The Last Letter(86)

I locked my arms around his neck when he kissed me. It was deep, powerful, and primal, his mouth taking mine like he was staking a claim. Unleashed, Beckett kissed with a little less finesse and a lot more urgency. My body responded, tightening my breasts and rushing heat over my skin.

I gasped against his mouth as his thumb slid beneath the edge of my panties, and my nails bit into his scalp lightly when he parted me and grazed my clit.

“Beckett,” I pleaded, pushing my hips toward him in reflex.

“I’ve got you,” he promised. Then he kissed me slowly, his tongue sliding with mine as his thumb worked me over, swirling, stroking, and pressing, turning that warmth in my belly into a knot of tension that he wound tighter and tighter.

I moved restlessly, my need to feel his skin against mine warring with my equal need to keep his hands exactly where they were. As if he sensed my thoughts, his unoccupied hand skimmed up over my waist to my back, where he unzipped my dress.

The fabric gave way easily, baring my strapless bra. I arched, pressing my breasts against his chest, and he pressed his thumb against my clit, sending bolts of pleasure through me, sweet and sharp at the same time.

Stilling his thumb, he did some form of witchcraft behind my back that unsnapped my bra, freeing my breasts as it fell to my lap. He broke our kiss to look down at me, reverently cupping a breast and running his fingers over my hardened nipple.

“Perfect,” he said before dipping his head to take it into his mouth. Moving his thumb at the same time, I arched my back and cried out.

It felt so damn good.

I threw my hands behind me to catch my weight and gave myself over to his mouth and fingers. That tension in me spiraled tighter until I was wound impossibly tight, my muscles locking in what I hoped might be my first—

“Beckett!” I screamed his name when he pressed my clit in a deep stroke, sending my body into full meltdown as my orgasm took me over the edge, the release coming in powerful waves that tilted the earth’s axis.

He kissed me down with light, sipping caresses of his lips against mine. Until I summoned the strength to open my eyes and found him watching me, a look of utter adoration on his face.

“I could watch you do that a million times and still want more.”

“That was…” What was it about this man that stole all my words and turned me into a half-sentence-producing moron? “Good job.”

He grinned. “Good job?”

Oh God, I’d just verbally high-fived the guy.

“Well, yeah. I’ve never…without…well, with someone.”

His eyes widened in understanding. “There’s so much more.”

“Yeah, I like that plan.” Before I could say something else ridiculous, I kissed him, running my hands down his back. His skin was firm, warm, and so very soft. When I reached his belt, I skimmed my fingers along his waistline, savoring the way his abs flexed, and he sucked in a breath between kisses.

When I got to his zipper, I grew bold and took his erection in my hand and lightly gripped him. He was as hard as the granite beneath me, long, thick, and—if it was anything like the rest of his body—no doubt perfect.

His indrawn breath turned into a full-on hiss of air between his gritted teeth.

“Ella…”

I simply looked at him, letting him see how badly I wanted him, this, us. All of it.

Instead of stopping me, he simply nodded and shut his eyes for the few seconds I had of stroking up and down his length.

“God, baby,” he whispered.

He gave me one more chance to stroke, and then took my hand away, putting it on the counter. Before I could complain, he took his wallet out of his back pocket, slapping it on the counter next to me.

Then—thank you, all that is good and right in the world—he unsnapped his pants, kicking off his shoes and stripping down to nothing so quickly that all I could do was watch in appreciation.

The man was straight-up perfection, and all mine for the touching.

My mouth watering, I ran my fingers from his pecs down the lines of his abs, taking the time to fall from one ridge to the next. He wasn’t just defined, he was built, his muscles bulging down his stomach.

He stepped forward, between my thighs, and kissed me until I couldn’t think of anything except the feel of his mouth, the warmth of his skin, the rhythm of his breath. He lifted me slightly, adjusting my dress so my butt hit the granite, then slid the fabric over my head, leaving me in nothing but my blue silk panties.

Then he locked eyes with me, hooked his thumbs in the straps, and dragged them down my legs and off. There was no time to be embarrassed, not when he was kissing me, skin to skin. The contact heightened everything, and our hands were quickly everywhere—touching, seeking, discovering each other.

When he slipped his hands between my thighs, that familiar pressure built again, the ache within me beginning to pulse.

“So beautifully wet,” he said between kisses.

Then he slid a finger inside me, and I almost came off the counter. “That feels incredible.” I rocked against his finger, and he added another, the stretch making that ache throb.

He flipped open his wallet with his free hand, sliding a foil packet free.

“Upstairs?” he asked.

“Here. Now. No more waiting.” Nearly mindless over the steady, deep strokes of his fingers, I grabbed the condom and ripped it open. My hands shook as I brought it to the head of his erection. I’d been right, even that was perfect.