“It’s fine. Good,” she panted. Squeezing her eyes shut, she gave over to the mounting pleasure as he teased and nibbled over every square inch of her torso, returning to her swelling breasts, and then licking over the hollow of her throat. “You taste so damn good.”
She had one hand splayed over the back of his head and the other exploring the play of muscles in his back, her legs parting around his lightly furred thigh as she sought pressure against her throbbing sex.
He chuckled, the sound vibrating against her skin, sliding down her body to pause at her mound. “You’re bare.”
She’d returned to the salon, where she was greeted with warm familiarity, for haircuts and a facial, but eschewed the waxing, instead, making judicious use of a razor. “I was waxed and liked the way it left me. There.”
His hot breath against her skin made her squirm. “I think I like it too.”
Big hands widened her thighs further and she swallowed against her usual reaction to his mouth on her sex. There was a twinge of embarrassment even as she craved the act. Once again, she stopped thinking as he parted her folds and lapped at the sensitive flesh.
The tip of his tongue was everywhere, teasing and exploring, tasting her. He rimmed her opening and lanced inside as she writhed, uncertain if she wanted to retreat or get closer. Her belly tightened and she tensed against the building flare that signified an orgasm. “Please, Beckett.”
It seemed like forever before he found his way to her apex and closed his mouth on the throbbing knot of nerves there. The subtle pressure and lash of his tongue pushed her over the edge and she shuddered as she came. He didn’t immediately relent and another, smaller climax followed close on the heels of the last and her thighs clamped hard around his head, her hands scrabbling at his hair.
Withdrawing, he pressed a kiss on her belly and eased upward to blanket her. He reached between them to notch himself at her gate, something she doubted she had the coordination to manage at that moment. She lay beneath him, lax and sated, savoring the orgasm.
“Grace. Open your eyes.”
She blinked and focused on Beckett’s strained features and heated stare. “Hmmm?”
“I want you to see who’s fucking you.”
“Who else would it be?”
Something almost like relief softened his face for an instant before his tip pressed past the initial stricture of her opening, a feeling that never failed to take her breath, making it hitch in her throat. The width of him stretched her as he pushed inside, his mouth setting in a thin line and then twisting with pleasure. He dropped his forehead to hers. “There’s no one who feels like you.”
She tensed and he paused, his eyes widening. “No one, Grace. Not since we met. I swear.”
As a lie detector, she supposed it was a good one and welcomed him deeper, her eyes drifting shut again as he filled her to the hilt. His arms wreathed about her, pulling her close and she lifted her legs around him, her heels sliding to his calves, as close as two people could be. Physically.
If she’d decided to believe he’d been faithful, it naturally followed she might trust him to continue to treat her as a beloved wife. Her heart exposed, she whispered, “If you hurt me again, there’s no coming back.”
He lifted his head and stared at her, so close she could nearly trace the irregular flecks of green in his eyes. “I can’t promise not to hurt you, Grace. I’m a guy and stupid at times. But I’ll never deliberately treat you badly again. And I won’t allow anyone else to, either. I’m in for the long haul.”
She let his promise wash over her and sink in to soothe her vulnerable heart. She suspected he was hanging on by a thread, his shaft throbbing inside her, but he waited. He hadn’t said he loved her, but it was like when they first met, only better. More refined. Mature. Was it enough?
“All right,” she murmured.
With a groan, his hips flexed and he drove deeper, finding that place inside that made sparks pop behind her eyes and her toes curl. They rocked together, her meeting him thrust for thrust, though his strength and position soon outmatched her efforts, taking her over and up yet again. She let the climax take her out of her head, clamping down hard around him.
He plunged a few more times, his movements faltering as he moaned and panted against her neck. “Jesus,” he breathed.
Their skin damp with effort, they eased apart and he took some of his weight from her. “Okay?”
“Okay.” It took energy to speak. She didn’t ask him, taking a feminine sense of satisfaction in knowing the sex had been great. She thought about making love and wondered if there was any difference…
“We should head up to bed, maybe grab a shower.”
“Maybe.” She was content to stay right where she was.
“C’mon, sweetheart.” He got to his feet and drew her up.
Shivering, she reached for his shirt and he helped her don it, his eyes flashing with male interest. “What?”
“I like you in my shirt.”
Good to know. She flashed him a demure smile, slightly surprised how good it felt to … flirt. Tease. “I’ll see you upstairs.”
He followed close behind, her clothes and his tucked under one arm as he turned out the lights. When she entered the bathroom, he was on her heels, his carnal interest apparent, seeing as he hadn’t pulled his boxer briefs on.
“I’ll wash your back,” he offered, his eyes intent.
Her libido was piqued but pregnancy tiredness suddenly caught up and she sagged. “That’s all you’ll do. I’m done in.”
“Shit. Was it too much? Are you really okay?”
“Beckett, I’m fine. It was … fine. Better than fine,” she hastily amended. “But I am tired.” All that waiting and the anticipation took certain energy.
He bundled her into the shower, hardly giving her time to tie her hair up and out of the way. Gentle hands lathered her body wash over her from head to toe, very nearly not lingering over certain spots. The intimacy was unsettling. While he hadn’t had any use for modesty during their marriage, he’d never showered with her and she understood it was to keep her at arm’s length, like all the other things he avoided.
Sadness weighed her down, despite her attempt to focus on the present and she fought those damn tears again. Fortunately, her location allowed her to hide the telltale moisture, turning her face into the spray to rinse.
Beckett helped her out and drew a fluffy towel around her, rubbing her dry. “I wasted a lot of time. Though I’ll admit there’ll be more than cleansing in the shower at some point, I hope.”
That made her feel a little better, and reflect on all the other ways he let her in and tried to get closer of late. And she’d put her trust in him, once again, so she made herself smile. “A fantasy, Beckett?”
“One of many.”
She could expect more variety in bed too, she thought. “We’ll see,” she teased, willing her sadness far away.
He half carried her to the bed, the towel left on the floor where someone—her—would pick it up in the morning. Tucking her into bed, he kissed her temple and then her nose. “Forget the nightgown, sweetheart. I want to feel you.”
She’d become used to wearing one but would concede for now. “Can you set my robe by the bed? I have to get up in the night sometimes.”
“Shit. Of course. I’m being selfish.” He brought both the robe and a modest nightgown.
“Leave the robe. We’ll see how it goes.”
He climbed in and clicked off the light, immediately moving toward her, dropping an arm over her waist and hauling her close. “There.”
Wiggling to get comfortable, she relaxed against his heat and drifted off.
Chapter Eleven
He breathed in the scent of his woman, a combination of the soap she used and something uniquely Grace. A bouquet he’d know anywhere. She had taken him back.
Cautiously, he thought it through again. Did women make that kind of statement, promise, in the heat of passion? There was that
old joke about men agreeing to anything if they were about to get laid… Maybe she’d rethink things and wonder if he was one of those men.
But still, he thought she’d taken him back. Somehow forgiven him for all the shit he put her through, his juvenile antics and bruised ego. Was there anything more amazing than this woman, the one curled naked and trusting in his arms? He hadn’t been sure of ever gazing upon her nude body again, let alone possessing it. And possessed it he had, just as she’d engulfed him.
The sex tonight had been the same but very different and he wondered if she’d marked it the way he had. The dry spell had nearly caused him to shame himself like an over-anxious teen, but she’d never felt so good. More importantly, he’d felt complete, wrestling with his brain to find the word that described it.
Complete. And if he worked at not being an asshole, he’d have her forever and feel complete forever. He bit back a groan at that intervening year. Stupid. Arrogant and stupid. But enough going down that path. He’d taken a different fork in the road and he had a wife he was crazy about and would soon be a father. He refused to consider anything different.
The doctor had assured him that sex wouldn’t cause any problems for the baby but he resolved to be a little less … enthusiastic the next time. And to constantly check with Dr. Gibson. Grace’s burgeoning body drove him insane with lust, so he needed to be careful.
She murmured in her sleep and hitched closer and he smiled. She hadn’t kept her distance most nights—or he hadn’t—and letting her slip away in the morning while he pretended to sleep even though it had been difficult, but the right thing to do. Non-threatening, that was him. His possessiveness and inner caveman was on high alert when it came to anyone else who might be a threat to her, though. Like he’d told her.
His cell chimed from his pants pocket, his clothing in a pile across the room. He ignored it. It wasn’t late, not past the time where most people didn’t call or text out of respect, and normally he’d be up. Grace was the one with the early bedtimes and another smile lifted his lips. He’d just lie there and hold her.
It chimed again and then buzzed, the ringer turned to vibrate. Whoever it was, was persistent and a frisson of worry made him ease away from Grace and tuck the covers securely around her.
Crossing the room, navigating by the faint illumination from the bathroom nightlight, he fished the phone out and peered at the screen. Kamil.
Moving down the hall, he walked into the room Grace used as an office and called his friend.
“Sorry to call so late.”
“It’s not late. What’s up?”
“I’m heading back tonight.”
“Okay?” Their business was complete. Kamil had stayed longer because of Charity.
His friend huffed a strangled chuckle. “I’ve made no secret of my interest in women, Beck. Marriage, as a son considerably down the pecking order in my family, hasn’t been on anyone’s radar, at least not yet. And not for a long time. So I’ve … um, sampled, I suppose you might say.”
“I was a sampler too, buddy.”
“Until you met Grace.”
“Right.” And even if he hadn’t knocked her up, he knew now for sure he’d have been done sampling and locked her down. His teeth ground at his stupidity and he forced himself to let it go. Grace had forgiven him or a reasonable facsimile thereof.
“Charity is my Grace.”
“Kamil, you just met her.”
“And spent every possible minute with her. Most of them in bed, I grant you, but all the same…”
“Yet, you’re going home. What? Are you taking her to meet your family?” Holy fuck, he had to work to get his head around this.
“I’m going home because Charity pointed me in that direction.”
“Wait. She showed you the door?”
“Is that like kicked me out of her bed? Told me it was fun but over?”
“Shit.”
“I hope I was as gracious to the women to whom I’ve conveyed the same message.”
His friend sounded … raw. “I’ll come see you off. When’s your plane leave?”
“Get back in bed with your wife, man. I expect that’s where you were. At least I hope so. The jet is waiting for me to board. I didn’t want to wait any longer in case you were in bed. And you were, weren’t you?”
“Yes.” He felt like he was rubbing salt on Kamil’s wound.
“Good. As insanely randy as I was for Charity tonight I couldn’t help but notice the chemistry between you and Grace. I could only hope you’d follow up.”
It was bad timing and maybe bad taste, but he had to say it. Who better than to Kamil, who’d waved some weird marital counseling wand only a few months back. “She took me back. I think she’s forgiven me, somehow, and now I can make it up to her.”
“Good man.” There was nothing but sincerity in his friend’s voice. “Don’t screw it up again.”
“From your lips to anyone’s Deity’s ears,” he said.
“I need to go.”
“I’m sorry, buddy. Really. Are you sure?”
“She was sure, and that’s what matters. It’ll pass, whatever it is.” Now his tone reflected rueful acceptance.
Beckett didn’t know what else to say. “We’ll talk soon.”
“Certainly. Take care, my friend.”
Shaking his head, he made his way back to bed, dropping the phone on the nightstand. Did he tell Grace? Or let Charity call her? He’d decide in the morning, and with a sigh, some of the joy of the evening rubbed off and he got into bed.
Spooning up against his wife, reveling in the way she snuggled her sweet ass against his hopeful cock, he again dropped an arm over her and cleared his head of anything but their new beginning.
****
He woke to the sound of the doorbell, a still unfamiliar noise because he’d never been home long enough to really hear it used. Grace’s spot was cool to the touch and he blinked at the bedside clock. Nearly nine, long past when he usually got up. Last night had taken more of a toll than he imagined, and he wondered how his wife was feeling.
Passing up the shower—his brain served up a tasty memory of having his hands all over Grace in there—he dragged on a pair of sweats before hastily brushing his teeth, and throwing some water on his face. The tousled, stubbled look would have to do, though he circled back for a t-shirt in the event it was company easily offended.
As he gained the top of the stairs, he heard raised voices—Grace and a man, two men—and took the treads two at a time. He skidded into the dining room, faced with his wife pale and trembling, her slender form wrapped closely in the robe he’d set out for her. The scent of coffee filled the air and he realized she’d come down to start breakfast.
Her father and his stared his way but he only had eyes for Grace. “What’s going on?”
She opened and closed her mouth, eyes sheening with moisture and he hustled over, putting his arms around her. “Sweetheart, what is it?”
Stiffening in his hold, she freed a hand and pointed wordlessly at the table. He looked to see a number of papers there, some flattened and some still rolled. Squinting, reluctant to let go of her, he recognized her designs, blown up to a much larger size. How had they gotten there?
His father said, “I saw these on your desk. Not that you’re ever there nowadays. I don’t hold with executives working from home, Beckett, but anyway, I didn’t recognize the name. Your secretary said you’d ordered them. I showed them to George. Figured you found a new designer, but he said the signature was Grace’s. Using her mother’s maiden name.”
Langdon blustered, “Nonsense, that. Pseudonyms. But I can admit there’s raw talent there. So we came over. Time I mended some fences, seeing as Grace is taking an interest in the business.”
“I’m not doing any such thing. I told you.” Grace tried to extricate herself from his hold but he tightened it, knowing that if he let her go, he’d never fix this.
“She’s an independent,” he said, stari
ng both older men down.
Her father shook his head. “Absolutely not. Alfred agrees. You’re offering offcuts.”
“As a distributor. Grace hasn’t accepted.” He was relieved to feel her cease her efforts to put space between them, though she still held herself stiffly.
“We have a say in that.”
“Then I don’t accept. I don’t need your help.” She glared at her father, who looked away.
He murmured against her hair. “You do what you want, sweetheart. It’s your choice and I’m behind you all the way. But he’s trying to save face. He’s reaching out.”
For a moment, her face set in mutinous lines, hurt flashing in her silver eyes. Then, she said, “There will have to be a formal agreement. Because I’m not becoming part of the company.”
His father took a step forward. “You have talent, Grace. Our company has a lot to offer you. And you, to the company. We don’t have a maternity line.”
“No.”
“Is this because of the quick wedding? Not going to college? You trying to assert your independence?” Langdon asked. “You were pregnant, girl. Beckett did the right thing and you weren’t shamed.”
Beckett couldn’t control himself. “The wedding was a mistake, George.” Grace gasped and he sent her a reassuring smile, squeezing her tighter. “At least the reason for it. But only because of me and my ego. My arrogance and hatred of being told what to do.”
“Pah. You have to make the best of things. And you’re still under the same roof. Expecting my grandchild.”
“After putting your daughter through a year of misery,” he said quietly. “Treating her in much the same fashion as you did, with coldness and casual cruelty. To my everlasting shame.” So much for mending fences, but he could care less at that moment.
Langdon’s face drained of both color and bluster, his mouth setting in a thin line.
Before he could respond, Beckett continued, “I couldn’t see what was in front of me through my sense of entitlement. I had no idea I had exactly what I wanted, though fortunately some part of me did, and I respected one of my marriage vows. I fell down on the cherish and honor piece and pretended I didn’t know what love meant.”
Love Changes Everything (Romance on the Go Book 0) Page 13