And then, because I just said that to my boss, my cheeks flame red, and I look away to hide my shame. “Oh god.”

  “Don’t hide,” he giggles. Giggles! He’s a grown-ass man, but he giggles at my mortification. “You want me to do it, Tabby?”

  I stare at the ceiling, embarrassed. But wanting, I nod.

  “With my hands?” he continues. The bed squeaks. “Or with my tongue?”

  “Um… well, I can’t in good conscience say tongue, because that would be embarrassing. But—”

  He chuckles. “But…” Pushing down my body, Beckett peppers kisses to
my belly, my hip, the top of my thigh, and stops to breathe hot air through my pyjama pants.

  My heart stops.

  The bed squeaks.

  “You want me to taste you, Tabby Cat?” He slides his tongue along my panty line and reduces me to a puddle of want. My pulse throbs, my heart races. My underwear slicks, but I’m quickly galloping beyond caring. “Do you want me to eat you up and make you cry?”

  “Yes.” My voice breaks. I sound so stupid. So inexperienced and silly. But if Beckett notices—or cares—he doesn’t mention it. “I want you to taste.”

  “Consent,” he groans and buries his nose against my clit. “Fuck, hearing you say that damn near makes me come.”

  “I want you to come too,” I whimper and press my hands over my eyes. Embarrassment leaves me, so now the only sensation coiling inside my body is a desperate need to climax; soon, hard. “I want so badly to see you come too.”

  “I will.” With gentle hands, Beckett peels my shorts and underwear aside. He doesn’t take them off. He doesn’t even deign to pull them down. He merely pushes them to the side and stops… stares… pants.

  When he turns too still for too long, too quiet, I push up to sit and let my hands hold my weight.

  The bed squeaks.

  “What are you doing?” Nerves wreak havoc on my body, my brain, my heart. But when Beckett’s eyes meet mine, lush green beneath beautiful lashes, then his tongue darts out, having waited for me to watch first, I drop back and moan.

  The bed goes crazy with squeaking. “Oh god,” I work to shove my fist inside my mouth. I can’t be loud. I can’t make noise. “Fuck,” I can’t traumatize a couple of kids from a horror movie. “Beckett…”

  “Mm.”

  Perhaps he was more concerned with manners a moment ago; maybe the non-removal of my pants was a way to preserve my privacy, but now that he’s tasting, touching, hearing me say his name, he pulls back only long enough to tear my shorts away and toss them and my underwear to the floor. Once that barrier is gone, he rushes back in and buries his face against my pussy until I cry out.

  I fumble and search for a pillow. A blanket. Hell, I’d take a fucking chicken from the yard and press her to my face if I could reach.

  I grab something—a shirt, Beckett’s shirt—and ball it up, then I cover my mouth and nose, and I scream. I scream until my throat turns hoarse, and when Beckett slides a finger deep inside my core, I gush into his hand and cry a little more.

  He makes me come in record time… a minute at the most. But instead of leaving me to quiver and come down on my own, he laps me up, drinks me down, and draws my orgasm out until I have to remove the shirt and gasp for air so I don’t pass out.

  The springs in the bed sing their chorus. It’s so dumb, because really, it’s just me lying on it. It’s just me, barely moving, but it sounds so much more incriminating than that.

  Then Beckett inserts a second finger, and squeaking springs flee my mind. I let my legs dangle over his broad shoulders. I press my heels into his back, and when that doesn’t help, I bite into the shirt and dig my nails into the mattress.

  Still, my orgasm flows, my heart struggles to keep up, and my lungs stop working somewhere around my second climax.

  “Stop,” I pant out. “Oh my god. Beckett, stop.”

  He stops. Like I’m made of electrical wire and he’s been zapped, Beckett surges back from me, his hands raised in the air, his chin glistening with my pleasure, his chest racing as he works through his own adrenaline and lust. “Did I hurt you?” He swallows, and somehow, even him swallowing while rooted to the floor makes the bed squeak. “Tabby? Did I do something wrong?”

  “No.” Panting, I stare up at the ceiling for a moment and work on catching my breath. “You did everything right.”

  “So, what…” Poor Beckett, blinded by lust and insatiable hunger, lets his eyes wheel around the room. “What happened?”

  “I couldn’t breathe,” I snigger. “I…” I press my hands to my eyes. “I just needed a sec.”

  “You’re okay?”

  “Uh huh.”

  “Unhurt?”

  “Not hurt.”

  “Not scared or in any way feeling like I took something without consent?”

  “Uh… nope,” I breathe and laugh. Chuckle and clamor for air. “You were a complete gentleman.”

  “Fuck.” Grunting, he grabs my hips and yanks me so fast that I slide straight off the bed and land in his lap with a squeal.

  He’s still dressed—his pants, anyway—still decent, but I… am naked but for my bra, and sitting on my boss’ erect dick.

  “You scared me,” he slams his lips to mine.

  I taste me. I feel me. But beneath all that, I taste him, and I feel his need.

  “I want to love you, Tabby.” He reaches around and unsnaps my bra. He releases the clasps, releases my last shred of modesty, but he hugs me close enough, the fabric doesn’t fall away. “If you say no, then I swear, I swear,” he searches for oxygen, “I won’t get mad or sad or cranky or in any way try to manipulate or guilt you into giving me something you don’t want to give. But if you’re on board—”

  “I want you to love me too.” I cover my eyes and smile. Blushing, embarrassed. “I want to do the folding chair thing.”

  He barks out a laugh and sets me on the floor. On my back. Open and waiting. When our eyes meet and I nod, he removes my bra and eats me up with his eyes.

  He studies my nipples. One, then the other. Slowly, intensely, so I feel the heat of his stare.

  Beckett’s gaze is solely mine, but his hands go to his belt. He tugs the leather away, and unsnaps his jeans with quick movements. He pushes his zipper down, then the denim and silky boxers after it. He wastes no time. Does away with the extra fanfare of undressing for the first time.

  “I’m clean, Tabby. But I also have protection in my wallet. It’s your call.”

  “I’m protected.” I swallow and study his broad chest. His muscular shoulders. Better yet, his lips. His eyes. “I’m on the pill, not even close to ovulation, and I’m clean. You have my word.”

  “Folding chair?” His lips quirk into a playful smile. “You sure about that?”

  I giggle, carefree and silly. “Give it your best shot.”

  “Fuckin’ A.”

  With rough hands, he grabs my legs and folds them up. In a single second, my knees come close to touching my chin, my thighs burn from the angle they’re folded at, then Beckett presses himself against my heat.

  My breath stops. My lungs are already crushed, my body lifted at an odd angle. Beckett is desperate for me, frantic to bury himself deep inside my body, but still, he goes slow. His love for me is enough that, even starving, he takes each morsel of what I give him with appreciation and gentleness.

  It’s a tight fit, made tighter because of our position, but Beckett pushes forward. Slowly. Carefully. And throws his head back in ecstasy as he inches inside my body. His chest burns red from the blood pumping through his system. His neck tenses, and veins grow thicker because of the way he restrains himself.

  He’s a gentle giant. Capable of hurting me, but completely and absolutely unwilling to do so.

  My stomach whooshes from the heat and pleasure coiling deep inside. My core aches, from the tight fit, but also from the need that holds me captive.

  I’ve already come, but this, now, as Beckett slides inside, this reminds my body that what came before was merely a taste, an appetizer to what is to come.

  “Fuck, Tabby.” Beckett places a lot of his weight over me, more than even he realizes, as his pleasure renders him weak. His hands brand me, his fingers press prints into my skin. His thighs touch the backs of mine, but it’s his cock, pushing deeper, deeper, deeper, that takes my breath away.

  “Fuck,” he groans. “I love you.”

  “I love you too,” I cry in answer.

  It’s the truth. The cold hard fucking truth. But it surprises us both when the words escape my heart and present themselve
s for us both to hear.

  “I do.” When Beckett’s eyes meet mine, I say it again. “I do love you, Beckett. It’s why I want to take care of you so much.”

  Grunting, he releases my legs so they drop and wrap around his hips, then he lowers and presses his chest to mine. Beckett glides deep inside me. Rocking against my core. Bringing me closer, closer, closer to the edge. He peppers kisses along my jaw. My neck. My collarbone. He makes love to me, slowly, gently, so we’re like waves lapping against a shore instead of stormy seas crashing with power and lust.

  “I’m gonna make this work.” He slides his tongue along my bottom lip. “For the rest of my life, Tabby, I promise to treat you right. I promise to make you happy. I promise to always have an island for me and you to be us. Fuck.” He brings us closer. “This is it for me.” He glides his tongue against mine. “It’s you and me for life.”

  I nod. Tears form in my eyes, they gather in the corner, and when one falls, Beckett catches it with ease.

  “I won’t ever hurt you.” He buries his face against my neck and thrusts. Deep, soul-clenching pleasure. “I’m gonna be your safety net for the rest of your life.”

  “Yes please.”

  I step up to my crest, then slide on over to the other side. My orgasm is gentler this time. Kinder. Less savage. But Beckett steps with me. He cries against my flesh and bites down when it’s too much. But he comes, buried deep inside, warming me up, and then declaring his heart.

  “I love you,” he whispers. His fingers stroking my skin. His hands loving my body. “It’s you and me now.”

  “Yeah,” I choke out. “You and me.”

  “Finally,” he adds. “It took forever.”

  19

  Tabby

  Another woman

  The air outside of what we have, bundled in blankets as Beckett and I lie on the floor, is bitter and cool. Not winter-cold, but cold enough to make me snuggle in close, drape my leg over Beckett’s thighs, and rest my face on his heart.