Bride by Mistake, page 5
part #3 of Montana Born Brides Series
Her eyebrows furrowed together. “Are you leaving?”
He figured that was his last chance, the last real opportunity his conscience could kick in and get him out of here. He ignored it. “No, I’m going to watch that pretty ass of yours walk up the stairs. And then I’m going to follow you.”
Chapter Six
‡
Kaitlin knew she must be breathing because she was still alive and standing, but she couldn’t feel the oxygen entering her lungs. She couldn’t feel or hear anything beyond the thunderous beat of her heart in her ears, in her chest.
She turned and took the first stair. Part of her wondered if she should be offended he’d said that. Pretty ass was not complimentary…was it? It made no sense, but it felt complimentary the way he said it. Even more so when she looked over her shoulder to find him doing just that.
Watching her walk up the stairs. Heat seemed to scorch across her skin. He wasn’t looking through her, he wasn’t glancing, he was avidly staring, like all the world’s mysteries could be solved by the sway of her…ass.
Complimentary or not, she liked how it made her feel…irresistible. Important. No one, no one had ever made her feel that. She put a little extra sway as she stepped up the last stair and opened the door to her loft apartment.
She flipped on a light, proud of herself that even though she felt shaky and way, way, way out of her depth, her arm moved as it always did.
Even better, Beckett followed her inside. She could feel him, she could smell him. It made no sense to her; no man had ever…been this much. Even her Carter fantasies were…pleasantly mild.
They hadn’t made her heart hammer or her cheeks flush or excitement gather low in her stomach. It hadn’t made her giddy and scared and ecstatic all in one second. It had been nice. Nice suddenly felt like…being given a salad instead of a cookie. You knew it was good for you but it wouldn’t taste like a cookie.
What would Beckett taste like? Probably not a cookie, but something equally as tempting.
Tempting had been a bad word to her for…ever. Forever she had resisted any temptation that dared poke at her carefully erected plans. Tonight she was indulging it all, and she was not going to act like the timid virgin while she did it. The unsure goody-goody was not allowed. She was going to face this head on, like she’d done it a million times before. Because this was Beckett, and he’d always liked her…even when that was the opposite emotion she was trying to elicit from him.
She turned to face him, and though he was closing the door behind him, his eyes were on her. His gaze blazed a path of heat up her legs, across her stomach, her breasts. Oh, God, he was staring at her breasts. He was going to touch her. She wanted him to.
“Did you want tea?” she all but squeaked. It took every ounce of strength she had not to roll her eyes at herself. She was an idiot.
“No.” He grinned, taking a few steps toward her. “Thank you,” he added with mock seriousness.
She swallowed at his closeness because she’d never understood closeness like this. The kind that could make every nerve ending feel like it was being zapped. He wasn’t even touching her; it was just his presence that had her vibrating with the want of him touching her. Like when she’d stepped off his motorcycle, still echoing with the reverberations.
He didn’t make a move, and she had to resist the urge to fidget. How could he be so patient? He just kept staring at her, and not in an expectant way. It was more like a scientific study. If scientists had obvious erections while they studied their subject matter and had a sort of lascivious intent in their gaze.
“You look like you’re thinking too hard,” he finally said, his voice husky and—oh thank goodness—he touched her, the skim of his fingers against her cheek.
“I probably am,” she replied sounding only a little breathless.
His fingers traced down the column of her throat and even though her skin felt fiery, she shivered like she was out in the middle of a snowstorm. Was it supposed to be like this? Was this what normal people felt when they were with someone? Or was this the sort of thing she should be running in the opposite direction from.
As if she could run right now.
“You have a beautiful thinking face,” he murmured, his finger trailing across her shoulder, slowly swirling toward breast territory.
She blinked, couldn’t suck in a breath. Beautiful thinking face. That was weird. A weird compliment. But, like the pretty ass thing, it warmed her in ways she didn’t understand.
Luckily she didn’t have to understand because he lowered his mouth gently to hers. It was a sweet kiss. Wait. Why was he giving her sweet? But she didn’t have time to think up answers for that because his mouth moved from hers.
He kissed her jaw, the contrast of soft lips, rough whiskers rasping down her neck. It was all so gentle and yet so very potent. She grasped the fabric of his shirtsleeves for dear life because otherwise she might stumble. She might be turned inside out, she might go up in flame, she might expire completely, but she was not going to stumble.
“Open your eyes, Kaitlin.”
Once again, she hadn’t realized she’d closed them. It was a reflex she couldn’t fight. Opening her eyes meant…she didn’t know what it meant, but it felt braver than she was. How could she watch him while he…did things to her?
But she wanted to do this right so she forced her eyes open and the craziest thing happened. He was smiling at her and she couldn’t help herself from smiling back. Like this was somehow a comfortable moment. Like his fingers weren’t tracing the sweetheart neckline of her dress.
And then they weren’t, they were slowly weaving a pattern around her sides and to her back. To her zipper.
He was going to unzip her.
She swallowed down a squeak. She should probably unclench her hands from his shirt, but she couldn’t just yet. No part of her was listening to her brain. She was still smiling of all things, clutching his shirt, breathing him in.
He slowly pushed the zipper down, and she hitched in a breath. His knuckles brushed her spine as he unzipped her, and then fingers trailed back up.
“Look at you,” he murmured, hand going all the way up to the base of her neck, then down to just above her tailbone. “Not wearing a bra.”
“It wasn’t really p-practical to wear one.”
His finger on her spine paused as he laughed into her neck. It was that kind of baffled laugh he had that didn’t make her feel bad or embarrassed, because she’d never heard him laugh like that with anyone but her. It was…special, his laugh. It made her special.
His big, rough hands splayed across her back, and then with the patience that was really starting to irritate her, he slowly spread the back of the dress apart, apart, apart, and then gave it a little tug over her hips.
The dress fell with a quiet little whoosh and she was standing in front of Beckett Larson, arms crossed over her bare breasts, in nothing but her panties and heels.
This couldn’t be real life.
His grin went a little crooked. “You’re going to have to drop your hands, Kate.”
She frowned at the nickname, except it no longer irritated her. He could call her Kate or Katie or whatever he wanted as long as he looked at her like that—like she existed, like she was a marvel.
He wrapped his fingers around her wrists, pulled her arms away from covering herself up, and placed them on the row of his shirt buttons. “Why don’t you work on me?”
She nodded, taking the job of unbuttoning his shirt very seriously, because if she concentrated on that, she wouldn’t have to concentrate on his hands resting on her hips, squeezing, and then venturing upward, until they were covering her breasts. When his thumb brushed over her nipple, she jerked and groaned and had no idea what was more embarrassing.
Without warning, his hands gripped her face again, his mouth claiming hers, her hands trapped so tight between them she couldn’t get the last button of his shirt undone. He was propelling her backward, toward her bed.
Gentle and slow had somehow disappeared and she didn’t know how, but she was glad, because slow and sweet was going to kill her. Grabby and pushy was much better. It didn’t give her an ounce of time to think or worry or question—all the things she would normally be doing.
Except she’d never normally be doing this. Her legs hit the back of her bed.
“Christ, I need you naked and under me.”
Need. He needed it. “O-okay.”
He laughed, the awed laugh that made her light and warm and yet kind of chest-squeezy, but she didn’t have time to dwell on any of that because he quickly had her underneath him. Not quite naked, but it didn’t matter. His legs pressed to hers, the hard muscle of his thighs under the soft fabric of his pants. The hard length of him rested at the juncture of her thighs, and their chests were pressed together.
His mouth fell to hers, sinking in, and she let him sink, every part of him. Covering her completely, one palm running down her side, over her hip, and then back up again.
Calling on all the courage she had, she tugged his shirt from between them and pushed it off his shoulders. He had beautiful shoulders. All broad and curved to a slight indent above his elbow, and that’s where his tattoo started.
She trailed her fingers down the black bars and swirls, occasionally interrupted with a colorful rose, and one tiny little fairy. She traced the pixie face, its pointed chin and big blue eyes. What on earth would have made him get that amidst all the dark black?
“Pretty,” she murmured, tilting her neck so he spent more time at the curve, kissing, licking, nibbling. That was…fantastic.
“Are you making fun of my fairy?”
“Of course not. It’s a very manly fairy.”
He barked out a laugh, but his hands gripped her hips and he flexed his hips so his erection moved against her, and she forgot all about the tattoo and the fairy and everything except… “You could probably lose the pants.”
“I probably could. Why don’t you undo them for me?”
It was her turn to laugh, except hers was as shaky as her hands. She’d love to will away the nervousness, but she’d never actually undone a guy’s pants before. She’d thought about it with her last boyfriend, not wanting to be completely baffled when Carter finally came around, but they’d never gone beyond over-the-clothes touching.
Twenty-five was certainly time for some under-clothes touching. Some under-clothes everything. She undid his belt, and pulled the button from its hole, when she got to the zipper she glanced up at him, to find his eyes absolutely riveted to her hands.
She wondered if there’d be any point where she’d be used to his avid interest. It had been there—for years—but she’d hidden her reaction under disgust and the belief he didn’t mean it.
He’d meant it. She lowered the zipper, no longer watching him because she wanted to see where the little trail of black hair went. She pulled the zipper apart and then sucked in a breath as she forced her courage to stick around long enough to go a step farther and slowly pull his boxers down over the thick length of his erection.
His fingers traced the outline of her underwear, and she couldn’t swallow anymore. When her fingers enclosed over him, his slid into her underwear, tracing where she was wet and aching.
Aching for him.
He stroked, sliding a finger inside of her. She explored, he returned the favor. Until they were both panting and close and all she could think about was what it would feel like for him to be inside her, for them to be completely joined.
Which was when reality came crashing over her. “I don’t have any condoms,” she exhaled in an almost pained moan. Oh God, she was the absolute worst at rebellion, at enjoying life, at whatever this was. She was bad at it, and he was getting off her. She couldn’t even hold onto him, because he was sliding away before she could overcome her mortification enough to move.
She squeezed her eyes shut even harder, couldn’t possibly face how idiotic she’d been to think this would actually happen.
“Lucky for you, Kate,” he said in a lazy, gravelly voice.
Lucky for her? What on earth was lucky about failure? She sat up on her elbows to see him retrieving a little foil packer from his wallet. “You keep a condom in your wallet?” Oh thank everything. He kept a condom in his wallet. They could have sex. Actual sex! She was not a failure. There was still hope.
He paused before dropping his wallet on his discarded pants. “Not always. But I was going to a wedding. Don’t want to be caught unprepared. We’ll call it my version of being practical.”
She blinked at him. Here was a man who thought wedding preparation included having a condom on hand. She couldn’t even find old Kaitlin enough to be horrified, because that seemed…enviable. That he could walk into a room and think, hey, I might have sex with one of these people, better have a condom!
She’d never had such a thought in her life.
He raised his eyebrows at her silence. “Does that bother you?”
“No. No, I was just…thinking too hard again.”
His smile went perfectly wicked bad boy. “Let’s fix that.”
*
If she hadn’t looked so damned crestfallen when she’d announced she had no condoms, he might have felt the guilt creep back in, but Kaitlin had never shown an ounce of reservation.
And if he kept letting her touch him, breathe on him, watch him as though he was something special and important, he wasn’t going to last let alone survive. So, he tore the condom wrapper open, and kept his eyes on hers as he slowly rolled it over his dick.
She bit her lip, eyes never leaving where he’d protected himself. Not as he returned to the bed, not even as he covered her body with his. She finally looked elsewhere when he traced her hipbone and up her stomach, circled each breast. She watched that finger like a lifeline, and he watched her face like one.
It was little thoughts like that, which prompted him to speed things up as much as he’d like to linger. There was something about lingering and Kaitlin that seem…charged with danger, and not the kind he usually sought.
This was the kind of danger he ran from if he wanted to survive.
So he positioned himself between her legs, grasping the soft slope of her hips, teased her until she whimpered. He flexed his hips just enough to slide carefully, slowly into the woman he’d been fantasizing about since he’d been in high school.
If this was a dream, he didn’t want to know until he woke up. He pushed and she froze for a second, long enough for him to think something was wrong, but then she relaxed, her fingertips trailing down his arms straining to hold himself aloft. Then she let out a soft sigh and he slowly slid deeper.
Most people didn’t expect it of him—that he was a man who liked to take his time. With an engine, with a woman, to make sure it was right. Maybe he hadn’t always been that way, but he’d learned the benefit and appeal of taking one’s time.
He wasn’t any good at relationships, never expected them, so he liked to savor the sex he did have. He might wish things could be different with Kaitlin, but he wasn’t under any illusion that she wanted more.
He was Kaitlin’s one night of rebellion, and while he thought he’d gotten over letting himself be that, for Kaitlin he’d be anything. Besides, she might not want him to stick around when all was said and done, but she saw him better than most people did, so…it was something for him, too. Long as he didn’t let it be too much of a something.
He kissed her as he buried himself inside of her. He went slow, the kisses deep, his hands never stopped roaming her body, finding places that made her sigh or moan. Letting her set the pace once she seemed to get comfortable.
“B-beckett.” The way she stuttered his name, a surprised kind of pleasure tingeing her words, was almost enough to send him over the edge, but he held on. Trailing his finger between them, touching her where they joined.
“You’re amazing,” he muttered, not sure what he even meant. It was only that she was. “Beautiful, sweet.”
“I…” She trailed off, back arching, so he pushed deeper and she groaned his name, clutching his shoulders, orgasming around him.
He had to close his eyes and let her climax wash over him, holding on to his by the slimmest thread. But this was it, and he wanted more.
So, wrapping his arms around her back, he rolled with her, mainly because he was hoping for a laugh, or a gasp, and he wasn’t at all disappointed. She did both as he positioned her on top of him. His hands slid up her hips to palm her breasts, enjoy the weight of them, the way she all but jerked and sighed when he teased her nipples.
“That was…” She sighed, head falling back when he flexed himself deep inside of her. “You’re amazing,” she said reverently.
He tried not to let that go to his head, or more appropriately, his heart. It was sex, after all. Really great sex, all in all, but sex and hearts didn’t always intertwine. Hell, his never did. Why was he worried about it now?
He gave her a few minutes to recover, but when she still didn’t start to move or rock her hips, he gave her hips a little pull, a little push. Taking the hint, she moved, taking him deep and then out, timidly almost, watching him disappear into her with her lip pulled between her teeth.
Christ. He bucked enough that she fell forward and her nipple was level with his mouth. He licked it and she squeaked, but she didn’t stop moving against him, and when he pulled her breast into his mouth, she didn’t squeak, she outright groaned and pushed harder against him.
He nibbled until she was moving almost frantically against him, chasing a second orgasm. He was desperate to give it to her, so he met her movements with his.
“Beckett…” She moved one last time, taking him deep, and something about the way she’d said his name both times…
He clutched her hips, moved them for her “Don’t stop…” He wasn’t sure if the groaned please was in his head or out loud, but it shuddered through him with his orgasm, and when she collapsed on top of him, he unclutched her hips and wrapped his arms around her and held on.
