Page 39 of Near Miss

My fingers tense against her calves. My suit jacket suddenly feels too tight, and I swallow, eyes on her.

Greer blinks, lips parting and her cheeks going pink. “A joke.”

“A joke,” I repeat. I don’t find it funny—my cock doesn’t find it funny. I like the idea of it. Making her feel good—being someone who takes care of her when I think she spends most of her time taking care of everyone else.

My thumb starts in slow circles against her skin again, and I grin up at her. “I don’t mean to brag. But I’ve been told I’m pretty good. I can get you there.”

Her teeth come down on her bottom lip, and another small rasp of laughter catches in her throat.

But she swallows, blinking at me, and her fingers still against my shoulders.

I slide my hand up her calf, over the arch of her knee. The silk of her dress shifts, and I pause, fingers hovering over the skin of her thigh. My lips part and I don’t look away from her, waiting for any sign of permission that she wants me to reach up just a bit higher.

Her eyes flick down to her dress, the silk resting above my hand and when she looks back up at me, she inhales, moving her head in a tiny nod.

Grinning at her, I move my hand up past her knee, a shiver whispering over her when I trace the inside of her thigh.

We stare at each other as my hand climbs higher, fingers finding the edges of lace covering her. I graze where it meets her skin, and she gives me another small nod of permission.

My thumb scores up the centre of her, stopping right between her thighs. Her pupils widen, and she inhales.

I wish we were under the brightest sun in the world—so I could see everything about her, nothing shadowed under the dim light, but I know she looks beautiful: impossibly dark hair and bright eyes, full lips parting and a blush on the apple of her cheeks.

“Do you like this?” I ask, voice rough.

Greer nods. “It feels—” Her head tips back and her lips part when I move my thumb in a circle, before dragging it slowly down the centre of the lace. “It feels—I do, like it.”

“Lift your dress up.”

My hand stays where it is, moving in slow circles, tracing her, in reverence for this otherworldly girl who trusted me with something so much more than just her body. I can feel the lace get wetter when the silk of her dress slides up her thighs, until she holds it in one hand, revealing the underwear covering her.

I pull my hand back, and I don’t think she means to, but she makes a small whimper and I grin up at her, grabbing either side of her underwear, slowly pulling it down her legs until it pools around her heels.

I lift one foot up, sliding the lace off, gently setting it back down and doing the same with her other foot, before I grab her leg and hoist it over my shoulder.

Her heel digs into my back, and I don’t think I’ve ever been more turned on by someone in my entire life.

My eyes cut to her, bared to me, before I glance back up.

Her teeth come down on her lip again.

I swallow. “May I?”

Greer gives me one small final nod of permission, and I watch her teeth dig into that full bottom lip again.

I lean forward, inhaling, before sliding my tongue up and stopping at her centre.

“Fuck—you taste—” I groan, hoisting her thigh up higher and burying my face deeper. “I could fucking live here.”

Another rasp of laughter, followed by a sharp intake of breath, and she moans my name. “Beckett.”

I don’t think I’ve ever wanted to be me more than I do right now—on my knees for her, head between her legs, tongue soaked with her, this girl who keeps too many secrets, with those beautiful eyes that hide someone who’s nicer than she pretendsto be, and a mouth that breathed life back into a person who wasn’t even real.

“Say my name again,” I ask against her, one hand gripping the muscles of her thigh so hard I think I’m going to leave a bruise on her skin, and I hope I do. I bring my other hand up, two fingers sliding inside her, moving slowly with the circles of my tongue.

She says it again, softer this time, one hand raking through my hair, and I’m real, I know I am, because how could I be anything else when she says my name like that—a tiny whisper, a tiny moan, with the tiny shift of her hips, bringing all of her closer to me.

Beckett.

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