Page 116 of One Last Encore

They’d shared a lot but they hadn’t had sex. Still, after everything tonight, the tension between them felt electric, a living thing crackling like static in the air. Her body ached with it, with the need to close the space between them, to drown in him, to feel something other than frustration, other than fear.

Ingrid spun on her heel. The second their eyes locked, the tension snapped. Beck barely had time to react before she was on him, fists twisting in his jacket, yanking him closer. His mouth crashed into hers, hungry, bruising. There was no slow build, no hesitation. Only heat and teeth and tongue, the frantic clash of two people who had been teetering on this edge for too long.

The taste of whiskey lingered on his tongue, mingling with the metallic tang of his split lip, but she didn’t care. She kissed him harder, poured everything she had into it. All the rage, hunger, love.

Beck groaned into her mouth, his hands rough on her hips, gripping, molding, dragging her closer until there was no space left. Her spine pushed against the wall and still he didn’t stop–lips skimming down her throat, teeth nipping just enough to make her gasp. Every move was laced with desperation, a need to grasp something real, something right, in the middle of all the chaos.

"Beck," she whispered against the shell of his ear, trembling, not with fear but with the immensity of what she felt for him. He pushed her jacket off her shoulders. It hit the floor with a soft thud, forgotten.

His hands went to her hair, pulling free the bobby pins one by one until her curls tumbled free around her shoulders. His fingers combed through the strands, slow and reverent, a sharp contrast to the wild way his mouth ravaged her neck, leaving a trail of fire in his wake.

Without warning, his hands slid down, gripping her thighs and lifting her. Her legs wrapped around his waist, locking him against her. She could feel every hard line of him, the desperate press of him between her legs, thick and heavy and so ready it made her moan.

"Hold on to me," Beck growled, vibrating against her mouth as he carried her through the room. His hands kneaded her ass,pulling her harder against him with every step until she thought she might come just from the friction alone.

He set her on her dining table, stepping between her spread thighs. His fingers made quick work of her boots, tossing them aside carelessly. Then he reached for her jeans, unbuttoning then unzipping, his knuckles brushing her belly and leaving behind goosebumps.

Ingrid lifted her hips, needy, offering herself up, and Beck peeled the denim down her legs, baring her to the chill of the room and to the heat of his gaze.

She sat there, stripped down to her thin tights and the pale pink leotard stretched over her flushed skin, breathing hard, watching him devour her with his eyes. He was looking at her like he wanted to worship and destroy in the same breath.

"You have no idea what you do to me," he muttered, voice rough.

His hands slid up her thighs, fingertips tracing maddening patterns along the insides until she was trembling, her hands fisting the edge of the table.

Slowly, he dragged his fingers over the taut curve of her waist, then cupped her breasts, thumbs teasing the tight points through the thin fabric.

He leaned in, teeth scraping over one hardened nipple through the leotard, then sucking hard enough to make her cry out.

"I could see these tight little nipples through that leotard every rehearsal," he muttered against her breast, his voice thick, sinful. "Driving me crazy... every fucking time."

She whimpered, his words sending a brutal pulse of need straight to her core. The damp fabric clung to her, every slow flick of his tongue igniting something low and relentless, making her ache with every breath. His breath fanned over the peaks now clearly visible through the soaked material.

His mouth was everywhere, hot and greedy. He licked and sucked at her nipples until she was arching into him, moaning his name. Beck didn’t stop. He didn’t even pause. He dragged his mouth lower, tracing the curve of her stomach.

When he reached her tights, he looked up at her, eyes dark and pupils blown wide. He hooked his fingers into the fabric at her inner thighs and gave a savage tug, ripping them down her legs. Another pair destroyed. Ingrid didn’t give a damn. She was too far gone, too turned on to care.

The cool air kissed her heated skin and his rough palms mapped the insides of her thighs, pushing her legs wider. He shoved the leotard and her panties to the side, baring her slick folds, and when the back of his knuckles dragged up her seam, she had to bite her lip to keep from crying out.

"Fuck, you're so wet," he muttered, voice strained.

Beck dropped to his knees in front of her, yanking her closer to the edge of the table. His mouth was on her before she could take a breath.

Ingrid cried out, head falling back, fingers clawing at his shoulders as his tongue swept over her.

His tongue dragged slow, torturous laps over her clit, then shifted into filthy, desperate sucks that made her thighs tremble uncontrollably. Each movement was calculated to undo her. His hands clamped down on her hips, keeping her pinned to the table, giving her no chance to squirm away from the devastating rhythm of his mouth.

"Beck—oh my God—" she gasped, lost somewhere between a moan and a sob.

He groaned into her, the low, hungry sound vibrating against her swollen clit, making her jolt. He devoured her, relentless, dragging slick, messy sounds from her body as he tongue-fucked her deep, then circled back up to her clit. Every moan, everystuttered plea that tore from her throat only seemed to push him further, more determined to push her over the edge.

He sucked her clit between his lips, flicking his tongue in fast, punishing strokes and she broke. Ingrid cried out, her whole body seizing, trembling violently as her orgasm tore through her. Her pussy clenched around nothing, pulsing hard as wave after wave rolled through her. She was loud, wrecked, choking on his name as the pleasure dragged her under.

But he didn’t stop.

He licked her through it, slower now, teasing every last ripple of her release. He tasted everything she gave him, moaning like he was desperate for it, coaxing out the final whimpers and aftershocks until she was limp, boneless, sprawled across the table.

He rose, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, his eyes dark and wild with need.

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