Page 342 of As the Rain Falls
He sighs, as if in pain.
“I wish you could see yourself right now.”
“Right now?” I muse, arching a brow.
“Every day,” Beckett pauses, leaning down to press his lips on me for another kiss. “You make me feel so mad.”
I get it.
I feel mad about him sometimes, too.
When I wake up in the morning, only find him standing in the bathroom, quietly brushing his teeth. Or when I’m downstairsalready, watching him make us coffee, listening to whatever music he likes to listen to. His hips are always swaying each way because Beckett is not a singer but more of a secret dancer.
I get mad at him, just a little. It makes me want to shake him, wrap myself around him, and tell him to stop being so—
Beckett pauses near my collarbones, bites the skin near my pulse, and traces lower again. It takes less than a second for his tongue to dart out, sucking my other nipple in. His teeth graze over the most sensitive part, just as his other hand keeps touching me so gently, palming my other breast.
Somehow, it feels even better than the touch of his hand. It’s warm and wet, and it awakens the kind of pleasure that goes straight to my core. I start to pant, listening as he makes wet noise after wet noise from sucking my skin.
“God, I love how your skin tastes.”
It’s so good.
Too good.
Don’t cry.
Don’t cry.
Don’t cry.
If you cry right now, it’ll ruin everything.
I close my eyes shut, forgetting about each time I got called something other than beautiful in bed. I start to pull his clothes, and he takes off his shirt, giving me the chance to finally press myself against him.
Bone against bone.
Skin against skin.
I want to feel his body against mine forever.
“I need more.” Something like a moan slips past his lips, and it makes my insides burn so good. “Please.”
I watch him tense, not knowing what to do with himself.
“Cassandra.” Beckett starts rising up to kiss me again.
It gets me distracted, dizzy enough, and it’s deceptive, like he holds a knife to the root of every single upsetting memory I carry inside of me and cuts it, leaving no traces of bad weeds behind. I know I’ll find them growing all over again later, but for now this feels so good.
It makes me forget.
Beckett lowers himself, still half-clothed, and presses his hip to mine. The pressure feels insane. He has me biting my lip, closing my eyes, and making needy sounds that don’t even sound like myself.
I.
Don’t.
Sound.
