Page 117 of One Last Encore

Just as she started to catch her breath, he was on her again, lifting her up into his arms. Her legs locked around his waist, her hands clutching at his shoulders as their mouths collided.

Beck carried her to the bedroom without ever breaking the kiss, his mouth commanding hers, leaving her breathless, trembling. He wasn’t going to stop until he wrecked her completely and God, she wanted every second of it.

When they reached the bed, Beck lowered her onto the mattress. He hovered above her, chest heaving, lit by the ghostly silver wash of snow-filtered light. His jaw was tight, the muscles in his arms tense with restraint.

"Are you sure?" His voice was low and frayed at the edges.

Her heart slammed against her ribs. She fisted the front of his shirt, dragging him down until their foreheads touched.

"Never been more sure of anything," she whispered, the words threading between their rapid breaths.

"Good because I’m not even close to being done with you," he rasped, voice pure sin.

She wanted everything he had to give. Her hands slipped under his shirt, palms greedy over the hard muscles of his abdomen, his back. He was so warm, soreal, and when he groaned into her neck, it lit a fire low in her belly.

He kissed a scorching trail down her neck, his teeth catching on her skin, nipping hard enough to leave her breath catching.

Then he reached for the top of her leotard and tore it down her body. It peeled away under his rough hands until her breasts spilled free. His sharp inhale when he finally took her in was a sound she’d never forget.

"You’re so fucking beautiful," Beck murmured, voice cracking like the sight of her broke something inside him.

He sucked one nipple between his lips, soft and greedy, making her cry out, her back arching off the bed. His tongue flicked over the tight peak, then flattened and dragged slow, teasing circles that made her thighs clench. His other hand traced down her side, over her ribs, the curve of her waist, her hip, his touch light and possessive all at once.

When he pulled back, he blew a cool breath over the wet skin, and goosebumps raced down her spine. She whimpered, utterly at his mercy and the cocky smirk that tugged at his mouth made her pussy clench with need.

She was soaking. Aching. And Beck hadn’t even taken his clothes off yet.

He stripped her completely, his hands sliding the leotard and thong down her legs with torturous slowness, his fingers brushing her thighs just enough to tease. When she was naked beneath him, he tossed the clothes aside and knelt between her legs, eyes locked on her, his chest rising in shallow, hungry breaths.

He didn’t touch her. Not yet. Just looked like she was a feast laid out for him, and he didn’t know where to start.

She sat up, restless with need, grabbing the hem of his shirt. “Off,” she gasped.

He helped her tug it over his head; he was all hard planes, ink, and scars. Sinew and strength, carved by life and violence and pain and still, he was beautiful. Devastating.

She traced the ink on his skin, rough and warm beneath her fingers.

"Lay back, Baby," he whispered, voice low and thick.

Her stomach flipped—Babywas her favorite, the way he said it soft and possessive, like she was his and only his.

She sank onto the bed, the sheets cool against her back, eyes locked on his. Her heart pounded as his lips found her ankle, then moved up pressing into her calf with each kiss, winding her tighter with every breath. By the time he reached the sensitive skin of her inner thigh, she was shaking.

"Again?" she gasped, breathless and overwhelmed.

"Again, Baby," he whispered against her skin, his voice rough. "I can’t fucking stop. You’re addictive."

And then his tongue found her clit and the world cracked in half.

She cried out, loud and raw, her hips jerking off the bed. But Beck held her tighter, stronger, locking her down as his mouth devoured her. He licked her like he was trying to memorize the taste, slow, firm strokes of his tongue that made her whole body tense and quake.

Every low growl he made sent a thrum through her, vibrating against her clit, while the soft scrape of his stubble left her skin raw and oversensitized. His grip on her thighs was bruising, possessive like he needed her still and open for him, and nothing else would do.

Then two fingers slid inside, thick, sure, curling deep and just right, and she shattered.

Her back arched off the bed, her walls clenching around him as the orgasm detonated. She screamed his name, voice breaking apart, legs trembling uncontrollably. He didn’t stop, kept thrusting his fingers slowly, dragging out every ripple of release while his tongue circled her clit again and again.

Only when her body finally went limp with exhaustion did he ease off, his mouth trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses up her inner thighs until he reached her hips.

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