Page 15 of Bonfire with Beckett
Her breath catches.
“And what about me?” she whispers.
God help me. I reach out, trail my thumb over her lower lip. “Yours, Willa. Always yours.”
The air between us ignites. She leans forward, lips brushing mine, tentative but hungry. I kiss her back, deep and slow, tasting every sigh, every shiver.
My hand cups her jaw, then slides down, tracing the line of her throat. She tilts her head back, offering herself without hesitation. Reverence grips me—I want to map every inch of her, learn every sound she makes.
“You’re beautiful,” I murmur against her skin. “Do you know that?”
She shakes her head faintly, breath ragged.
“Then I’ll show you,” I vow.
My mouth trails down her neck, savoring the soft gasps she gives. My hand skims her side, over her curves, worshipful inevery touch. She arches toward me, and the low sound she makes nearly undoes me.
“Beckett…” Her voice is pleading, breaking.
I pull back just enough to see her face—flushed, eyes dark, lips parted. My thumb strokes her cheek. “I want to learn you,” I say, voice rough. “Every place that makes you sigh. Every place that makes you beg. I want to give you everything.”
Her answer is a kiss that steals the rest of my words. She climbs into my lap, straddling me, and my hands grip her hips like I’ll never let go. The world outside the cab—dark forest, waiting rescue—fades to nothing.
All that exists is Willa.
And I’m going to spend every second I can proving to her exactly how much she matters.
Trailing kisses down her neck, I slide one hand up and under her top. I groan against her as my fingers trace the smooth skin up. I cup her breast through lace, and my cock presses painfully against my jeans.
Later, I promise it. Right now the only thing I care about is making Willa feel just how beautiful she is.
Just how badly I desire her.
Pulling back, I pull her top up and over, tossing it aside so I can press my lips to the curves of her breast.
“Perfect.” I kiss each globe. “Abso-fucking-lutely perfect.”
Wanting more, I make quick work of removing her bra. I growl as I feast my eyes—and then my lips—on all her glory.
Palming her breasts I massage them and take one nipple into my mouth. She keens as I suckle, bringing it deeper into my mouth. Letting her whimpers and moans guide me.
Her hips begin to move. Seemingly instinctively as I worship her.
I take the hint and slide one hand down her, fumbling open the fly on her jeans, and pushing my hand lower and lower. Until my fingers find her curls and then her.
“Oh…” She gasps as I press my index finger against her clit. “Oh, Beckett.”
I unlatch from one breast and move to the other, working my fingers and my palm against her core. Tempting her. Stroking her. Her hips move against me. In a motion as old as time. Telling me she wants this. Telling me she wants me.
“Beckett,” she cries out as I take her closer. Bringing her to the point of no return and beyond. “Beckett, Beckett, Beckett.”
My name has never sounded sweeter.
Her fingers dive into my hair, tugging on it until it nearly hurts. But I can’t be deterred from my mission.
She’s too close. I’m too close. And I won’t relent.
Then she freezes for a moment. She calls my name again, screaming it so it rings in my ears. I open my eyes and glance up at her face in time to see the most beautiful sight I’ve ever seen.
