Page 70 of Redemption

“I need you more because of what happened this morning.” I pull my underwear down, the last piece of material I had covering me. Beckett’s eyes flash with heat, but he’s still resisting. “I know you said they didn’t bother you, but I need you to show me that my scars—both inside and out—don’t repulse you. I need to know—”

I squeal in surprise as Beckett closes the gap between us in one long stride and takes my face in his hands. “You listen to me, Presley. Nothing about you could ever repulse me. I hate that you had to go through the pain of getting those marks on your body, but they don’t make you any less beautiful, inside or out. If anything, they highlight how stunning you are. Those scars prove that you’re a survivor. A warrior. That bastard tried to break you again and again, but you kept fighting, and you found the strength to walk away. I know that in itself was scary as hell, but you did it. You persevered when the odds were stacked against you, and you continue to do it each day you get up and try to find your footing again.”

I fist his shirt. “Show me, Beckett. Love me.”

He swipes his thumbs over my cheeks, back and forth, searching my eyes. “Honey, I never stopped loving you.”

God, this man. I don’t know why I’m being gifted this second chance with him, but I’m done wasting time because I’m worried about what other people might think. Yes, I’m still technically a married woman, and some might feel this is wrong. But as far as I’m concerned, my marriage was over the first time Sebastian laid his hands on me in anger. I’ve done what I can to finalize the process by leaving New York and hiring an attorney. Now, it’s just a matter of getting the legal part in order. I refuse to miss out on another day to be with the love of my life. We’ve both lost so much over the last twelve years. It’s time we start makin’ up for that.

I lift up on my toes and kiss the underside of his jaw. When I get to his good ear, I whisper, “Make love to me, Beckett.”

I pull back and walk slowly to the tub, maintaining eye contact the entire time. I leave the curtain open so Beck can see me as I tilt my head under the flow of water. Once I’m satisfied I have the majority of the mud rinsed out, I grab the bottle off the shelf, spreading the eucalyptus-scented shampoo through my hair. As I tilt my head back again to rinse, I smile to myself when I hear Beckett groan as he watches my erotic peep show. My back is arched, my chest is pushed forward, and my sudsy breasts jiggle as I run my hands through my long hair. I know exactly the kind of picture I’m making right now, which is precisely why I’m doing it.

“You’re killin’ me here, Pres.”

I grab some conditioner and finger comb it through my hair. “So, put us both out of our misery and get in here.”

Next up is the soap. I take my time, working the bubbles over my skin, making sure not a trace of dirt remains. I pay special attention to my breasts, imagining it’s Beckett touching them instead of me. Doubt starts creeping in when he still doesn’t make a move to join me, but then I realize there’s empowerment in putting myself on display like this. And one glance at Beck tells me he knows that, too. I can see how desperately he wants to touch me by the rigid set of his jaw, the way his eyes track my every move, and the way his fingers continuously flex. Plus, there’s the obvious erection in his pants. But he’s allowing me to have this moment as if he instinctively knows how much I could use the confidence boost.

His restraint is unmatched, and if I didn’t want to feel his touch so badly, I’d be impressed. As it stands, I’m achy and needy, and my patience is wearing thin. I decide I need to do something that’ll prove to Beckett I’m ready. That while my self-esteem has taken countless blows over the years, I believe him when he says I’m beautiful. That I’m safe. That I’m loved. Beck’s eyes round when I trail my hand down my abdomen, heading straight for my core. I pull my lip between my teeth as my fingers slide through my slick, soapy flesh, igniting the sensitive nerves. I’ve never touched myself in front of anyone before; hell, I can’t remember the last time I even felt the desire to do this alone. I was too young and shy when Beckett and I were first together, and with Sebastian... well, he preferred me submissive, and he didn’t care if I came or not.

But at this moment, with Beckett, I want to own my pleasure. I want him to witness every second of it—see the exact moment I take my power back. When I vow to put myself first sometimes. When I remind myself that it’s perfectly healthy to have desires and there’s nothing shameful in what I’m doing. As a deep ache forms in my belly, signaling my impending release, my eyes close, and my head falls back to the tiled walls. I move my fingers faster, giving my body just the right amount of friction it needs. When I come in a spectacular fashion, it’s with Beckett’s name on my lips. As my tremors wane, I realize he’s here with me, in the tub. At some point, when I was consumed by bliss, he managed to remove his clothing and join me.

I open my lids with a lazy smile. “If that didn’t convince you to get in here, I was fresh out of ideas.”

Beck’s eyes twinkle with amusement. “That was the hottest fucking thing I’ve ever seen.” His large hands span my hips, and I’m surprised to find I’m not worried about him feeling the grooves on my skin. “I want you so goddamn bad it hurts, Pres.”

I give his length one long stroke from root to tip and kiss each corner of his mouth. “Then wash that mud off and meet me in the bedroom, Cowboy.”

He narrows his gaze in mock annoyance. “The only reason I’m letting you get away with that is that you’re naked.”

I step out of the tub, closing the curtain, and wrapping the fluffy towel around my body. “Don’t make me wait long, Beckett.”

I laugh when I hear him scrubbing furiously, trying to wash up as fast as possible. I’ve barely stepped foot into the hallway when Beck switches the water off and starts coming for me in all his wet, naked glory. A shocked gasp falls from my lips when he bends at the knees and flips me over his shoulder.

“Beckett Ryder Armstrong!” I brace my hands on his lower back, trying to push myself up. “Put me down!”

I laugh when he dumps me unceremoniously on the bed, but my amusement quickly fades when I feel his cock pressing against me. I stretch my neck to meet him halfway as he leans down for a kiss. Beck’s hips settle between my thighs as our lips and tongues move in perfect harmony. When he pulls back, his gaze never leaves mine as his hand goes to where the towel is tucked between my breasts. Beckett wastes no time unwrapping me like the most precious gift as I give him a subtle nod. My nipples pebble under his stare, begging for his touch. I’m hyper-focused on every breath, every shift of the mattress. The raindrops hitting the roof. A sharp gasp rushes out of me when Beck’s warm, wet mouth surrounds one pink tip while he gently rolls the other between his thumb and forefinger. I run my hands along his back, down the corded muscles of his arms. A deep sound rattles in his chest when I angle my hips up, seeking friction.

Beckett’s lips continue their descent until he’s placing soft kisses over the scars on my hips. I wait for the shame to hit as it usually does when I think about self-harming, but it doesn’t come. My brain is too busy wondering where Beckett’s mouth is going to go next. I jolt in surprise when he separates my lower lips with his thumbs before gently sucking my clit into his mouth. He eats me like a man starved, licking and sucking and nibbling me into a frenzy. When he inserts one finger and then two, I lose control. I’m riding his hand so hard, the headboard is slamming against the wall, thump, thump, thumping in the same staccato as the wet sucking noises our bodies are making. My hands claw his thick hair as I shred all inhibitions, caring about nothing but the pure ecstasy this man is giving me.

He continues pumping his fingers in and out as his mouth moves back to my breast. This time, when he pulls my nipple into his mouth, mimicking what he just did down below, I shout obscenities, telling him how good it feels, how I can never get enough. I’m straight-up fucking his hand at this point, not caring one bit how crazed I must look. I can feel my orgasm just out of reach, and I’d do damn near anything to get there.

“Beckett, please.”

“I know, baby,” he coos. “Just hold on.”

When he presses the pad of his thumb to my clit, applying the perfect amount of pressure, I unravel completely. Explosively. After I come down, Beck sits back on his knees, gently massaging my leg muscles. I’m sweaty. Loose-limbed. Dying for more. I whine when he leaves the bed, walking toward his dresser.

He opens the top drawer and retrieves a giant box of condoms, giving me a sheepish smile as he removes the plastic shrink wrap. “Call it wishful thinking.”

I smile, wishing I could tell him we didn’t need condoms because I’m on the shot. I’d love to feel him with nothing between us, but considering Sebastian’s extra-marital affairs, it wouldn’t be the responsible thing to do until I get my test results back. The last thing I’d want is for Beckett to suffer the consequences of my husband’s infidelity. Thank goodness I had the foresight to ask for an STD panel when I went to the clinic for my shoulder check-up. I lick my lips as Beck fists his erection, pumping it a few times before opening the square foil and sliding the condom in place.

“I’m all yours, Pres. Tell me how you want me.”

His words shouldn’t feel foreign in my head, but it’s been so long since I’ve been given a choice, I find myself flipping through my mental catalog of sexual positions, wondering which one I should pick. When it hits me, I sit up, gesturing to the space beside me.

“Sit up against the headboard.”

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