Page 85 of Moms of Mayhem
I can neither confirm nor deny that the words that came out of my mouth were English, but I nodded my consent.
He moved forward on his knees, pulling my hips up until I sat against him. I rose up to my elbows, desperate for this depraved view. His hand rested on his cock, stroking once before he tapped it on my clit, then slid down.
The moment he pushed inside, my head tipped back. My breaths came in little gasps, the stretch as good as anything I’d ever felt, and he was barely inside.
“Holy shit.” Beckett’s hips stilled to hold him in place.
“Move, dammit,” I said between gritted teeth, needing it more than I ever had before. My legs rose to bracket his chest, giving him more room to move, and he took it.
My hands rested on his stomach, feeling him move in and out of me while my gaze drifted to the ceiling, everything blurring out but the feel of him inside me.
“Look at you,” Beckett said, a warm palm resting on my belly before sliding down to rub over my clit. “Taking me so good. No wonder you made me do so many fucking bridges.”
My laugh transformed into a moan when his thumb circled just right, hips moving in a perfect rhythm until my body was just a blur of energy, ready to explode.
“More.” My fingers dug into his back, that wave cresting in my again. “Make me come.”
His thumb circled just right, hips moving in a perfect rhythm until my body was just a blur of energy, ready to explode.
“That’s it,” Beckett said, a hand slapping gently on the side of my ass when I started to clench around him. The little zap was enough to shatter me. “Oh, fuck, Emmy.”
His hips picked up the pace, and I held on, loving the feel of him losing himself to the same unrelenting pull. I couldn’t look away, watching his head drop back, mouth hanging open, hands wrapped around my hips using me to find his own release.
The moment he did, his body slumped down over mine, sweaty forehead resting between my breasts.
“Not bad,” I said once my brain came back online.
A stuttered laugh shook through Beckett’s body, and I grinned up at the ceiling.
“Notbad?”His mouth slid over to my nipple, then bit down gently. I let out a little yelp, then burst out laughing. “Maybe I should have bitten you after all, you little brat.”
He fell off to the side of me, splayed out naked and spent, but his head tipped toward me. I shifted onto my side, one hand under my head and the other lazily tracing over the muscles in his chest.
His hand came around mine, then pinned it to his heart. “Feel that, Peach? Feel my heart racing?” He waited for an answer, so I gave him a little nod. “That’s because I’ve never come so hard in my life.”
I looked up at him, feeling his fingers lace between mine. We stared at each other, long enough that something unspoken settled between us—something heavier than sweatand sated bodies. His eyes didn’t flicker away, and mine didn’t try to hide the way I felt it too.
He swallowed hard, like he was about to say something else, but instead he pulled in a sharp breath and rolled away.
“I need a shower,” he muttered, voice rough, almost hoarse. He pushed up off the bed and padded naked toward the bathroom, his muscles rippling with each step.
I propped my chin on my hand and watched him go, pretending I wasn’t completely exposed—heart, body, all of it. He was halfway to the door when he slowed, like he could feel my eyes on him.
Then he turned, but I didn’t snap my gaze up from his ass fast enough.
That slow, cocky grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. “You keep looking at me like that, Peach, and we’re both gonna need a second shower.”
My cheeks flamed, but I didn’t look away. “Maybe I like being dirty.”
He chuckled, deep and low, then disappeared into the bathroom with a shake of his head.
The door clicked shut, steam already beginning to curl under the crack, and I lay there in the quiet aftermath, staring at the ceiling like it might have answers I didn’t want to hear.
Because something had shifted, all right. And no amount of sass or shower steam was going to rinse it away.
25
The morning light slipped through the blinds, soft and golden, painting streaks across Beckett’s bare back. His arm was heavy around my waist, our legs knotted together like neither of us could bear to let go.
