Page 85 of Perfect Composition
“Beau…”
“No, I’m no fucking saint—far from it—but I swear to you, I swear on Austyn, I’d have come back as fast as Shadow used to carry you to me through the fields if I’d had the first fucking clue. I had no idea until that night at Redemption.”
“Honey…” I try to interrupt again. But he’s on a roll. And I know this burst of emotion has to run its course.
“She’s a damn miracle, Paigey. I wish I’d known. I wish I’d known five, ten years ago. I wish I knew the minute you knew, the minute you suspected. When did you suspect? And I only wrote those songs because Jess taunted me with you moving on. I couldn’t believe…”
We could be here all night unless I do the one thing I know will shut him up.
I kiss him.
Within seconds, I’m being flipped on my back. Beckett’s immediately taken over the kiss. His fingers curl around the back of my neck, holding me firm. His lips don’t just brush against mine, as I did to calm him during his diatribe—they devour mine. His tongue pushes past the barrier of my teeth as his head slants so our mouths connect much as our bodies always did.
Perfectly.
I’m trapped beneath the softness of the bed and the hard wall of his chest. Heat rushes through me as I feel the weight of him bearing down on me. My nails dig into his biceps through the silk of his shirt, feeling the power of the man instead of the boy as our tongues meet, heat flares, and the lines between what I knew of right and wrong explode into a symphony of need.
The music only he could play in me.
I strain against him for more, so much more than a kiss. I need it, need him. I want to remember the feeling of his hands skimming across my skin, his teeth against my nipples, him sucking… A broken moan leaves my lips when he lifts his lips from mine. “Don’t stop,” I plead.
“Sweet Paige,” he croons before sitting back.
My body weeps in anguish at the loss of his until my brain puts together what he’s doing.
My body arches into the air when his long fingers make deft work of the remaining buttons of his shirt, freeing them. I want to reach up and touch each inch of muscular skin that appears, but that damn bitch reason forces me to voice one final attempt at sanity. “Are you sure this is a good idea?”
As he shrugs off his shirt, I get my first full view of the beauty of the art that marks the passing of time on his body over the corded strength that he’s kept honed over the years. “If dreams coming true are a good idea, then yes. It’s the best idea I’ve had in a long damn time.”
I suck in a breath, knowing I’ll never be the same after tonight. Then again, why should tonight be any different? I sure as hell wasn’t after he took me the first time when I was seventeen. With full cognizance of what’s about to happen, I sit up. His hands fist and clench while I tug the hidden zipper down at my side.
That’s when Beckett stays my hand. Our eyes meet and hold for an eternity and a heartbeat; they’re one and the same. His hand slides under the hem of my dress before he slides the skirt up my thighs as he begins prowling up my body. Lifting it up and over my shoulders, it becomes tangled in my glasses and hair for a moment. When I finally pop out, I inanely whisper, “Here I am.”
Beckett’s eyes close before his forehead drops to mine. “Here we are.” Then his mouth seeks mine, a certain power that’s always crackled between us igniting.
His hand cups my breast, still nestled in the lacy fabric I slipped into earlier. Using his thumb, he rubs the edge back and forth, causing the nipple to protrude. I break my lips away from his, gasping, “Beckett.”
But he shows no mercy—not that I really want any. I become transfixed as he ducks his head and draws an excited whimper from me when he takes a nip from the exposed curve of my breast while his other hand begins plucking a different rhythm with my other nipple. As he braces himself above me, I’m a mass of writhing nerves. It’s heartbreakingly familiar and yet so different every time his calloused fingers touch me. This man brings alive all of my senses, even as he destroys them.
I slide my own hands over the rippled edge of his abdomen, forcing him to withdraw his ministrations for a moment as I steal some of his own breath. The light blue of his eyes is eclipsed by the black of his pupils when I ply his nipples with the same torment.
We spend long minutes rolling each other across the bed, each of us intent on pleasuring the other. I spend an inordinate amount of time on the too-sensitive skin around the word “Live” inked on his chest while he divests me of my bra. Then his mouth sips one of the peaks deep.
I moan, tightening my thighs on his hips the minute he does. The wicked heat of his mouth surrounding my nipple causes my clit to pulse with a matching ache. “Please,” I beg.
He reaches behind him and slips a hand into his pants. Pulling out his wallet, he tosses it somewhere near my head.Thank Godis my barely coherent thought. But if I thought Beckett taking a few moments to stand to shuck his shoes and pants would speed things along, I was wrong.
Because he drops to his knees by the side of the bed just before dragging me to the edge of it.
I feel his breath scald me against my slick folds before he runs a finger down the center of them, parting me. Then he proceeds to remind me he wasn’t only a virtuoso at music. Hot kisses, quick flicks, combined with his fingers drive me higher and higher. So close to an edge I’ve been to only with him.
“Beckett,” I cry out.
Quickly, he surges up, wiping the edge of his beard with his forearm before reaching for his wallet. Control is held on to long enough for him to slip on protection. Then I feel the head of his cock hone in where it belongs, where it’s been missing—inside me. “Look at me, Paigey,” he rasps.
I can barely lift my head, every inch of my blood pooled around him. But I manage it. “What is it?”
That’s when he thrusts inside of me. “This is home. You will always be where home is.”
