Page 82 of Moms of Mayhem
Seven.
Neither of us looked away.
Six.
Five.
Four.
She smiled, small and certain.
Three.
Two.
And then, without hesitation, I kissed her.
One.
The room exploded into cheers. Confetti rained down from the ceiling, someone popped a bottle of champagne too close to the speakers, and people whooped and hollered like the world had just been reborn.
But all I felt was her.
Warm and steady in my arms, kissing me back like the rest didn’t matter, because we were already exactly where we were supposed to be.
24
I fumbled with the keys in the lock, Beckett’s body pressed against my back. He dropped kisses to the side of my neck, his big hands resting on my hips.
“Pretty sure I’d move faster if you stopped doing that,” I whispered, breath hitching when his lips brushed the sensitive spot just below my ear.
“Pretty sure I might be incapable of keeping my hands off you,” he murmured, voice low and rough. “Unless you tell me to.”
But that was the last thing I wanted.
The door finally gave way, and we stumbled inside, the quiet hush of the house a sharp contrast to the chaos we’d just left behind. The only light came from the streetlamps filtering through the front windows, throwing long shadows across the floor. I barely got the door shut before he had me pinned gently against it, one hand braced beside my head, the other skimming up my thigh.
“This dress.” His hand gripped the fabric and slid it up. “All night, I’ve wanted to know what it would look like on the floor.”
My head hit the door behind me as his hand slid up over my hip, fingers trailing the line of my panties. I gripped his shirt, holding him to me, trying to remember a time I’d ever felt this desperate for anyone.
With my neck exposed, his head dropped, tongue licking and kissing across my skin. A wash of heat spread through me, trailing from everywhere he touched directly to my core.
The hand not teasing along the edge of my underwear slid behind my head, guiding me into the kind of kiss that stole the air from my lungs. Last night’s kiss had been an awakening—soft, sweet, a promise. The midnight kiss had sparked a fire.
But this?
This was an inferno. A fire I couldn’t put out even if I wanted to, and I didnotwant to.
He caught my bottom lip between his teeth, just enough pressure to make me shiver, then soothed the sting with his tongue. I opened for him without hesitation, and when our mouths met fully, it was slow and deep—like tasting something I’d been craving for far too long.
Our tongues tangled, not in a rush but in a rhythm, like we’d already memorized each other. My hands slid around his waist, pulling him closer until the hard line of his body pressed against mine. He groaned into my mouth, the sound guttural and raw, then dropped his forehead to my shoulder as his hips rolled into me with aching precision.
“Upstairs,” I whispered, breathless, grabbing his hand and sliding out from under him.
His boots thudded heavy behind me on the steps, and I felt him watching me—watching the sway of my hips, theway my dress clung to my legs as I climbed up the dark stairs to my bedroom.
“Still think I should’ve carried you,” he said behind me, his voice low and full of that familiar challenge.
