The Last Letter(85)

“I always knew it would be like this between us. From the moment I set eyes on you, I knew the minute my hands…” He caught the side of his bottom lip between his teeth for a second, then gripped the counter.

“Your hands what?” I taunted, sitting up straight and giving my arms a rest.

“I knew the minute I got my hands on you, it would take a miracle for me to stop long enough to get a rational thought in my head. Touching you… God, Ella, if you had any idea how badly I want you, you would not still be sitting on my counter looking at me like that.”

“Maybe I do know.” I ran my tongue over my lower lip. “Maybe I feel the same exact way. And rational thoughts are overrated.”

“Think this through.”

“Why? Maybe I want to be reckless for once. Maybe I like the way you take every rational thought out of my head. Maybe that’s exactly why I need this—need you.” The ache centered between my thighs had me shifting my hips. Sex had never been something I sought out, or a big fireworks show, but I never remembered it starting with this torturous, clawing need, either.

“I’m really trying here.”

Trying my patience.

The sting of rejection was sharp. I brought my knees together and buttoned my shrug with trembling hands. “I don’t get you. I tell you I want you to kiss me, and you jump across the couch. I shave my legs and put on a dress, and you hug me good night. I throw myself at you, and you kiss me like I’m the only woman in the world, and now you’re over there. Beckett, I can’t make my wants any clearer, and I can’t be the one who always has to chase you. If you want me physically, but don’t want me, then say it. Because I’m done listening to you tell me no like there’s something wrong with me.”

He had the nerve to look wounded, like his constant arm’s-length approach to our physical nearness was more painful to him than it was to me. Like I wasn’t the one constantly trying to push our relationship out of the friend zone.

“Do you see me as a sister? Is that it?”

“Hell no!” He sighed. “And now I’ve sworn at you twice.”

“I really don’t mind. You could throw in an F-bomb if it meant you were interested in using it as a verb.” I put my hands on the counter and prepared to jump down, find my shoes and my dignity, and take my sexually frustrated butt home.

“Look at me.” His voice had taken on that gravelly tone that I loved.

I brought my eyes to his, wishing I could understand what the hell the man was thinking about. What kept him from taking what I knew—or at least really hoped—he wanted. “What are you thinking?” I broke down and asked.

“I’m counting how many glasses of wine you had. Two at dinner. One after the concert, and it’s been what? Five hours?” His eyes narrowed in thought.

“I’m not drunk, if that’s what you’re implying! Like I need alcohol as an excuse—”

“Oh no,” he cut me off, dropping his voice even lower. “I’m not asking for you. I’m asking for me, so that I know when I ask this next question, you’re not too drunk to answer it.”

My tongue wet my suddenly dry lips. “Okay.”

“Do you want me, Ella?”

“I think I’ve been pretty clear that I do.”

He shook his head. “No. I didn’t say ‘do you want to make out with me?’ Do you want me? Because I’m standing here, trying to keep my hands on the counter so I don’t send them up your dress to the insides of your thighs.”

My lips parted, too heavy to stay closed.

“Because I know once they’re stroking over that soft skin, there’s no way I’m going to be able to breathe without taking you, sliding inside you like I’ve fantasized about for entirely too long.” He enunciated that last bit, driving home exactly what he wanted to happen in case I hadn’t gotten the picture.

That was exactly what I wanted, craved…needed more than the very breath he was talking about.

“And once that happens, everything changes between us, Ella. So I need you to tell me that you want me, or walk out that door before something happens that you’re not ready for.”

I couldn’t remember being more ready for anything in my life.

“I.” I opened the button of my shrug. “Want.” I took it off. “You.” I dropped it to the floor.

“Ella.” He pushed off the counter.

“Here and now,” I added, unfastening the button of the halter behind my neck, just in case the man needed my consent—hell, my plea—on record. The straps fluttered to my sides, the curves of my breasts holding the neckline in place.

“Thank you, God.” He didn’t bother with the buttons on his shirt, just reached over the back of his head and pulled it off in that incredibly sexy way guys had. But Beckett made it about a hundred times sexier as his torso was revealed.

All rippling muscles and kissable skin. Pretty sure I could orgasm just looking at him. Not that I’d ever had that happen without a little battery-powered assistance, but if there ever was a moment, this was it.

“You are so…” I waved my hands in his direction. “All that is just… I don’t have words.”

“Good,” he said, dropping his shirt to the floor. “Because I’m going to need to use that mouth for other things besides talking.” He closed the distance between us in two strides, took my knees in his hands, and parted my thighs. Then he made good on his promise, sending his hands up my dress until they reached the tops of my thighs, only to grip, then pull us flush.