“Doing what?” His innocent tone doesn't match how his body cages mine.
I lick my lips without thinking. His pupils dilate. I try to step back, but there's nowhere to go. He's got me trapped between his body and Jerry's engine block. “You're impossible.”
“And you're still running.” He traces my jaw with his thumb, leaving fire in his wake. “Even though we both know where this is heading.”
I stay perfectly still, caught in his orbit. His presence is gravity, pulling me in when I should be running.Why am I fighting this?
I'm tired of pretending I don't want his hands on me, his mouth marking my skin, his body pressed against mine until I can't tell where I end and he begins.
But what happens when I let him in? When I let myself need him, and he leaves?
My breath shudders. I should pull away. I should shove him back and tell him this is a mistake.
If he kisses me now and I kiss him back, I won’t be able to pretend this is casual. I won’t be able to convince myself that this doesn’t matter.
Beckett tilts his head, reading me like an open book, his fingers curling slightly around my wrist, grounding me. His touch is careful and patient as if he’s waiting for me to make the final move.
I exhale slowly, my resistance cracking. Maybe it was never there to begin with.
His mouth brushes against mine—not quite a kiss but a question. “You know how good we could be.”
Yeah, I do. Which is exactly why stopping would be the smart thing to do. I’m already teetering on the edge with him, spiraling faster than I can pretend to handle. If I’m not careful, my heart will be the next casualty.
I should make a joke. Give myself some plausible deniability. Logic demands it, but my body betrays me. His proximity is causing my ovaries to throw a damn parade.
My fingers curl into his shirt, clinging to him like he’s the only steady thing in a world that won’t stop spinning.
His breath brushes my lips, hot and uneven. Something about his stillness sets me on fire, knowing he’s holding back and waiting for me to tip us both over the edge.
Beckett’s thumb strokes absently against my hip as if he’s memorizing the shape of me. His other hand ghosts over my ribs, close enough to tease, making me crave the pressure.
I sway forward, my resolve crumbling between us like something fragile and inevitable.
His control snaps. In one fluid motion, he lifts me onto Jerry’s hood, stepping between my thighs. His mouth crashes into mine, hot and demanding, and I arch into him with a desperation that should frighten me.
He groans when I bite his lower lip, his hands sliding under my shirt to span my waist. “George...”
The way he says my name, rough and reverent, makes me shiver. I hook my legs around his hips, pulling him closer. He just... fits. Like he's always been here. Like he belongs.
His hands move up, tracing the curve of my waist, sending shivers of anticipation through me. The heat of his touch and the roughness of his palms drive me wild. I pull him closer, my fingers digging into his back, needing more of him.
Beckett's mouth leaves mine, trailing kisses down my neck, each one igniting a new fire within me. I tilt my head back, giving him better access, a soft moan escaping my lips.
His hands move to the front, cupping my breasts, his thumbs circling my nipples through the fabric of my shirt. I gasp, arching into his touch. I’m not wearing a bra, so his thumbs send jolts of pleasure straight to my core.
Reaching for the hem of his shirt, I pull it up and over his head. He helps me, tossing it aside before doing the same with mine. His eyes roam over me, dark and hungry, and I feel a rush of power knowing that I'm the one causing that look.
He leans down, capturing one of my nipples in his mouth, his tongue swirling around the sensitive peak. I cry out, my hands moving to his hair, holding him in place. He lavishes attention on one breast before moving to the other, his hands exploring every inch of my bare skin as if it’s ground he’s claiming.
His arousal presses against me, and I reach for his belt, fumbling with the buckle in my haste. He takes over, undoing it with a quick flick of his wrist before pushing his jeans down. I do the same, kicking off my boots and shimmying out of my jeans until we're both naked, our bodies pressed tightly against each other.
Beckett's hand slips between my legs, his fingers finding the sensitive bundle of nerves that sends waves of pleasure coursing through me. I moan, my hips moving in time with his touch, the friction building to an almost unbearable level.
“Beckett,” I gasp. “I need you. Now.”
He doesn't need any more encouragement. He positions himself at my entrance, and his eyes lock onto mine as he slowly pushes inside. My walls stretch as every inch of him fills me perfectly, and it's the most incredible sensation I've ever experienced.
He starts to move, his hips thrusting in a steady rhythm that has me seeing stars. I lift my hips, meeting each of his thrusts, our bodies moving in sync. The sound of our skin slapping together fills the garage, mixed with our panting breaths and soft moans.
