Chapter 23
I can’t keep myself from smiling, and it feels normal for the first time in forever. I don’t know how Becks knew his idea would help, but somehow I feel revived again.
Who would have thought strapping on a helmet, getting behind the wheel of an old stock car, and zooming around the track would be so invigorating? And it wasn’t just the adrenaline that refreshed me. It was the ability to control my destiny.
I mean I know I was going only a quarter of the speed Colton goes when he flies around the track, but I didn’t care. The notion that how fast I go, if I hit the wall or not, I could stay out there all day long if I wanted to, except for stopping for gas, let me feel like I was in control of my own life.
And the moment my mind started to wander, I’d push the gas pedal a little harder, go a little faster so that I had to concentrate on living and not on dying.
What a concept.
Becks walks me up the sidewalk to the front door, his hand in mine, and I realize I’m not ready to let him go just yet. I mean, this morning when he found me looking out the window, the tears in my eyes were from a potent mixture of the fear of tomorrows mixed with the comforting knowledge that I am trying to let him in … for today at least. I had one foot planted firmly and one foot out the door, waiting for the first sign it was time to bail.
And now? Now I feel like one foot is still firmly rooted while the other is in the air, suspended, as my heart urges me to plant it down permanently beside its partner.
And all in a span of forty-eight hours.
What is he doing to me?
If I didn’t know any better, I’d say I’m cockstruck by him, but that’s just not possible. Hell yes, his bedroom prowess is fine as fuck, but there’s something more here—and as much as it scares me, it’s also really alluring. It holds promise for possibilities that just might be on the horizon.
But what the hell do I know? Tomorrow I could be hit by a Mack Truck, as Rylee so nicely suggested.
Or be diagnosed with cancer.
I shrug the thought away. It has no place in the here and now after the incredible past thirty-some-odd hours with Becks.
Oh my God. I actually know the hours, have figured them out subconsciously. I really am cockstruck. Fuck me. Hmm—yes, please, but I force myself to pull my mind from its comfortable place in the gutter and focus on how this just isn’t possible.
As much as I like my alphas, I always make sure that the sex is so stellar that even though they think they are in control, I can reduce them to whimpers if I hold out on sex to get what I want. And now look at me. Standing here next to Beckett Daniels—Mr. Slow and Steady—and I’m cockstruck, dick-whipped, legs-spread-wide-served-up-on-a-platter, whatever way you want to say it.
Did the fat lady sing?
And before I can scour the neighborhood to see where she’s hiding, Becks tugs on my hand and pulls me into him as we near the front door. I lean against the solidity of his chest as he wraps his arms around me. Then I close my eyes and absorb the comfort of his nearness because we are light-years away from where we were yesterday morning when we were in this exact same position bristling with sexual tension.
The funny thing is that we’ve all but devoured each other, and yet I feel that want and need ten times stronger now.
He presses a kiss to the top of my head as we hold each other tight. “Thanks for going with me to the farmhouse.” The timbre of his words vibrates from his lips on the crown of my head down through my chest pressed against his, leaving me to feel like he’s a part of me somehow.
“For going?” I tease. “I believe I wasn’t given an option since you were so intent on calling my bluff.”
“Hmm … but it was so much fun mounting that bluff and coming down off of it, now, wasn’t it?”
My body reacts viscerally to his words, a contented sigh on my lips. He can prove it to me right now—once again—if he wants to because hell if my body pressed up against his isn’t already spiraling into the oblivious free fall of desire that only he holds the parachute to.
“Wanna come in?”
He laughs, his hand running up and down the length of my spine. “As much as I’d love to, I can’t.”
Unexpectedly I feel rejected, as if I haven’t gotten my fill of him yet. “You have something better to do than me?” I pull back from him, my lips in full pout as I look up at him and bat my lashes.
“Not in the least.” He smiles softly and leans forward to press a soft sigh of a kiss against them. “You’re cute when you pout, but coming in would break my rules, and you know how much I hate to do that.”
Him and his frickin’ rules. “Rules? Which rules would those be?” Tell me, Becks, so I can break them.
His mouth widens into a full blown megawatt grin as he shakes his head. “Well, it would break two of them … the pinkie-toe rule and the first-date rule.”
“Come again?”
“Oh, you can guarantee that,” he replies before I realize what I’ve said. I just roll my eyes at him.
“The pinkie-toe rule?” I reiterate.
“Yeah, if I come in, I’m going to want to bang you on every piece of furniture in your house just like you do your pinkie toe. It’s an inevitable thing that’s just going to happen.” He raises his eyebrows as I laugh at him. “I don’t want to do that because, one, by the looks of the bike in the driveway your way-too-present and way-too-male roommate is home. As much as I’d love him to hear you screaming my name, I don’t want to share a single part of you with him, and even if it’s by sound … it’s not going to happen. I don’t share. Anything.”
Although I’m laughing at his ridiculous pinkie-toe rule, the possessive tone of the rest of his words and the look in his eyes—amused dominance—are quite a turn-on.
“And, two,” he continues as I study him, “breaking rule number one would lead to breaking rule number two, no sleeping together on the first date.”
“First date?” I sputter, my head shaking back and forth as I try to understand him.
“Yes. First time I’ve come to your house and picked you up and taken you somewhere.” He shrugs. “Call me old-fashioned, but first date.”
I snort out a laugh and then try to stifle it. “Well, it seems you already broke that rule—yesterday, last night, this morning. Just in case you’ve forgotten, and then if you did, I’d be more than insulted.” I lean in and whisper, “We’ve already slept together.”
“Oh, I assure you I didn’t forget, but this is the first time I get to walk you to the front door and kiss you good night. That’s an important first, and I’m not going to overshadow the importance of that kiss because you’re so busy thinking about how hard I’m going to fuck you up against the front door once we get inside.”
I have a hard time swallowing after that statement. He’s telling me he’s not going to come in, and then he says something like that? “Wall sex, huh?” I try to play off the allure of the idea.
He fights the smile on his lips and almost wins, but his eyes give away his burgeoning desire. “Yep. Wall sex is highly underrated,” he says matter-of-factly as he takes a step toward me. I move away only to realize my back is against said front door.
“Why’s that?” I breathe out, his proximity and the topic of conversation beginning to make my heart quicken.
He steps in again so that my body is pressed against his with nowhere to retreat. “Because,” he says, bringing his hands up to frame my face so that I have no option but to look at those mesmerizing eyes of his, “when you’re pushed against the door with your legs wrapped around my hips, your body weight makes it so that you take me as deep as you possibly can.” He makes a humming sound of appreciation in his throat that mimics how I feel right now, desperate for the feeling he just described. My lips part to beg him, but I keep my dignity—for how much longer, I’m not sure.
With his eyes fastened to mine, he runs his hands down my shoulders, along my rib cage and stops right at my hips so his fingers can grip me there. My breath hitches as I wait for him to lift me up and press me against the door, oblivious to the fact that we are outside and that’s not going to happen.
His fingers grip a bit tighter as he lowers his face oh so slowly to mine. That mouth of his, which I want to do so many things to me, brushes gently against my lips when he pins me to the door. And rather than the desperation I feel, Becks keeps the kiss so tender, so reverent that we sink into it so gently, I become lost in him.
He lifts me gently, my legs wrapping around his waist instinctively, but our lips never leave each other’s, and the eroticism of our connection is not lost on me. Our bodies fit together, his erection against the V of my thighs almost as perfect a fit as our lips.
Even as my desire swelters to unfathomable heights, the kiss remains slow, measured, meaningful, with our fingers tangling in each other’s hair. It softly ends, a pleading protest falling from my now swollen lips as he pulls back to look in my eyes.
“Good night kisses are my favorite,” he murmurs, and damn, I can see why he favors them, especially when they’re like that. Knock the breath from your lungs, turn your knees to jelly, and overwhelm your mind so thoroughly, you can’t think a straight thought. His hands are back on my hips as he holds me, lowering me to the ground, my mind so shaken that I momentarily forget about my suspended state.
He angles his head, his eyes swimming with so many things that I’m too scared to look too closely. “Good night, City.”
He takes a step back, and I want to cry in protest, but all I utter is “’Night.” He looks at me for a beat longer, with a ghost of a smile before he turns and starts to walk down the path.
“Hey,” I call to him, my scattered wits slowly returning now that there is distance between our bodies. He turns and narrows his brows at me. “Do you have a three-day rule too?”
“Three days? You’ll just have to wait and see now, won’t you?” A lopsided smirk curls up his lips. “I never give away my secrets.” He goes to turn to walk away but stops and faces me. “Hey, Montgomery? The question you should be asking me is if the three-day rule I have is for a phone call or for the wall sex.”
And with that, he grants me a lightning-quick grin before turning and walking away, his laugh floating over to where I stand, thighs clenched and head shaking as he leaves me once again, a woman already wanting more.
Damn you, Beckett Daniels.
I watch him pull out of the driveway, knowing the ache in my chest is only going to get worse as I fall farther and farther down the rabbit hole.
When his car is gone from sight, I open the front door, shut it, and then sag against it in a state of complete exhaustion that feels oh so good. And then I laugh to myself when I realize this very position is exactly where I hope Becks plans to meet me three days from now.
Wall sex.
Damn.