Page 64 of For You & No One Else (Say Everything 3)

Sixteen

Beckham followed Eliza into her bedroom, and she shut the door so Mabel wouldn’t wander in and be scandalized. Eliza hadn’t even considered the possibility that she and Beckham would end up here, so her room was as she’d left it this morning—bed unmade, stack of romance novels on her nightstand, her black sleep mask sitting on top of the pile. “Sorry it’s kind of messy…”

Beckham smirked and wrapped his arms around her waist. “You think I care if your bedroom’s ready for an Instagram shoot?”

She looped her arms around his neck. “I’m thinking no.”

“I’m thinking you’re right.” His palm slipped beneath her shirt, his fingers spreading against her tailbone. The hard part of him was pressing against the soft part of her. “I don’t need the glossy version, Eli. The therapist who has all the answers. This thing we have, this…heat. I think it’s because we’ve been messy with each other from the start.”

Lord, wasn’t that the truth. Alone at Christmas. Drunk after a date. A public shaming. She’d never been so…notput together in front of guy as she had with Beckham. “You haven’t been messy.”

He snorted softly. “Are you kidding? I’m a disaster. Iown a catnow. I freaked out in a game of Spin the Bottle. And I’m about to take my friend’s date to bed, breaking every guy code out there.”

She bit her lip, smiling.

“You have no idea,” he said, guiding her to the edge of the bed, his hands slipping down and cupping her backside, “how far outside my lines I’m coloring right now. I’m completely off the page.”

The words made her belly tighten in the best way. She pushed up on her toes and kissed him. That was all it took to break the restraint he’d been showing.

He groaned into her mouth, and his hands went to the hem of her shirt. He broke the kiss only to tug her tank top over her head. He tossed it over his shoulder, the fabric hooking on her desk chair, and he looked down at her. His gaze was like a heat brand marking her skin. He lifted his hand, cupping her and dragging his thumb around her nipple, making it perk to attention. “So damn sexy. Every part of you.”

She shivered under the attention and then reached out and plucked the front of his shirt. “Your turn. I’ve been promised ink licking.”

“As you wish.” He grinned and reached for the back neckline of his shirt and yanked it over his head in one swift movement. The fabric hit the floor, and her tongue pressed to the roof of her mouth as she took in the new view.Hot damn.She must have had good karma built up or something to be having this night with this guy. Beckham’s colorful tattoos continued from his arms to the front of his shoulders, making him look like art. But that was just the start. He had a dusting of dark chest hair that trailed down to a flat, lean stomach, and one nipple was pierced with a little silver hoop. Every part of him was better than the fantasy she’d created in her head.

“This is not even fair,” she said, tracing a finger over a line of tattooed text. The Latin words snaked around a tattoo of a compass rose. “I mean,look at you.”

He smirked. “You sound offended.”

“I am. How am I supposed to act like a rational person when you look like this?” She huffed. “I want to, like…bite you. I don’t even know who I am right now. Not a biter normally, I’ll tell you that.”

A full belly laugh escaped him then. “Eli, you’re a special snowflake.” He pulled her close again, her breasts pressing up against the warmth of his chest, his coarse hair tickling her. He touched his forehead to hers. “And biting is definitely allowed—as long as I can bite back. Acting rational is not required.” He slipped his hands beneath the back band of her yoga pants. “In fact, I forbid it.”

The humor evaporated in an instant, his eyes intense, and he hooked his thumbs in her waistband, dragging her pants and panties down. The cool air of her bedroom drifted over her, kissing her skin with goose bumps.

He’d crouched down in front of her and helped her get clear of her clothes, pulling the pants off and tossing them to the side. He groaned and then looked up at her from his position on the floor. She slid her fingers into his hair, the blond strands tickling her knuckles. He turned his head, kissing her palm, and then he leaned forward and pressed his mouth to her inner thigh. Her grip on his hair tightened.

He worked his way up, sending shivers through her, and finally kissing her at her very center. He flicked his tongue against her. Her knees wobbled and she let out a soft groan. “I’ll never last on my feet.”

He dragged his tongue along her one more time and then rose to his feet and kissed her lightly on the lips. “Then let’s get you on your back, Eli.”

She flipped her comforter flat and lay back on the bed. Beckham stood to the side, watching her. He ran a hand over the back of his head. “I’m in trouble. I’m never going to get any work done ever again.” He reached for the waistband of his joggers. “I’m going to have to move offices. Every time I see you, I’m going to remember you like this.”

She swallowed hard as she watched him push his pants and boxers down and off. She shouldn’t have been surprised, but still, the view made her suck in a breath. The guy was gorgeous everywhere, and when he straightened and took himself in his hand, giving himself a casual stroke, she was ready to form his fan club and become the president. “Same. You’re…wow.”

And she meant it. She was no virgin and she’d been with attractive guys before, but there was something so unapologetically raw about Beckham’s sexuality, a lack of any hint of shame or subtext or ulterior motive that felt new to her.

Even when she’d had good sex, she was usually in her head about it. The questions and analysis were right there at the surface.Does this mean something? Is this guy going to ghost me? Am I doing this right? Is he having a good time? AmIhaving a good time? Do I look weird in this light?

None of that was running through her head right now. She and Beckham were friends who were going to do this because it was fun, because it’d feel good. The simplicity of that was its own kind of freedom. She felt like she could say anything, ask for anything. But she asked for the most obvious first. “Condoms are in my drawer.”

Beckham sat on the edge of the bed and reached for something on the floor—his wallet. He pulled out a packet and tossed it onto the bed next to her. “I’ve got it.”

“And I’ve got an IUD,” she added. “So we don’t have to worry about…anything.”

He stretched out next to her, both of them propped up on one elbow, facing each other. He trailed his hand along her hip. “Tell me how it’s best for you.”

The request startled her for a moment. It was something no guy had ever asked her. Then she realized how ludicrous that was—that no guy had ever thought to ask. What the hell had she been tolerating? She reached down between them, giving in to the urge to touch him.

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