I ran my hand down his uniform, slowly reaching for the first button and undoing it.
I was rewarded with his breath turning choppy.
“On a scale of one to ten,” I said, pure pleasure lifting my lips. “How desperate are you to get me out of my dress?”
His eyes turned molten.
“I’d break the damn scale, darlin’.”
Joy winged through me, the intensity of it so large it could almost take shape. I barely had time to revel in it before his mouth was on mine. Hot. Needy. Sparking into a full-blown blaze in a mere heartbeat.
His hands slid up my arms before tracing the whisper of chiffon across my back. Then he drew me closer, until every curve of me fit against every solid line of him. It felt inevitable, the way our lips met, molding together as though they’d been made for this—for us. Separate pieces finally forming a whole.
He licked into me, tasting like chocolate and cherries and the smoky hint of whiskey. Or maybe that was simply him, a delicious blend of fire and life that left behind the cleansing scent of ash and pure want in its wake.
Our tongues wove together, plummeting into secret depths until hunger rippled like a hurricane through me. I needed to feel his skin, his heat, the pulse of his body against mine. His teeth caught my bottom lip, his fingers threading into my hair to tilt my head back. A flicker of pain sparked where the injury lingered, but it vanished beneath the pleasure of being claimed, consumed, undone.
I fumbled with his remaining buttons, urgency turning my fingers clumsy. His jacket fell to the floor with a muted thud. When he reached for the zipper of my dress, I caught his hand and pushed it away, not wanting the moment to be broken yet by the cold dread that often hit me when a man’s hands touched me. I wanted his urgency to infect me. I wanted to end up as he’d once told me I should when having sex—I wanted to end panting and aching for the simple graze of a finger.
“You first,” I gasped. “I need to touch you. I need to feel your skin. I need to know this is real.”
He stepped away and impatiently undid the buttons on his dress shirt while simultaneously stepping out of his shoes. When his cuffs took longer to undo than he wanted, he tugged viciously, and a button popped off, pinging and hitting the dresser.
I couldn’t hold in the laugh.
“Is my impatience funny to you, darlin’? Seems to me, you’re the one demanding skin as if it’s your latest drug,” he taunted. His voice was raw. The need in it skated over me, thrilling me down to the core.
“Not funny as much as”—I stepped back again as he tried to close the distance—“delightful.”
His eyes darkened, and he let the shirt fallaway from his shoulders, leaving a white T-shirt sculpted to his chest.
“I see. You like torturing me.” I swore flames sparked in his eyes. “Just remember, Maise, payback’s a bitch. I may be desperate. I may beg you to take that dress off, but I guarantee you’ll be the one begging once I’ve got you flat on your back on the bed.”
My mouth went dry, and I bit my lip.
He reached behind him, tugging at the tee and dragging it over his head, leaving his chest exposed. He was carved in the most beautiful way, not only by rigorous workouts but a life of service. He bore the marks of it. Scars from cuts and burns he’d earned fighting fires.
My body ached. To touch. To taste. To feel every single brush of skin before losing all sensation as we came apart together. But I wasn’t going to let him have all the fun tonight. If he was going to torment me, I was going to torment him right back.
“Why does it have to be me flat onmyback?” I demanded, arching a brow.
I stepped out of my shoes and removed the clip from my hair, shaking it out and running my hands through it so it would fall around my shoulders.
He groaned, dropping the belt he’d yanked off. I could see a hint of the sharp V at his waist, a trail of hair above the band of his briefs, and before I knew it, I was the one who’d closed the distance. I set my hands at the curves of his hips, sliding my palms along his waist and popping the button on his pants open before placing wet, needy kisses along his chest.
He drew my face to his, cupped my cheeks, and took my mouth with furious devotion, as if there was a storm inside him that matched the one in me. I’d relinquish my soul to get lost in the eye. To get lost in the glide of lips and teeth and hands. To feel perfectly and utterly used and adored like the people in my novels.
Our kiss turned brutal, savage in its intensity.
And when he reached for my zipper this time, I couldn’t stop him if I’d wanted to. My knees shook. My fingers trembled. I wanted the dress gone. I wanted nothing left between us.
I gripped his pants, dragged them down as he tugged at my dress. Once the clothes fell away, once the gown was a crumpled pile of mulberry on the ground, Beckett stepped back, just as I had done with him, and took in every curve and valley of my body.
Usually, being in nothing but a sheer pink lingerie set would have had me covering myself self-consciously. But I didn’t need to do that with Beckett. Not only because he’d seen me in bikinis growing up and naked several times now at his house, but because I didn’t feel vulnerable and exposed with him. I felt as if this was just one more homecoming. A placeI belonged.
Before I could protest, he’d picked me up, tossed me on the bed, and covered me with his body. His mouth landed on one hard nipple, laving it through the fabric. A soft bite had me crying out, arching off the bed. Strong hands pushed me back down, slowly and sensually exploring me.
My eyes closed as the sensations overwhelmed me.