by Ember Davis
Beckett gives me a squeeze. “Naw, that’s not me. Growing up it was just me and my mom. Sometimes she worked two or three jobs to keep us going. I learned early on how to take care of myself and how to help her. I had to learn how to cook and do laundry and shit.”
I let my fingers trail up the side of his waist. “Where’s your mom now? You didn’t grow up in Denver, right?”
He looks at the ceiling and a wistful smile crosses his face. “No, I moved here when I was 19. I had been working in a tattoo shop since I was 13, first just doing shit work and then as an apprentice. I had gotten into some trouble tagging, but the cop was really cool. He hooked me up with some community service and his tattoo artist friend since he saw I had some talent that could be channeled into something more productive than graffiti.”
He looks back at me and runs his fingers along my cheek. “I moved my mom here a few years ago once the shop started taking off and I could afford to provide for her like she provided for me all those years. Right now, she’s on a river tour in Europe.” He smiles softly, “She’ll be back soon. I know she’ll love you.”
“That’s really sweet, Beckett.” He tries to shrug it off, but I give him a serious look. “Don’t do that. You’re a good man.”
His grin becomes devious and I’m pretty sure I’m soaking wet again instantly. “I don’t know if you’d say I was a good man if you could see the fantasies that have been going through my head of all the dirty as fuck shit I’m going to do to you.”
I giggle and wag my eyebrows at him, “That makes you a very good man, then.” He chuckles and I kiss his chest again. “Come on, Love. If you want to do any of those dirty things to me, I need something to drink and maybe a snack first.”
I start to pull away, but he squeezes me tight and kisses my forehead before releasing me. I roll away from him and stand up. I stretch my whole body, reaching my arms up to the ceiling, and he groans from the bed. I look of my shoulder and see his cock coming back to life and feel my eyes widen. He bites his lip and his eyes roam over my body.
I pick up his discarded henley quickly and pull it over my head and push the sleeves up my arms. Even though it’s a little snug across my hips and barely covers my ass, it’s enough for right now.
His voice is husky, “Fucking hell, Amelia. I’ll try and control myself but putting on my clothes is probably not the best way to prevent me from pulling you back into bed.”
I wink at him over my shoulder before I point to one of the doors, “Bathroom?”
Beckett nods, his eyes still moving up and down my body. “Yeah.” He points to the other door, “That’s the closet. I’ll start making room in it for you tomorrow.”
I smile and shake my head as I head into the bathroom, “I haven’t said the word.”
He calls out as I close the door, “Yet!”
CHAPTER 9
AMELIA
After I’m all cleaned up and Beckett’s slipped on a pair of pajama pants, he goes to start the tour as promised. I’m a little distracted by the way the muscles of his back and chest move with him. Then there’s his pants that hang off his hips, showing off his abs and distinctly masculine V. The grey flannel is barely containing his bulge and I know those pants are the only thing between his cock and me. Fuck, I instinctively wipe my mouth because I’m pretty sure I’m drooling.
His green eyes darken when he turns to look at me since I don’t follow him to the bedroom door right away. A wicked grin curls along his lips. I lick my lips, suddenly ravenous.
He growls, “Fuck, Baby. You can’t look at me like that if you really want a tour and I want you to feel comfortable in your home and know where everything is.”
The affection in his voice melts my heart but does little to ebb the arousal flowing through me. He sounds so sure, but there’s still that little voice that tells me not to get too comfortable. I don’t want to pump the breaks too hard, but I can’t help myself from hedging, “That’s a really big step, Beckett.”
He strides back to me from the bedroom door in two long strides and cups my neck. His grip is possessive, but not forceful. It makes my knees weak. His eyes are intense and determined. “It’s not, Amelia. It’s the right step. You’re mine, Baby. I’m yours. That’s just how it is, but I can wait for you to be ready to take that step.” He smirks, “Just say the word.”
He kisses me softly, which is at odds with the way he’s holding me. Still, it speaks volumes about the way he cares for me; like I’m treasured. He entwines our fingers and pulls me along behind him out of the bedroom.
He starts in the back of the house and shows me the other three bedrooms, one that he’s using for storage and some workout equipment and another he’s using as a guest bedroom. The third he’s using as a studio and I could get lost in it for hours looking at his art. He has his newest canvas on his easel and so far, it’s just planes of color.
While I’m staring at it, he wraps his arms around me from behind and pulls me against him. His fingers play with the hem of his shirt that I’m wearing.
“I’m going to put a big comfy chair in here so that you can hang out in here with me when I’m painting if you want.”
“Hmmm, I’d like that.” I point to the easel, “What’s this going to be? It’s…captivating.”
He gives me a little squeeze. “I promise you’ll see it when it’s done, until then, let a man have his secrets.”
I lean back against him and whisper, “Okay. For now.”
He chuckles and takes my hand, leading me back into the front of the house. He starts in the kitchen and it’s a breathtaking mostly open concept layout that connects to a dining area and the living room. It’s clearly been renovated in the last few years, but they kept key original details that are a classic staple of a craftsman home. My heart clenches at the thought that I could live in a home that has original built ins. I don’t know how it’s possible, but this house is just my style.
My hand glides along the kitchen countertop which looks new and I take in the classic white subway tile backsplash. The appliances are top of the line and I can see myself cooking in here. I can see myself teaching our kids how to make cookies. I can see our kids blowing out birthday candles.
I might be getting ahead of myself. Then I look over at Beckett and he’s gazing at me with so much affection and…love. Holy shit.
He tells me about how he had the place renovated when he moved in and did a lot of the work with the guys. Troy worked in his Uncle’s construction company for years while he was a tattoo apprentice and was invaluable in getting the renovations done.
“This is beautiful, Beck.”
He grins at me, “What you were thinking about when you first saw this kitchen? Your eyes got all dreamy and far away.”
I blush and give a little shrug. I’m not sure if I can reveal just how deep my fantasy world goes.
He wraps me up in his arms and kisses me softly. “Were you thinking of little birthday candles and Sunday morning pancake breakfasts?”
My wide eyes meet his gaze and he doesn’t back down, not even a little. He doesn’t hide away; he just puts it all out there and seems to be willing to wait for me to catch up. His green eyes bore into mine and I couldn’t look away or lie if I wanted to.
I nod, “And making dinner and chocolate chip cookies that end up with flour everywhere.”
He kisses me hard and plunges his tongue into my mouth, tasting and exploring me. I melt into his body and dig my fingers into his hair.
He murmurs against my lips, “Can’t fucking wait.”
He wraps an arm around my waist and pulls me through the dining area and I run my fingers along the live edge table that’s big enough to sit at least 10. Perfect.
“This table is stunning.” I glance up at him, “I noticed the counter in the shop has a live edge too.”
He gives me a shy smile. “The same guy did both. I’ve been thinking about contacting him and seeing if he can take this tabletop and turn it into a river ta
bletop.” He looks at me with a little wariness in his gaze, “What do you think?”
I gush, “That would be amazing. I always watch videos of how they’re made. The end results are stunning. My favorite are the ones where they use different colored resin and it creates a kind of watercolor effect.”
Beckett is looking down on me with an expression I can’t quite read, but it infuses me with warmth.
I bite my lip, “What? Too much?” I scrunch up my face, “Too feminine?”
He shakes his head slowly, “No, Baby, not at all.” He looks at the table and a grin spreads across his face. “I’m calling him tomorrow. Hell, I could probably shoot him a text tonight. Mark’s a cool guy. We’d hang out more, but he’s always in his woodworking shop.” He shrugs, “Not that I blame him.”
I wrap my arm around his waist and give him a little squeeze. “Is he local?”
His brows knit together, “Yeah?”
I smile, “Do you think he’d be willing to let us come and like do it? Mix the colors and pour the resin? I’d love to do that.”
Beckett’s eyes light up, “Are you serious?”
“Fuck yeah, that would be awesome. I think we could do it ourselves, but I think it’s important to respect the person who made this table.”
He kisses my neck and groans, “Damn, Baby, you’re amazing. I don’t think he’d say no if I asked. Fuck. Consider it done. I’ll make sure that I’ll be able to fuck you on this soon-to-be river table that we make together. I’ll barter a tattoo if I have to.”
I giggle, “I guess the promise of my body is a sacrifice I’m willing to make to motivate you.”
He growls against my neck and nips my earlobe. My entire body shivers and he picks me up and cradles me in his arms. I yelp in surprise and he laughs as he carries me into the living room.
I smack his shoulder and chastise him. “Don’t distract me, my tour’s not over yet.”
He barks out a laugh, “Don’t worry, Baby, I’m taking you to the living room.”
When we’re standing in the middle of the room, he gently places me back on the ground and I pull his shirt back down over my ass. His eyes narrow in on the movement and his look turns predatory. I feel my pussy clench and my nipples harden. I know that my time to check out the living room is limited.
I turn away and my mouth drops open at what I see around me. His couch and loveseat are the same from the shop. They’re dark grey and oversized, just begging for a mid-day nap to be taken on them. The walls are a barely-there teal, except for one that is a fully saturated teal which is where the TV is mounted. The entertainment center matches the style of the built ins throughout the house. I almost drop to my knees and hug the coffee table when I notice that it’s an apothecary style table. I think the same exact one is pinned on one of my Pinterest boards. Dream furniture come to life.
He has a large geometric stained-glass piece mounted above the original fireplace with family pictures on the mantle and around the stained glass. The wall that leads to the hallway has a few art prints. Between the front windows are a few of Beckett’s pieces. I don’t even need to ask; they are so obviously his work. They’re beautiful and vibrant.
I don’t think I’ve taken a breath since I started taking in this room. It’s perfect. It’s home. Damn it, my brain is screaming kerfuffle. But, that’s insanity, right? Right. Kerfuffle. Damn it.
I can feel Beckett’s eyes on me, but I can’t look at him yet, I do another 360 turn and take in everything again. I breathe out, “It’s beautiful, Beckett. Perfect.”
I glance and him and his relief is evident. I can feel my eyes filling up with tears, so I turn away and walk around and survey the art on the walls. I look over his pictures and smile at all of the ones of him and our crew. There’s a little pang in my heart that I wasn’t there to make those memories with them. I push it away because I know we’ll make so many more.
The stained glass is stunning. It’s geometric and colorful. It’s just as beautiful mounted on this cool toned wall as it would be in front of a window. It reminds me of the stained glass my parents always found a way to hang in our house growing up. Granted, nothing this abstract; with them it was butterflies or flowers and a lighthouse, that’s Florida living I guess. Still, it tugs at a piece of me and fills me with nostalgia. Home.
Finally, I round the couch and stand in front of the art prints he has hanging. I don’t know two of them, beyond having seen them before, but the one in the middle stops me and steals my breath. It’s without a doubt, my favorite piece of art. I have a framed print of it as well and I think mine is even bigger. I stand in front of a print of Salvador Dali’s The Hallucinogenic Toreador.
I’m speechless and my hand instinctively comes up and covers my mouth and presses against my lips. I’m fighting tears because how could this be? I mean, yeah, maybe it’s not uncommon to have this in your house, but I’ve never known anyone who has.
Beckett comes up behind me and gazes at the print, “It’s one of Dali’s. It’s called…”
I drop my hand, cutting him off by whispering, “The Hallucinogenic Toreador.” My eyes rove over the color and movement of this piece. “Did you know there are 31 Venus’ in total?”
He turns me around by my shoulders, his brow knitted together in a mixture of surprise and confusion. “You know it?” He takes in the tears threatening to spill over, “Why are you about to cry, Baby?”
I nod slowly, “Have you ever seen it in person?” He shakes his head and I give him a watery smile. “Beckett, this is my favorite piece of art. Ever.” His brow relaxes and a slow smile spreads across his face and he reaches and holds my face in his hands. I clear my throat and take a deep breath, “I grew up in St. Petersburg, where the Dali Museum is?” He nods. “I spent many summer days sitting and staring up at this painting. It’s huge; at least it always felt huge. I would look around at everything else most visits too, but I would always end up sitting on the bench right in front of this one, no matter what. When I went to college my parents gave me a matted and framed print of it, it’s hanging in my apartment right now.”
He kisses my forehead, “That’s amazing, Baby. I’d love to see it in person.” I nod and he covers my face in light kisses. “That doesn’t answer my other question, though. Why are you about to cry, Baby?”
I chuckle and shrug, “I don’t really know, I guess maybe it’s just a lot, ya know?” I sigh, “I’ve admired your work since basically the moment I moved here and was told about your shop.” I peer into his eyes, I want him to see how much I mean this next part, “You’re so fucking talented Beckett. I’ve been looking at your art and it’s been speaking to my soul like it was a piece of me.”
I take a deep breath and he gives me a warm smile before he kisses me softly. He’s not running away, and it fills me with confidence. Maybe what I feel for him isn’t too much; maybe it isn’t too fast. He’s also not pushing, and I love that; he’s just listening and giving me a gentle prod.
“I needed that. I lost part of myself with my ex.” I see a flash of anger in his eyes. “He was,” I clear my throat, uncomfortable, “abusive, mostly psychologically. The one time it became physical I was done. I used the college system to report it and all they did was put him on academic probation. Even though it was a slap on the wrist, he still blamed me. I was months away from graduation, but I didn’t feel safe.”
Beckett whispers, “What did he do, Baby?”
I close my eyes briefly as I grimace, but I know Beckett won’t let me run. He slips one hand around to the back of my neck and starts massaging me gently. His eyes are intense, blazing with anger and the need to destroy Caleb. It gives me the strength to confess what he needs to know before we can really build a life together.
“I ran, I didn’t give him the chance to retaliate, but that’s not what you’re asking, is it?” He shakes his head and the thumb of the hand holding my cheek starts rubbing back and forth. “We were having an argument; I was running late meeting him so
we could go to a party that he wanted to go to.” I sigh, “I hated going to parties, especially the ones he liked to go to where it was all about getting trashed and looking good. He really laid into me about how useless I was, how,” I shift my weight from side to side, “um…slow and unattractive.” Beckett growls and presses his body against mine. “He told me how I should make sure to always be on time, to always be grateful that he was even with me and that no one else would ever want me or my body.”
I drop my gaze to Beckett’s neck. I whisper, “It wasn’t the first time I’d heard any of it. That time, I was done. I saw my future and it looked so bleak, so fucking sad. I thought of my mom and how proud and supportive she has always been of me, but I knew she wouldn’t be proud of me if that was my life. So, I told him I was done, that he and I were over and tried to leave. Before I even realized what was happening, he picked up the receiver of the phone on his desk, reared back and hit my shoulder as hard as he could.”
It takes me a moment to realize that I’m absently rubbing the shoulder he hit. I shake my head, trying to shake of the memory. “Fuck, it hurt. I screamed and thankfully his RA was in his room and not at a party. He came and gave me the cover I needed to get out of there. The bruise was the size of a large grapefruit and stayed around about two weeks.”
I close my eyes and I can feel Beckett vibrating with rage on my behalf. “I never spoke to him again but sometimes I still hear him in my head. I hate it. I stayed long enough for whatever the school needed from me as far as reporting went and muddled through finals, just barely. Then I went home.” I open my eyes and look into Beckett’s; his green eyes are swimming with rage, concern and pain, for me, but thankfully I don’t see pity.
“When I got home, one of the first places I went was back to the Dali museum and sat under this painting. Then I really delved deep and started to heal myself. I would look up and use it like a map to find myself again. I had always felt a pull to it like it spoke right to the deepest part of me. It’s always felt like home.” A wide, beautiful loving smile spreads across Beckett’s face.