SMITH (The Beckett Boys, Book One) (5 page)

I plunge deeper into her mouth. Savor her exquisite taste. My body hums when she reaches around my neck and her fingers play with the short hairs at the base of my neck. She moans into my mouth, arching those pert breasts toward me.

I slide my hands along the generous curves of her hips, digging into them, giving a strong pressure with my fingers to see how she reacts. Her body jerks in what I’m sure is an involuntary gesture, and she bucks her hips toward me.

God. Oh, God, the fun I could have with this woman. So innocent but so fucking hungry to learn. How far would she let it go with me?

I let my hands glide slowly along her thighs until my fingertips are brushing near her bare mound. I hear her pant, and my pulse triples in response. Something about the way she holds nothing back, doesn’t hide her reactions to my touch, makes me want to ravage her so fucking hard.

I pry her legs wide and then push her ass until she’s barely sitting on the countertop. Her pussy is bared to me, lips smooth and delicate pink, her inner labia slightly darker and just peeking out. I can smell her feminine heat pouring off her down there and a dark surge overcomes me.

I lean down and push my face so close I can almost taste her. If I stick my tongue out, I could feel that velvety soft skin part for me. But I make myself pause for a long moment, breathe deeply. God, her wetness is a siren’s call to me—tangy, sweet, heady. I hear her begin to pant.

“Aubrey,” I growl. “I want to eat this pussy so badly. Will you give yourself to me right now?” I need her to say the words, to give me permission to take her how I want her. I need to see how she responds to my request.

“Yes, please,” she whispers, and she arcs her pelvis a fraction closer to my mouth.

I don’t wait another moment. I move in and slide my tongue along her already damp slit. Her moan shudders across my skin, and her fingers dig into my hair. I grip the outsides of her thighs and nudge my nose along her clit, feeling it swell from the touch.

Aubrey gives a small moan and when I look up, I see her head is thrown back, the expanse of her neck bared to me. She’s so open to me, willing to let me lick her right here in the bar’s bathroom. So fucking dirty.

My cock is hard enough to pound nails. My blood pulses in my veins. But I ignore my needs and let my mouth caress her damp pussy lips, my tongue dancing along her slit. She’s already so wet with barely a touch. I want to see how much wetter I can get her.

I move my hands to grip her hips and dive into her pussy, feast on the flesh. Fuck, she tastes so good I could come right now, just from eating her. Aubrey shudders beneath my ministrations, her whole body vibrating.

“Oh God, Smith, God, God, yes,” she breathes, her small fingers digging into my scalp, and suddenly all I want to do is make her explode so hard she sees stars. I want to give her the best orgasm she’s ever fucking had in her entire life. I want to drive out that quiet sadness from her eyes.

I double my efforts, licking, sucking her pussy lips into my mouth, flicking her clit, then reach one hand down between her thighs and slide two fingers into her cunt.

That makes her jump, and she cries out, bucking wildly. Her cunt is so impossibly tight, so wet, that her channel hugs me as she accepts my hard finger fucking.

“I want that come, baby,” I tell her as I swipe my tongue along her rigid clit. “You’d better fucking come for me.”

“I’m so close,” she pants, her hips thrusting with wild abandon. I love how she isn’t self-conscious at all. How she gives herself to me because I asked her to. I want to bend her over and spank that ass so hard. She makes me want to do more than even spanking…

My mind flashes on an image of me using a paddle on her ripe ass and I need to calm myself a little to get it out of my head.

It’s hard to make myself stop thinking along those lines. But I focus on this moment, focus on edging this beautiful, wet, aroused woman toward orgasm.

I can feel her cunt begin to pulse around my fingers, tighten, and I know she’s close. Her breathing grows shallower. She is gasping air, her hands gripping the countertop, her hips bucking in what I’m certain is an involuntary movement.

“I’m…I’m so close now, oh God,” she whispers. Her whimpers hit me straight in the dick.

I begin to fuck her cunt with my fingers in earnest, pounding her hard, the sloppy sound of her juices filling the air between us. I make my two fingers stroke her inner walls, her G-spot. She pulses against my hand, so eager, so pliant. God, this girl is fucking incredible.

Aubrey suddenly gets still, and I can tell she’s going to come. I can feel her opening tighten until I can barely move my fingers inside her.

“Yes, yes, right there,” and then her keening cry echoes throughout the bathroom, and I want to push my cock inside her so hard right now that I can barely keep from unzipping my pants. Holy fuck.

I don’t stop fucking her until she jerks and presses her hand on my shoulder, a gentle request asking me to lighten up. I move to a slow thrust in and out, my fingers coated in her come.

Aubrey sucks in a slow breath and lowers her head until we’re staring at each other. We’re both sucking in deep gulps of air. I can’t read the expression on her face right now. The tension is so tight between us it’s about to explode. I’m waiting to hear what she’s going to say.

I don’t know why, but it feels like everything hinges on the next moment.

“That was the hottest thing I’ve ever experienced in my life,” she finally says on a small laugh, and I feel my lips curving up in response. The knot I didn’t even know was in my chest releases, and I feel light, free.

If she liked doing this, what else might she like? What other ways could I bring her to ecstasy?

This woman does things to me I never expected.

“You think that was hot?” I say with a quirked brow. “You have no idea.”

“I suppose not,” she murmurs, and her fingertips brush the tips of my hair as she gives me a shy smile. “But I want to find out.”

I
t’s half
past midnight when I leave the bar and head toward my apartment. The air is thick and warm around me, but the breeze flowing along my skin makes it bearable. I hope my bedroom isn’t scorching hot—I may try to sleep with the window open tonight if I can. Save a few bucks by not running the air conditioner every night.

I wanted to hang around Outlaws for another hour and a half until it closes, but I have to work the evening shift tomorrow, so I should get some errands done in the morning. Be well rested and fresh for the new day. And also not spend the rest of my night just staring at Smith…

Yeah, I tell myself I’m going to sleep when I get in my apartment, but odds are, I’ll be lying in bed all night thinking about Smith’s head between my thighs. That was the hottest sexual experience of my entire life, hands down.

Oh God, I want to do it again and again.

And then drop to my knees and please him right back. Lick him, draw him into my mouth and make him release. Taste his come, too.

Something about that low growl in his voice, the confidence, the self-assured masculinity in his presence, makes me want to give him anything he asks me for. Smith is intense, and I should be petrified of it.

I should be, but I’m not. Because the truth is, after I slipped out of the bathroom and went back to my bar stool—that other boring guy had left, probably tired of waiting for me—and nursed another couple of beers, I couldn’t help but feel the ripples between us every time our eyes connected across the bar and we shared a secret smile. Remembering what we did earlier in the bathroom made me feel hot beyond all belief the entire rest of the evening. Made me ache to do more dirty things with him.

I’ve never felt so worshiped in my entire life the way I did during that brief interlude. Like someone focused everything on my pleasure. Giving instead of just taking, not even a moment of expecting reciprocation. I hadn’t expected that at all.

I draw in a deep breath of the night air, exhale slowly, and walk up to my front door, key the entrance. I drop my purse and keys on the little table beside the front door and don’t even bother flicking on the overhead light in the living room. I just go right to the bathroom and strip to take a quick shower before bed. The walk back to my place made me a little sweaty.

My rinse-off in lukewarm water is fast, and I dry myself with a new towel I bought at Target my second day in Rock Bridge. My skin is still humming a little from feeling Smith’s touch on me. I want more of him. So much more. I never felt as alive, as free, as I did in that bathroom—the sheer wildness of the moment and my massive orgasm made me giddy.

Does he want more, too? Was that a one-off incident, or will something else happen between us in the future? And if it does happen, will I have to be the one to instigate it again? Because it took all my courage to even be so suggestive to him, and I’m not sure I could repeat it. When I told him I was going to the bathroom, I thought he’d just grab my hand in the hallway and take me into his office or something. I didn’t know he’d lock the damn bathroom door behind him. The impulsive, wicked move was so hot.

I open my window, close my eyes, and stretch out on my bed in the dark, on top of the covers. Allow myself to fantasize about Smith lying above me, our skin touching and sliding along each other, his hands clenching my hips as he thrusts into me. Something about the man is so wicked but also makes me feel like I’m in good hands. Like he’d care for me.

Even if it was just to see to my sexual needs.

Roger was never like that. Even at the beginning, I noticed his selfishness in the bedroom and everywhere else. But by the end it was so much worse… I push out all thoughts of my ex and focus back on my moment of pleasure earlier tonight. How good Smith’s mouth felt licking me. Holy hell, the guy could have a doctorate in oral sex. I’ve never had someone do the things he did to me. Never felt those sensations before of my pussy lips being sucked into a mouth.

My clit throbs as I think about it, and I reach down, slick my fingers between my damp lips. I can still hear Smith’s breath drawing in that second before he first licked me, the one where he looked up at me and told me what he wanted. Made me give him permission.

Why did that arouse me so? Why does the thought of turning myself over to him drive me wild, make me almost shake with desire? I should be scared—I told myself on the long drive to Rock Bridge that after Roger, when I was ready to date again, I’d never date someone who wanted to control me. I’d find someone who made me feel free.

But it’s strange—even though Smith took control during our brief encounter, I never felt like he would take advantage of me or hurt me. In fact, I’d never felt so safe in all my life, despite the excitement and danger inherent in the situation.

Still, despite my attraction to him, I know Smith isn’t as safe or simple as I’d like to believe. Something about Smith makes me feel like he would have many demands of me. Would they only be in bed, or would they extend elsewhere?

I think about him whispering in my ear, telling me all the things he wants to do with me, and my lower belly tightens in response to the fantasy. Smith isn’t a boring-sex kind of man. He’d push my limits. It was easy for me to give in at the bar because I knew the bathroom door was locked. But what if he’d left it unlocked?

The thought both scares me and makes my clit pulse. Then someone could have walked in on us, seen him licking me, seen me coming on his hand… My breath catches in my throat and I can’t resist stroking myself more at the thought. My pussy gets super wet, the juices sliding around on my lower lips as I run my finger along the slit. I’m panting, and my nipples bead and harden when I imagine Smith sucking the tips into his mouth.

My orgasm builds fast. I let the fantasy continue, and in my mind, Smith grips the base of my neck as he drives into me. His eyes consume me, his cock fills me, his other hand slides along my skin, and my flesh grows hot and sensitive and tingling, and I’m frantic as I finger my clit, the small bud pulsing beneath my strokes.

I feel a surge crest in my pussy, and then it crashes over me and I give a sharp cry out before remembering that my window is open. I swallow back the rest of the sound and buck on the mattress, my channel dripping juices along my slit, my body radiating my orgasm all the way to the tips of my fingers and toes. I turn my head and press my mouth to my pillow and let the sensation subside slowly.

A lethargy sweeps in then, and I sink into the mattress, let the drowsy post-orgasm feeling lure me into sleep. The last thing I think of is Smith’s brilliant eyes.

* * *

I
blink
awake and sleepily look at my bedside clock. It’s a little before three in the morning. Did I hear something? It sounded like…

There’s a rapid knock on my door. My heart lurches in surprise.

Roger. It’s Roger—has to be.

Oh God, he’s here. He found me. I scramble to throw on a pair of jeans and a shirt, and I grab my phone and dial 9 and 1. The baseball bat I also bought at Target is in my other hand. I inch to the front door, pulse jumping hard, stomach a mass of knots, and peek through the peephole.

No one is there.

What do I do? Do I stay inside, or do I risk it and peek to see if Roger is out there? I swallow and stiffen my spine. I’m not going to let him make me afraid anymore. Plus, my phone is right here.

I prop the bat against the wall, whip the door open, and step outside, finger hovering over the last 1.

And see Smith turning the corner on the sidewalk away from me.

“Smith,” I find myself calling out as the tension leaks from my body. I exhale hard in sheer relief. Thank God. Not Roger at all. But why is he here?

He spins to me and seems hesitant to walk back in my direction, pausing for a moment. When he nears me, he says, “I woke you up, didn’t I. It was a dumb impulse to come here so late at night. But…” I can’t see his eyes well in the dark; they’re hooded, unreadable.

I turn my phone off and stick it in my back pocket. “But?” I nudge him.

“But I can’t stop tasting you in my mouth and I needed more.” Smith stares at me hard, not moving still, just sexy as hell and intense, the streetlights glinting off his dark blond hair.

Fuck. My pulse jumps in response to his reply. That’s the hottest thing anyone has ever said to me. I draw in a steadying breath. Earlier I wondered if I’d have to make the next move. But he’s here, and I’m not letting him get away.

I step forward and let myself gingerly stroke the column of his throat, his Adam’s apple, right below the clean line of his beard. The knot jumps under my fingers as he swallows. I stare up at his mouth. “I want more, too,” I admit to him. Let my fingers dance up to his lower lip and glide it along the smooth flesh there. I force myself to also admit, “I…I touched myself in bed thinking about it.”

There’s a long moment where neither of us move, and then he darts his tongue out to taste my fingertips. And before I realize what’s happening, Smith’s hands are around my waist and he’s pushing me in the apartment, the door thudding closed behind us. He blindly fumbles with the doorknob lock behind him, tugs the phone out of my back pocket, puts it on the small table.

“I need to fuck you, Aubrey,” he states bluntly. There’s no shyness in him like there is in me. Smith owns his sexuality, and it’s so alluring.

“Yes,” I tell him. I want it, too. As soon as I saw him out there, all my fear had vanished, replaced by the vision of Smith. He’s here. He’s really here. Seeking me out. I did this to him, made him find me after work. A small, feminine thrill runs along my skin.

Smith pushes my hair to one side and his tongue strokes my neck. I shudder, and he sucks the wet area. “I need to taste every fucking inch of your body.”

When he says it, I feel like he legitimately means every inch. The thought has my pussy clenching. I don’t speak, just nod, let his mouth drift along my throat, up my jawline, him giving me small licks and sucks everywhere.

Then he stops and grabs the hem of my shirt, jerking it over my head in one smooth move. “Fuck,” he groans as he sees my bare breasts—in my hurry earlier, I didn’t bother to put on a bra.

My chest is heaving under his heavy scrutiny. I refuse to squirm, just let him get his fill. He reaches up, cups their weight, gives a soft squeeze that has me gasping, arching under his fingers.

“Take your jeans off,” he tells me, stepping back.

I remove the jeans, letting them slide down my bare hips, puddling on the ground. I’m now fully naked before this man, while he’s still completely clothed. The vulnerability should make me uncomfortable, but instead, I’m throbbing and wet at the thought of what’s going to come next.

Smith gives me a slow smile and moves one hand to stroke the back of my neck. “Such a good girl,” he murmurs, and something in those words unfurls a need in my core. I want to hear him say that to me again and again.

I don’t have much sexual experience, but if I can please him by doing these small things, I will.

Smith’s hand strokes down my spine, a smooth movement ending at my hip. That heat, the promise, are in his eyes. My breath catches.

“Are you…going to get undressed?” I asked him.

His lip curls in one corner. “All in good time. I need to taste more of you first. Take me to your bedroom, sweetheart.”

I slip my hand into his, feeling my heart give a strange squeeze at the gesture, and lead him to my room. The lights are still off, the sheets in disarray. He takes me to what is obviously my side of the bed, from the dent in the pillow, and gently nudges me down to sitting.

The light is thin in here, but I can see him somewhat, his strong frame, the darkness of his tattoos. I want to ask him to strip and let me touch them, but a bigger part of me wants to wait and see what happens.

“Lie back on the bed,” Smith tells me in a gruff voice. I do ask he asks, my thighs trembling a bit in anticipation as I’m exposed to him, and he gives a small groan. “Fuck. Your body is so beautiful, Aubrey. It’s all I can do to keep from spreading your legs apart and fucking you right now.” The bed dips down when he sits on the edge, and then his hands are sliding along my calves.

Smith’s fingers are deft as he skates them around the muscles, dips to the dents behind my knees. The gesture is light, but it sends sensations rioting through my body. I feel myself starting to clench, tighten.

He pulls back in order to quick strip off his clothes, and I watch, in awe as his amazing body is revealed to me. But then he’s back on the bed, pushing his strong body between my thighs, parting my legs for him.

I wish I could see him in full, really explore all those tattoos on his body. His mouth glides across the arch of my left foot, and I gasp at the way his tongue licks and swirls. Oh God, who knew having your foot kissed could feel so good?

There is no rush. Smith takes his time, tasting my flesh, leaving me quivering with every second that passes. My breath comes in small, shallow pants. By the time he reaches the apex of my thighs, I’m throbbing in earnest, soaking wet. I grip his hair and silently nudge him toward me there, needing to feel that mouth on me again.