by Kira Blakely
I couldn’t do that with Olivia. She probably wouldn’t accept that. She’d want more than I could give.
And therein lay my weakness. The softness.
I was the savage. I was the shark. I was the barbarian.
Except when I caught her peach and vanilla scent. Dangerous distraction. Delicious vixen.
And she needed me.
Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. Indecisive prick. Make up your mind.
I couldn’t love her—that part of me was broken—but I couldn’t resist this urge any longer. I wouldn’t resist it.
I got out of my car, slammed the door behind me, and sucked in the city through my mouth and nose. Smog and dirt, and cakes, and home cooking. Cut grass from the park nearby, the sweet smell of flowers.
The car’s lights flashed as I locked it. I headed for the front door and pushed inside, nodded to the ratty blond reception dude, then headed for the elevator. He picked up the phone to make the call upstairs before I’d even reached it.
Didn’t bother me.
Let her know I was on the way. She probably thought I was angry over that idiot woman who’d crashed our little dinner. Maybe she was riled up, too.
The thought of her raging against me turned me on. She’d challenged me from the start.
Out of bounds, my best friend’s little sister, all grown up.
I entered the elevator, hit the button, and spent the short ride up to her floor with my hands balled into fists at my sides. Adrenaline coursed through me.
How many times over the past seven or eight years had I dreamed of this moment? Fantasized about taking it past the kiss, past the delicious flavor of her lips and to the next level?
So many goddamn times I’d lost count.
More times than there were grains of sand on a beach. And in each iteration of desire, it had ended with us together. For more than one night.
That broken part inside me wanted more than this, but I’d fuck her up if I tried.
The elevator doors opened, and I charged down the hall toward her door, past potted plants and paneled walls. I halted and knocked once, squared my shoulders. Not nervous, but ready. The minute she opened that door—
The latch clicked, a creak, and there she was.
Olivia beaming practically from ear-to-ear, her blonde hair loose and framing her face, her eyes sparkling right back at me. She was a collection of textures, silk, smooth skin, soft hair. She was light and oh so ready for me.
“I did it,” she whispered, still grinning.
“What?” I asked, faltering from my examination of her. My woman. My Olivia.
“I put her down without her crying. She even hugged me goodnight. It’s the first time that’s ever happened, Beckett!”
The name I hated. The name that reminded me of my father and his father before him. It didn’t make me angry when she said it. It made me throb. And her joy was a new perfume. It was delectable.
She was edible.
“I can’t believe it,” she prattled on, still shining from the inside out. She tugged on the end of her camisole and her breasts wobbled, the cleavage so enticing I held back a groan. “I thought there wouldn’t be a day when she’d actually let me hold her. Or when she’d let me put her down without her freaking out and screaming.”
“Well done,” I replied.
“It’s huge! It’s amazing. It’s—wait,” she said, and a frown wrinkled her pale brow. “What are you doing here?”
“I thought you’d never ask.” I closed the distance between us in a step, wrapped my arm around her waist, pulled her to my body, soft against hard again, and pressed my lips to hers.
She stiffened beneath me.
I liked that plush pout, and she opened for me, let me inside at last.
The kiss dissolved into heat and blindness, into wetness. Fuck, she tasted better than I remembered. Her breasts pressed to my chest, supple but for the nipples hardening, pricking at the fabric of her camisole.
My tongue danced with hers, teased and claimed. I sucked her bottom lip then returned to her tongue and sucked that, too, lightly.
Olivia moaned into my mouth. Her hands latched around the back of my neck, and she melted into me. Fucking melted.
She was mine. Finally, after all these years, she was mine.
Olivia had given me nothing but trouble, fantasies, and frustration.
Now, she would give me her soul.
Chapter 12
Olivia
This was it. This was the moment I’d dreamed about. The moment I’d dreaded.
I dissolved into Beckett. I kissed him back as hard as he kissed me, breaking against him like waves crashing against cliffs.
Every cell screamed for more. Every nerve-ending jangled.
My brain checked out except for the one line it kept repeating.
It’s Beckett. At last, it’s Beckett. Oh, god, at last. At last! Beckett.
I sizzled for him, shifting my grip to his hair, and tangled my fingers in it. I moaned softly for what might’ve been the first time or the hundredth. I hadn’t lost track of time—I’d lost track of reality.
Finally, he broke the kiss, but he didn’t let go of me. He didn’t speak. He walked me backward, kicked the door shut.
“Wha—”
“Quiet,” he grunted.
The living room blurred around us. The windows, the lights, then the kitchen island, the tiles, the carpet leading down the hall. A door opened. My room appeared. Seconds of staring at his face, at his pitch-black eyes, which let into that pitch-black soul, and the backs of my legs hit the mattress.
We toppled onto it.
“Beckett,” I groaned.
“Fuck, don’t say my name like that,” he replied. “When you say it like that—” He worked on the button of my jean, flicked it free, then unzipped my pants.
“What?”
“It makes me want to eat you,” he growled. “Devour you whole.” His black gaze already did the job. He’d savage me if I let him, and curse my soul, I wanted to let him. I wanted to feel every second of this and remember it for the rest of my life.
“Why?” I asked. “Why now?” I shifted onto my elbows.
He pushed me back down again. “Quiet,” he repeated and kissed me to make it happen.
Once again, he washed all rational thought from my brain. He was my centerpoint, his lips, and his fingers, creeping down my neck, my collarbone, to the top of my camisole. He peeled it down and freed one of my breasts.
I sucked on his bottom lip, taking this moment as mine.
At last, after all these years, he was next to me in my bed. This was so wrong and so right. What would happen after this? Was this really the right decision to make?
I pressed my hand to his chest and shoved, but it was like forcing a mountain backward. He didn’t budge on the bed, but he did stop the kiss and raise an eyebrow at me.
“I—this isn’t a good idea. You’re—Beckett, I don’t want to ruin anything.”
“You won’t,” he replied, so confident within his skin. Goddamn him for that. Beckett’s face was just above me, his body pressed against my side. “You never ruin anything, Olivia. That’s my job.”
“But—”
“Say you want me,” he growled. “Say it, and I’ll stay.” His fingers were an inch from my breast. His other hand sat just within my jeans, toying with the hem of my lacy panties. “Say it, Olivia. Tell me what you want.”
“You,” I whispered. “It’s always been you.”
Beckett groaned. It was the sexiest, most animalistic sound I’d ever heard. He was all about control, and I made him lose it.
My core tightened and pulsed hot at that. I was the one in control now.
“Say it again,” he grunted. “Say you want me.”
He needed this. Strong, savage Beckett who’d driven me crazy needed me to say this.
“I want you,” I whispered. “I need you.”
“Where?”
“Inside me,” I replie
d and lifted my chin, waiting for him to laugh at me as he’d done in high school. He didn’t.
His eyes flicked from side to side as he took me in. “Good,” he growled, then lowered his head and kissed me again.
The room disappeared, the bed, the ceiling. There was Beckett, and there was me, and that was it. Stress dropped from my shoulders. Fears dissolved into pleasure.
His lips were wet and warm. They parted mine with ease, and his tongue crept inside and took my mouth for his. Beckett’s kisses were rough and hard. They conquered, they didn’t love.
“Off,” I whispered, between sucks and licks, tugging on his suit jacket. I dragged it down his arms. “Please.”
He shed it with a shake, and I started on his buttons, immediately, my eyes wide.
I was transported back to college. To the night he’d come to my room. Christ, I’d always wondered what was under Beckett’s put-together exterior. The last time he’d flashed me anything, it’d been when I was eighteen, and I’d shut the curtains. I’d caught only the tiniest glimpse of his body.
Now, I’d finally get the real show.
Up close and personal.
Beckett dragged his shirt open, popping the remaining buttons off, and my jaw dropped.
He’d changed, all right.
Beckett was strong, lean, hard. His abs led downward toward a perfect V of muscle. His pecs were defined and covered in tattoos. Artistic swirls creating a message I couldn’t decipher now, only because I couldn’t focus on anything but the desire twisting through my cursed soul.
Cursed because I’d never be the same after this.
And yet, I needed this.
He was disaster in a god’s body, and I practically drooled for him.
Beckett tore his shirt off, suspended himself above me, his shoulders knotting, his body tight. He lowered himself and kissed me again, this time sliding my jeans off, my panties next. He parted my thighs and slipped his finger inside me.
Just like that.
He penetrated me. Beckett, a part of him at least, was inside me.
I clenched down on him, involuntarily, and he growled low in his throat. “That’s it, O. This is my pussy. You didn’t forget, did you?”
Never forget that you will always be mine.
I nodded, because I couldn’t exactly speak, and he increased the pace, pressing one finger in and out of me, slow at first, then faster, faster, until my eyes rolled back in my head, and I shifted beneath him.
“So quiet,” he grunted and slipped another finger inside me. His thumb grazed my clit.
I moaned and bit my bottom lip.
“There’s my girl,” he said.
I wasn’t a goddamn possession, and I never would be, but I didn’t have the strength to argue the point with him inside me. It’d been so long since I’d been touched by anyone. And like this? Never.
My body bent around him. It responded to every move he made. He crooked his fingers and massaged my g-spot, sending me straight to nirvana.
“Oh god,” I whispered. “Oh god.”
“That’s right,” he replied, and, through some miracle, the arrogance didn’t snap me out of the moment. The man was full of himself and now, I was full of him, too. I couldn’t stop. Couldn’t ask him to stop. Didn’t want to.
“More,” I whispered. “Please. Beckett, I need to come.” My hips thrust in time with his fingers. He hadn’t touched my clit again. Christ, I needed it as much as I needed him.
“Careful, Olivia.”
“No,” I moaned and shook my head. “I want more! I want more of you. I need it.”
“Fuck,” Beckett grunted. “Be careful what you ask for, because I’ll give it to you, O. If you think you’re in trouble now, you’re wrong. Once I’ve taken you, once I’ve conquered you, you’ll never be the same again.” He flicked my clit.
I cried out and clawed at him, as if he was the life raft, and I was on the cusp of slipping under.
“You sure you want it, baby? You sure?” His questions were commands.
The answer was a foregone conclusion, now. “Yes,” I moaned. “Please, please, please.”
Beckett’s finger drove against my clit, rough as his kisses were. He was relentless, demanding. He didn’t go slow. He probably didn’t know the meaning of the word. His strokes sent streaks of raw pleasure through me.
My abdomen tightened up, I clenched down on his fingers, and he worked my g-spot from within, expert timing, playing me like a fiddle. He had me, quite literally, in the palm of his hand.
Break me or please me. Kill me or love me.
“I’m going to come,” I hissed. “I’m coming. Oh my god.”
“Say my name.”
“Beckett.” I thrust down on his fingers and drove through my orgasm. “Beckett, Beckett!” The pulses came with each utterance of his name. It was a mantra, now, and I couldn’t stop saying it, over and over as I fell apart for him.
Finally, he pulled his fingers from me and I collapsed, gripped my hair in both hands and tugged. Too good.
“It’s not over yet,” Beckett said, as if he’d read my mind. He took hold of my arms and sat me up, then stripped my camisole off and flopped me back onto the bed. My breasts bounced, and I grabbed them.
“Don’t touch what’s mine.” There was a hint of a smile at the corners of his lips, and not the usual sardonic one.
I didn’t let go of my breasts, but massaged them, watching him.
He stood at the end of my bed and stripped off his belt, thwacking it against the bed post in the process. He dropped it, then undid the top button of his pants, unzipped.
I hoisted myself up on my elbows and let go of my breasts. I bit my bottom lip, waiting.
“How long have you wanted this, O?” he asked. “Tell me.”
“Since we met,” I whispered.
“How many times did you come for me in your bedroom back home?”
My cheeks colored, but I didn’t shift my focus from him. He sucked the energy from the room and pressed it out again, enforcing his will on everything. So electric, so real, so in charge.
“How many?”
“I lost count,” I whispered.
He dropped his pants and revealed that long, thick cock. It was everything I’d fantasized about and more. Incredible girth, a head that glistened with pre-cum. “And in here?”
My entire body flushed this time. God, I wouldn’t answer that. Seven years had passed since we’d seen each other. Since the kiss. How pathetic of me to fantasize about him all along. Or was it?
“Tell me, Olivia.” Beckett climbed onto the bed and parted my legs, again. He kissed the insides of my calves, then my knees, then my thighs, far too tenderly. “Tell me how many times.”
“No.”
His eyes flashed and he nipped my flesh. “Now.”
“No.”
“I’ll make you come again. No, fuck it, I’ll bring you to the edge and leave you there.”
I pressed my lips together and released, slowly.
“Tell me, baby.” He licked a long line up my leg and to my pussy. He drew my clit into his mouth and sucked on it.
I lurched upward, and my smooth mound knocked into his nose. Oh, god, I hadn’t waxed in an age. I hadn’t shaved either. In the heat of this moment, I’d totally forgotten about it. “Sorry,” I squeaked.
He chuckled but sucked my clit again. Licked again. Dragged his tongue between my lips and spread the wetness over that tight bundle of nerves. “So delicious. So tight,” he grunted. “Your pussy is my addiction, Olivia.”
“Please,” I whispered.
“What?” Beckett asked. “Tell me what you want. Remember, be careful.”
I gazed down at him, still on my elbows, and caught the intent. He’d break me, perhaps not physically, but emotionally, yes.
“You,” I said.
“Where?”
“Inside me. Now.”
The responding smile belonged to a wolf.
Chapter 13
&
nbsp; Beckett
She’d asked for it.
She’d begged for it, and she’d get it.
So what if it would destroy us both?
I suckled on that sweet clit, dipped my tongue into her cunt one last time, probing the delicious, salty sweetness. Fuck, she tasted so clean. So pure. She tasted like a drug.
Olivia’s arms collapsed, and she threw her head back, cried out. “Please!”
I gave her little clit one last kiss, nuzzling the smattering of pubic hair just above it. A soft little nest—I’d always pictured her totally smooth, but I liked this. It was more natural. It was a reminder that Olivia wasn’t who she’d once been.
She wasn’t only into the superficial shit.
I moved up her slender form, leaving behind a trail of kisses. I paused at her bellybutton and nuzzled it with my nose. I continued upward, appreciating each part of her, the scent of peaches and vanilla permeated my consciousness.
Christ, this was everything I’d ever wanted. Finally, I’d claim her. Finally!
I took the underside of her right breast into my mouth and sucked on it, then I worked my way up to her nipple and sucked that, too.
Olivia opened to me like a flower. I was her sun. She flung her arms around my neck and tugged on me. “Please,” she whispered, and it would be the last time.
I placed my dick at her entrance and waited. “Pill?”
“Yes,” she said. “Since college.”
I’d never had sex with a woman without a condom. I’d had shitloads of opportunities, but I wasn’t stupid. I wasn’t prepared to have a kid or catch anything.
“How many men?” I asked.
Her eyes widened.
The shock made my dick pulse against her opening. My pre-cum mingled with her juices, but I didn’t press inside.
“W-what?”
“How many have fucked you?”
“Beckett! This isn’t the moment to ask me that.”
I took hold of her chin, gently, forcing her to meet my gaze. “Tell me,” I growled.
“One,” she said. “Just the one. The ex-boyfriend you hated.”
That fucker. I couldn’t even remember his name, but I’d hated the bastard the minute he touched her hand. “Condom?”