The Last Letter(87)

“I don’t know— Oh God, Beckett!” He’d added a third finger while his thumb gently grazed my hypersensitive clit.

“Need help?”

“Yes. No experience with…” I groaned when he curled his fingers, finding that elusive spot inside me that had my hips moving to ride his hand. “These. Pregnant at eighteen, remember?”

He covered my hand with his, pushing us down his length slowly until he was covered. “That may have been the most erotic thing I’ve done in my life,” I whispered.

“Me, too. You take everything in my life up a notch.”

His mouth met mine in a long, carnal kiss that ended with him gently tugging at my bottom lip. His fingers slid free of me, and I tensed as he leveled his hips with mine.

“Nervous?” he asked, kissing the spot just beneath my ear.

“A little. It’s been seven years since I’ve done this.”

He took my face in his hands and kissed me softly. “Pretty sure it still works the same way.”

I smiled and instantly relaxed with another kiss.

“Don’t worry, I’ve got you,” he said again, and the words took my nervousness like it never existed.

As if he wasn’t positioned between my thighs, he took my mouth with care and, within a few moments, I had my ankles locked around his waist, savoring the contrast of his hard frame with my curves. He stroked down my body, bringing that fire back even hotter than it had been.

When my hips started rocking against his fingers he leaned his forehead against mine. And when that ache roared, and I reached for his hips, he gripped mine, nudging his erection at my entrance.

“Please,” I said, arching against him.

Keeping one hand on my hip, he gripped the back of my head with the other and brought us so close our breaths mingled, but he didn’t kiss me, simply watched my eyes as he pushed inside me inch by slow inch.

I let out a soft moan as he seated himself, so deep that I could feel him throughout my body, as if he’d pierced my soul.

“Ella,” he groaned. “God, you’re everything.”

He shifted the hand on my hip to under my ass, lifting me slightly and pulling me to the barest edge of the counter before he began to thrust in a deep, sure rhythm. Our bodies moved like we’d been making love together for years instead of moments, like he was the only man I’d been created for.

I wrapped my arms around him, holding the back of his head as he took me higher and higher, each stroke bringing that tension to the breaking point, until our bodies were slick with sweat.

He didn’t change his pace, just took me over and over like it would last forever, like there was no goal other than feeling that moment. There were no alarm clocks, no schedules, nowhere more pressing to be than right here in the arms of the man I loved.

My muscles locked, straining for release, and Beckett kissed me, at the same time sliding his thumb between us to stroke my clit. I came apart, crying out as the orgasm washed over me, deeper and harder than I’d ever felt in my life. He took my cries into his mouth, like he was feeding off my pleasure, like it was more than sex to him, too.

I held him close, emotion taking me beyond reason.

“I love you.” The words tumbled from my mouth without preamble or thought.

He paused, his eyes flying wide. Then he kissed me deep and hard as he thrust wildly, without rhythm, tensing in my arms and letting go, burying his face in my neck as he found his release, my name on his lips.

Before I could feel awkward, he pulled back, taking my face in his hands. Our breathing was erratic, and his slowed before mine did. “I love you,” he said, keeping his eyes locked with mine.

“Really?” It was almost too much to hope, to have that kind of happiness.

“I’ve loved you since the beginning. Nice to know you caught up.”

My smile was instant and matched his.

“Now, how long do we have? Because I’d like to take you upstairs and do this again properly.”

If that wasn’t proper, I couldn’t wait to see what was.

“All night. We have all night.”

“I can work with that.”

And he did.

Another three times before breakfast.





Chapter Nineteen


Beckett


Letter #4

Chaos,

David Robins asked me out today. Who is David Robins, you’re probably asking? He’s actually quite the catch around here. Twenty-eight, good-looking, firefighter, all the romance novel stuff. Any girl in her right mind would have said yes.

Of course, I said no. I told you once, I don’t have time for men, and nothing’s changed in the last six weeks that we’ve been writing each other. I’ve finally got Solitude ready to take the world by storm, and I just can’t afford the distraction.

But then, sometimes when I’m lying in bed at night, I wonder if that’s all it is. Of course I didn’t date while I was pregnant. Sure the divorce went through, but I had bigger matters on my mind. When Colt and Maisie were born, that first year was a blur between feedings and teething and two babies on two schedules. Sure, they’re cute now, but they weren’t so cute at two a.m., I promise. Then they were toddlers, and I was still running around like a chicken with my head cut off, or a single mom with twins—whatever. Now they’re in kindergarten, and I feel like I’m finally getting my feet under me.