The Last Letter(120)

She broke the kiss, fumbling with the belt on my jeans as I kicked off my shoes and stripped off my socks. Then my hands moved up her thighs, and my mouth followed, kissing every sensitive spot I knew she had.

“I missed this,” I said against her skin.

“Me, too,” she answered, her hands in my hair as I ran my teeth over her panties. “Beckett.” Her hips rolled in my hands.

I made quick work of her little lace thong and had her dress over her head—bra following—within a minute max. Then she was naked, spread out before me with open arms and a smile.

Yeah, this was my happy, all right.

I removed the rest of my clothes and then covered her body with my own. “You’re sure?” I asked.

“I’m sure.” She pulled me down for a kiss, and our mouths met in a fury of need. There was nothing gentle about it—this was the result of months and months of denied need and heartache.

I kissed my way down her body as she wiggled beneath me. When I hovered over the apex of her thighs and gripped her hips, her fingernails grazed my scalp. “Please, Beckett.”

If she said my name like that again, I’d be her willing servant for the rest of eternity. Especially if it meant in bed.

I set my mouth to her, and she bucked. I pinned her hips and relentlessly ate at her until she started calling my name again, her head thrashing on the pillow. I’d missed this taste, the way her legs tensed when she was close, the pull of her fingers in my hair as she lost her mind. I drove her upward with my tongue, giving her no pause, no chance to escape what I knew was coming quickly.

When she started to shake, I pushed even harder until she came apart under my mouth, muffling her cry with her own fist. She was the sexiest, most sensual woman I’d ever seen.

When her legs relaxed, I rose above her, taking a second to appreciate the glazed-over sheen to her blue eyes, her kiss-stung lips, and the flush in her cheeks. “You’re beautiful.”

Her smile was slow and somehow more intimate than what I’d just done to her.

“I’d almost forgotten what it was like between us,” she admitted. “Or I told myself I remembered it wrong.”

“Electric.”

“Remind me again.” She drew her knees up, and I hissed as my erection slipped through her wetness to land at her entrance.

“Pill?”

“Never quit, and there’s been no one else.”

“You’ve been it for me since the first letter. Just you. Always you.” I sank into her until she surrounded me. Home. “I love you, Ella.”

She pulled my head to hers, and our mouths were done talking. As urgent as her first orgasm had been, I took my time now, drawing out every stroke, every time we came together only to retreat again. I used every ounce of skill and stamina I possessed to show her the way I felt about her with drugging kisses and slow, deep thrusts.

She met me move for move, our bodies arching together in perfect partnership until we built to a frenzy. When her body tightened around mine as her second climax took her, it was with my name on her lips and my heart in her hands. I followed almost immediately, collapsing on top of her and quickly rolling us to the side so I didn’t crush her.

“Are you okay?” I asked, brushing her hair from her face. I was more than okay. I was perfect. Content. Whole. Home.

She gave me a sleepy stretch with a smile. “Happy. Really, really happy.”

“Me, too.”

She rolled again so she was on top, grinning down at me, her hair a curtain that surrounded us. “I bet I can make you even happier.”

Then we started all over again.





Chapter Twenty-Six


Ella


Letter #20

Ella,

So Colt wants a tree house, huh? I bet your brother and I could handle that.

Don’t worry that your mind automatically goes to Maisie. I would worry if it didn’t. What you’re going through consumes just about everything. Hell, I think about you guys a ton, and I’ve never set eyes on you.

But here, let’s give you a little distraction. I promised a couple months ago that I’d tell you the story behind my call sign. So here it goes. Chaos. That whole state of dysfunction where everything blows apart without rhyme or reason, right? That’s pretty much me. Exactly. Growing up, I got into trouble wherever I could, or sometimes it just found me. They called me Chaos, because when I showed up, destruction inevitably followed. Usually property, but sometimes people. Too many people. Someone gets attached, I can’t let them in, and I go into self-destruction until they walk away. I’m old enough to see the patterns but not worried enough to really change them.

So your brother and I go out to a bar right after selection, and he starts hitting on a woman. I don’t see her face, just a body poured into a dress that shows pretty much everything. He assumes she’s a prostitute—don’t ask me why, because I have no clue—and then it turns out she’s actually one of our instructor’s wives.

Yeah, all hell broke loose. The guy lost it, the bar got tossed over because I jumped in, and once noses were broken and bottles stopped flying, I turn around and realize she’s someone I grew up with. So she just looks at me and says, “As usual, walking, talking Chaos. You walk in, and it all goes to hell.” Your brother and the trainer heard, and it stuck.