Chapter 35

35

Sarah

My dress is dangling on my top half and still clinging to my lower half when Beck carries me down the hallway and turns into a bedroom.

A large, airy, silver-and-black bedroom with a marble fireplace and two huge armchairs, a bookshelf full of comic books, and a king-size bed with rumpled sheets and a black comforter tossed half-off. The room opens onto a patio that I can't see well through the glass, but there are definitely fairy lights out there, among other lights. He turns another corner, and then we're in a bathroom the size of my bedroom with a massive soaking tub and a glass-walled shower with a rainspout and wall nozzles. He sets me gently on the marble counter, riffles through a drawer in the vanity beneath the sink, and comes up with a makeup remover cloth and two clean black washcloths.

I suck in a breath.

Of course he has makeup remover.

"Close your eyes," he says gruffly, and because he's so very serious, I do as asked.

He warms the water, and a moment later, he's wiping a warm washcloth over my face, removing the makeup, then rubbing soft, slow circles over my skin, massaging my face.

And not talking.

Beck.

Not talking.

I start to pry open one eyelid, but he whispers, "Closed, Sarah."

And then he's softly wiping my eyes too.

So gentle.

So very gentle.

Like I'm delicate and he doesn't want to break me.

I suck in a shuddery breath while my heart swells, because in my entire life, no one has ever treated me as though I'm delicate.

My feelings, yes—my parents walked on eggshells for a few years after prom. Before it too, if I'm being honest, because my teen years were ugly for all the reasons.

But physically—not like this.

He uses the warm washcloth to massage my forehead. My cheeks. Around my eyes. My jaw and chin. So very gently over my lips. Down my neck.

All with one hand holding the back of my head, his fingers carefully massaging the base of my skull, his scent filling my senses, mingling with the scent of my arousal, his touch setting my skin on fire.

"There you are," he says softly, and I blink open my eyes to find him studying my face with a mixture of awe and reverence. My cheeks tingle with relief at being in fresh air again, and there's an awkward lump clogging my throat, because I swear, he's thinking I'm gorgeous without any makeup at all.

I've never wanted to be gorgeous.

It's superficial and unnecessary.

But having the most gorgeous man on earth gazing at me with utter adoration for just being me makes me feel beautiful.

And strong.

And so very, very sexy.

I'm half-naked, with my dress gaping in front, my split Slimzies curling down, and my legs still stuck in a dress, with hair that's probably sticking up, and no makeup to hide my blush or my birthmark.

And he makes me feel like an irresistible goddess.

He touches my cheek with a light finger, and then he's kissing me.

But it's not a normal kiss, just lips and tongues and teeth.

No, this is like our souls are saying hello .

I unbutton his shirt slowly. He shifts my body as he peels my dress down over my hips, kissing me and plucking hairpins out. I reach his pants and unhook them too.

He groans into my mouth as I push them over his hips and they slide to the floor. My hands curve around to cup his ass, and my already wet panties get positively soaked.

My dress hits the floor, and he grips the edges of my Slimzies and yanks, and they split in two.

I shudder in relief as my body's finally fully free, and then I realize I'm completely naked.

Except for a small pair of RYDE panties.

"You are so fucking gorgeous," he whispers as he cups my breasts, then bends to press a gentle kiss to each nipple before suckling one into his mouth. I gasp at the intense shot of pleasure that radiates from my breast, through my ribs, and down to my center. I clutch his head in place, my fingers in his thick hair, and I spread my legs, because I need him to?—

Yes .

To touch me.

He strokes his thumb over the fabric covering my clit, and I gasp again and arch into him.

"You like?" he whispers against my breast, which makes my skin pebble everywhere his breath touches.

"Yes," I manage.

He still has his shirt hanging open, tie dangling low on one side, with a white undershirt and black boxers.

I'm still in my strappy heels.

He straightens and guides my legs around his hips, and then he's carrying me into his bedroom, hands kneading my ass, kissing me again, lowering me to his bed, where his hands roam over my body. "Tell me to stop and I will," he whispers.

"Take your shirts off."

He smiles as he does as asked, the dress shirt flying one way, the tight white T-shirt beneath going the other. "Better?"

I crook a finger at him, and he lowers himself onto his arms above me. I cup his cheeks, then move my hands down his neck, around his shoulders, over his chest, and I smile back at him. "Much better."

His stomach growls, and we both look down at it.

"You didn't get enough dinner," I whisper.

"I'm about to fix that," he replies, and then he's kissing his way down my body, from my neck, between my breasts, over my belly, beneath my belly button, until he stops short at the top of my panties. "Sarah Dempsey, you're wearing my underwear," he breathes against the elastic band.

"Yes," I manage, because it's all I can say. He's teasing the edges of the panties with his thumbs, taking his time, his mouth drifting lower to press kisses to the top of my mound over the fabric.

"I like you in my underwear. But I think I might like you more out of them."

" Yes ," I gasp again.

He breathes in my scent, and I strain to open my legs wider.

I'm so wet already, and the anticipation of Beck's mouth on me is making my heart throb in my clit. "Want—you," I manage.

"How mad will you be if I tear these off?" he asks my pussy.

" Beck ."

"What? I can get you a new pair." He blows on the fabric, and my hips lift off the bed. Everything's buzzing and shimmering in anticipation.

He guides my legs so he can tug the panties off—"Too awesome to waste," he says, which makes me laugh despite myself—and then pauses at my feet. "Fucking hell. Don't these hurt?"

"Nothing hurts right now."

"Sarah. They're cutting into your feet ." He mutters to himself while he undoes the small buckles and pulls them off, then lifts my feet for inspection.

My toes glitter in the low light, and he lifts a grin to me that goes dark and hooded when his gaze locks on my bare pussy.

"You painted the universe on your toes." He releases my foot, but glides his hands up my legs as he stretches back out to center himself with his mouth over my hips. "Beautiful."

I don't know if he's talking about my toes or the rest of my body, but it suddenly doesn't matter, because his tongue is teasing my clit and his thumbs are drawing lazy circles on my inner thigh, and oh my god , why did I ever doubt this man?

My hips lift, my toes curl, my shoulders arch, a pin in my hair digs into my skull, and I'm chanting incoherently while his mouth explores my pussy until I'm beyond capable of breathing.

And just when I can't take it anymore, he sucks my clit between his teeth, and everything clenches hard, and I come apart in a starburst of blues and purples and reds, sparks shimmering behind my eyes, Beck's mouth coaxing me higher and longer while my body shudders out transcendent sensations that rock me from my roots to my toenails, with pleasure radiating so thick and heavy from my clit that I will most definitely never be able to walk again.

I sag against the rumpled sheets as the waves gradually subside, and he peppers kisses to my inner thighs that tickle enough to make aftershocks jolt through my ovaries.

"So fucking gorgeous," he murmurs, and when he lifts his gaze again, there's so much heat in his eyes that I almost come a second time just from that giddy feeling of knowing, without a doubt, that he really does think I'm beautiful. And irresistible. And sexy.

Until he suddenly frowns. "Does your hair hurt?"

"Wha…?" Huh. Now that he mentions it. "Oh. Yash. Yesh. Mm."

He shoves up to sitting, and guides me to do the same. I get an eyeful of the strain in his boxers—holy yes , please—but then he's behind me, plucking more hairpins out, his erection pressing into my lower back, his lips dropping to my neck between untangling the unholy mess. "Did they put an entire pin factory in here?" he murmurs as half my hair finally falls down my back.

"Mom—massages—buttered me up—no will power," I murmur.

"I'll give you massages. And I'll get you a spa pass. And your own personal massage therapist. Just—fuck, Sarah. Don't let them do this to you."

"Beck?"

"Mm?"

"When you talk like that, I want to jump you."

His hands still in my hair. "Like the good kind of jump, or the taser kind of jump?"

"Mm-hmm," I murmur, my fingers lifting to rub my nipples.

He laughs into my hair, and then his fingers join mine.

Just one hand.

The other's still searching out random hairpins.

But he's quite talented at teasing my body one-handed.

Especially when his hand trails down my belly to tease the curls just over my clit. "Still sensitive?" he murmurs into my neck while he plucks one more hairpin out.

"Touch me," I reply.

His cock swells harder against my back, and I'm instantly aroused again.

There's something so powerful about being wanted . And even more so for being wanted for me .

All of me. The good and the bad.

His fingers drift lower, and I groan and let my legs fall open while I drop my head back against him.

"Sarah," he whispers, so reverently he might as well have whispered I love you .

I twist in his arms and go up on my knees, then grab his cheeks and kiss him.

Hard.

Deep.

Desperate.

I didn't expect him.

I didn't ask for him.

But I can't imagine ever letting him go.

I'll have to—his life is out there, globetrotting around the world with photographers chasing him, while mine is rooted here—but not tonight.

Tonight, he's mine.

I straddle him there, with his back against his headboard, and I free his cock from his briefs.

He groans into my mouth as I stroke his hard length, and then he's fumbling for a condom in the nightstand.

"I want you," I whisper while I help him roll it on.

His breath is ragged, his eyes dark midnight under heavy lids, his lips parted, and when I sink down on him, taking him deep inside me, we both shudder in relief.

"So fucking perfect," he grits out.

I clamp my mouth shut, because otherwise, I'll start chanting I love you , and it's not something I can take back, and love scares the hell out of me.

But Beck?

Beck doesn't.

He thrusts up into me, neck straining, his eyes locked on me while he fills me and stretches me and pumps into me and I ride him hard, taking him so deep that he's hitting that special spot over and over, building that tension, my walls tightening in anticipation, until I'm so, so close.

"Sarah," he gasps. "I'm—can't—need—come, Sarah. Come for me."

He flicks his thumbs over my nipples and, groaning, lets his head fall back. I feel the pulse of his release, and it carries me over the edge too, clenching hard around his spasming cock while he wraps those long, strong arms around me and holds me so tight, buried so deep, connecting so thoroughly that I can't imagine a time we'll ever be disconnected.

No matter the miles.

No matter the mountains or oceans between us.

I didn't even know I wanted him, and now I can't imagine ever letting him go.

"Sarah," he gasps again into my shoulder as his body begins to relax, and I wrap my arms around him and hold tight too.

Beck doesn't just have a piece of me.

He has all of me.

And it's the scariest and most thrilling feeling I've ever known.