What would happen if I didn’t keep my hands off?
As I was filtering through all the pros and cons of this particular situation, his thumb moved.
Just his thumb.
There was a slight callus to the edge of his finger, and when it brushed over the bottom curve of my breast, the air hitched in my lungs.
Beckett’s arm tightened, his hips pushing closer to my backside.
My lips rolled between my teeth because a whimper threatened to escape my mouth.
He was hard.
And big.
And hard.
And right fuckingthere.
I pinched my eyes shut and wondered how the absolute hell I was going to navigate out of this, or if I even wanted to. There were options, of course.
Arch the ass back, just a little.
Cover his hand with my own, ease him just a few inches higher because I may not have a large chest, but I desperately wanted to know how much of my skin he’d be able to fit into his big palm or what he’d be able to manage with that calloused thumb if he pushed his hand down underneath the elastic band around my shorts.
The thought of it had my thighs pressing together again, slightly harder than the last time, seeking relief where there was none.
I could turn gently and see what would happen if I woke him up with my mouth against his. My body started melting as I played that one out in my head for just a few selfish moments.
He’d roll me to my back, press me hard into the mattress, yank my thighs open so he could fit his hips between mine.
Gawd. It had been so long since I’d had a good over-the-clothes makeout session, and let me tell you, the men of my generation did not appreciate it far enough. They went straight for the promised land, and sometimes, you wanted to torture yourself a bit with the feel of him rocking against you.
Because itwasa promise.
And judging by what Beckett was pressing up against my ass, he could make really, really big promises.
My whole body melted like butter the longer I lay there, and in the moment I finally relaxed into his embrace, I felt him freeze.
His arm went stiff.
His hips moved back just an inch.
Anddammit all, his thumb stopped moving.
I kept breathing even because if he made one move forward, I’d turn.
I’d turn and see what happened.
But Beckett eased his arm off my waist, and in only a few seconds, rolled gently onto his back and exhaled.
“Fuck,” he whispered.
Even as I kept my body motionless, my mind raced.
Was that a good fuck? Or a bad fuck?
Because there was a wide range between the options.