In The Weeds, page 20
“They’ll still be there when we get back.” He starts walking backwards, closer to the edge of the woods where the twin trees stand. “C’mere.”
I laugh. “C’mere, what?” But still I follow after him. The moon lights up the constellations tattooed on his skin, the sky dipping down to twist around his arms.
“You haven’t had your happy today,” he tells me, hands already reaching, stars on his skin and in his eyes and in the sky above.
My heart flip-flops in my chest. “And you’re gonna give it to me, huh?”
“Yeah,” he smiles, as full and bright as that damn moon. “I’m gonna give it to you.”
He’s wrong though. I have had my happy today. I’m practically drowning in it—in simple, quiet joy. The warm comfort of a perfect moment with a good man.
I stop right in front of him and he stares down at me. I trace the lines of his face and I feel like one of those meteors he loves so much. Tearing through the atmosphere, a giant ball of light.
“The last time you were here—” He cups my face with both of his hands and presses a gentle kiss to the tip of my nose, the space between my eyes. Everything in me shivers and melts, and my hands grasp at his elbows. “The last time you were here, I wanted to kiss you under this tree.”
“You hid it well,” I murmur as I follow his retreat, silently begging for more.
“Nah,” he says, his voice a rasp. “You just weren’t looking close enough.”
And then he kisses me.
And he shows me everything I missed.
“And that one?”
I point at a bright cluster of stars with my french fry, my boot knocking against his on the blanket. I shift my head against his shoulder and he follows the direction of my hand, nose brushing briefly against my hair as he angles to get a look.
“Cetus,” he says around a mouthful of burger. He swallows and tosses the wrapper towards his bag, settling back on his elbows with a happy sigh. I follow after him when he tugs once at my belt loop, my back against his chest. “The Sea Monster. Poseidon sent him to ravage some coastal town when Cassiopeia said she was more beautiful than the sea nymphs.”
“That sounds petty.”
He hums in agreement and curls his hand around my wrist. He guides my hand slightly to the right so we’re both pointing at another cluster of stars. “Aries is right there.”
His thumb drags a lingering half-circle against my pulse point and I feel it like a touch between my legs. I shift on the blanket and wiggle closer, my head under his chin. “And that one?”
“That’s an airplane, honey.”
A laugh slips out of me and I peek up at him. Relaxed, his face tilted towards the sky, a smile curling at the very edges of his mouth. He’s loose out here in the fields in a way he isn’t anywhere else.
“This is a good date,” I tell him quietly. The best I’ve ever had. “Thanks for bringing me out here.”
“Thanks for coming out here.” He looks down at me and plucks at the cuff of my sweatshirt. “Properly dressed.”
I glance down at the doubled up material stretched awkwardly across my chest. “Overly dressed, I think.”
He makes a sound against me, a deep rumble low in his chest that I feel against my back. His hand slips from my wrist to my elbow, up over my shoulder. Two fingers tuck into the collar and trace along my bare collarbone. My whole body shivers.
“Yeah?”
He catches the edge of my ear between his teeth and I grin. His first concession to the heat banked between us. I remember how much he liked that the last time we were together—his teeth against my skin, praise whispered with every rough scratch.
I nod. “Mmhmm.”
I shift and shimmy until I can tuck my arms through the sleeves, the movement clumsy. I laugh as the material gets caught around my head, two big hands grabbing and pulling until I can see the field and the sky and the trees again. Beckett looking at me like I hung the damn moon myself.
It’s so different from the last time we were together. Different, but exactly the same. He still looks at me with a ferocious heat—careful eyes mapping out exactly what he wants to do and where. What touch to give me first. But there’s wonder, too. Like he can’t quite believe I’m here with him, in this place. Affection and amusement and a bubbling warmth, deep in my chest.
He blows out a breath and scrubs his palm against the back of his head, watching as I lean back and prop myself up on both hands. I don’t think he meant it as a grand seduction, but it feels like one now, those sweatshirts sitting in a clump by his hip. I’m left in nothing but the threadbare t-shirt I pulled on before we left the house, the wide collar slipping over one shoulder. He catalogs the bare skin it reveals with heavy eyes, his tongue sweeping across his bottom lip when I shift slightly and it droops a little more.
“I want you,” I tell him, finally voicing the thought that has been running circles in my head since I first saw him step off the curb in the middle of town. Since I saw him step through the door of a dive bar. I don’t think I’ve ever stopped wanting Beckett, not really. I tiptoe my fingers up the delicate ink on his wrist and curl my hand around his forearm. Pull once. “And I think you want me, too.”
His eyes snap up from where they were burning a path across my bra strap and he gives me that half smile again, somehow better than the full grin that spills out of him like starlight. This smile feels like mine and mine alone. He gives in to my tugging and shifts up on his knees.
“Of course I do,” he says, sure and direct, impossibly Beckett. He says it like it’s something he’s been thinking about, too. Maybe since he saw me standing with my hip against a rental car. Maybe since he saw me sitting at a bar top with a glass of tequila in front of me. “Wanting you has never been a question.”
He maneuvers in front of me until he can grip my ankle, caressing it once with his thumb as he opens my leg wide, making enough space for him to move in between. We’re only touching at that one place, his hand against my leg, and already I feel it everywhere. In the small of my back and the tips of my breasts, the arch of my neck and the space between my legs.
His hand squeezes me gently and his palm moves up. The calluses on his hands catch on the rough material of my jeans, a stilted movement that’s better in its honesty. Another squeeze at my thigh, thumb dragging along the inseam above my knee. He hesitates there briefly, considering, and then reaches for my hip.
“If we do this again, Evie, there’s no running.” His eyes are serious, his body held perfectly still between my open legs. “I don’t want to wake up alone.”
I grip his shirt in my fists, regret slicing across my chest. For the way I left him all those months ago and for the ways I’ve left him since. I lean up and brush a kiss across his bottom lip. An apology, but a promise, too. “You won’t.”
“Alright,” he says, and his eyes flash darker, his tongue appearing briefly at the corner of his mouth. His hands flex at my sides, fingertips pressing and guiding. “Lay back then.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
EVELYN
I shake my head and urge him back until he falls with a grunt, my knees clambering up and over to hug his hips. I cup his jaw in my hands as he gazes up at me and trace once over the rough of his stubble.
“I want you to see the stars,” I tell him. Something behind his eyes flares and burns bright. Brighter than anything in the sky. My own private supernova.
He guides me further into him with his hand at the small of my back and trails small, biting kisses up the line of my neck. He sucks hard at a spot just beneath my jaw and then leans back, lingering there with his lips barely brushing mine.
“I’ll only be looking at you.”
His mouth on mine sends shivers cascading down my arms, both twined tight around his neck as our lips meet and press. We lean back in the same breath and readjust. Something deeper, hotter. He kisses me like he’s telling me a thousand secrets, each one something different. I missed you, his first kiss says—soft and lingering against my bottom lip. You’re so pretty, says the next—a sweet, teasing brush. I want you, says the last one—a hungry, grasping thing as he licks into my mouth and holds my face against his. So fucking bad—his fingertips sinking into my hair.
His hand fists and pulls, a slight hint of roughness that earns a desperate sound low in my throat. I don’t think I’ve ever wanted someone so much. Not even at the bar that first time. I roll my hips down onto his and he pulls his mouth away to suck in a lungful of air. I like that he hasn’t stopped me—that he hasn’t asked if this is something I want. He can feel it vibrating through me, same as him. Perfectly in tune. I circle my hips again and he exhales a shaky laugh.
“You feel better than I remember,” he says.
I grin. “You haven’t even seen the best part yet.”
He smiles up at me, his grin a little wild. I take back what I thought about his half-smiles. This is the one I want to keep. “I’ve already seen your tits, Evie.”
A laugh bursts out of me, muffled by a rough kiss against my lips. It’s clumsy, the both of us smiling into it. I want him to ask me here, like this. That same question he asks every evening while we sit on his back porch, the sun dipping low in front of us.
Did you find your happy today?
Yes, I would tell him. I found it right here. With you. Like this.
I reach for the hem of my shirt and I pull it over my head. His hands immediately slip up my belly, thumbs rubbing in a firm sweep below my breasts. I let my head drop, my hair tickling at the small of my back. It feels so good everywhere he touches. I only want more.
“You cold?”
I shake my head and reach for the clasp of my bra. “Not with your hands on me.”
His eyes flare. He likes that answer. The material of my bra falls away and I’m bare skin in the moonlight. I feel Beckett’s deep exhale brush the valley of my breasts, the tip of his nose following after. Big hands bracket my hips and slide up my back—a delicious pressure on both sides of my spine. He curls his hands around my ribs and tugs me closer.
“What about my mouth?”
I card my fingers through his hair and twist, urging him forward. He chuckles at my wordless response and nuzzles into me, pressing deep, sucking kisses below my collarbone and at the top of my ribs. His hands squeeze and he urges me further back, holding me suspended at exactly the right angle for his kisses. He barely grazes my chest and instead skips to my shoulder, the line of my neck. Everywhere but where I want them most. I arch my back, tugging at his hair impatiently.
“Beckett,” I say on a gasp, his stubble perfectly rough against my chest. He drags his jaw against me and I grind my hips down. One hand leaves my back to cup my breast, fingers pinching roughly at my nipple. I make an incoherent sound and pull at his hair again, demanding relief.
“Just wanted you to get bossy again,” he teases, mouth busy at my throat. He dips his tongue there as his fingers pinch again and my whole body shivers.
“You could have just asked.”
“This is better.”
He finally puts his mouth to my breast and I sigh his name, my hands held tight to the back of his head. He feels so good. Warm and wet and just the right amount of rough. He nips with his teeth and the stars shake in the sky.
I hate that I decided to wear jeans tonight. I can feel him thick and hard against me, but the friction is dulled by our layers, every roll of our bodies against each other urging my frustration higher. I want to feel his bare skin beneath me, satisfy the ache low in my belly. I feel itchy with need, thrumming with it.
He smooths his palm down my bare back. “Relax,” he whispers under my ear. “I’m gonna take care of you.”
“You relax,” I grumble back, frustrated by his half-touches. I’m too keyed up for a drawn out tease. I feel like it’s been weeks of foreplay between us. I feel every lingering glance, every restrained touch. I want him hard and fast and filling up every inch of me until I can barely breathe with the pressure of it. He gently lays me back against the blanket and my hair spreads around me, my knees still hugging his hips as I fall flat. I tug on his belt loops with a frown. He thumbs at the edge of my lips with a smile.
“What’s this face for?”
“You’re teasing me.”
“I’m not,” he shakes his head and rolls his hips against me, a deep, dirty grind that has his eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks. A lock of hair falls over his forehead and I press it back with the palm of my hand. A man losing his grip, finally. “I’m trying to go slow,” he grits out.
“Also defined as teasing.”
He huffs a laugh and leans down until he can lick a hot stripe between my breasts. He moves his head to the left and catches the tip between his teeth, follows it with a deep sucking pull that has me arching up off the blanket.
“I’m just trying to hold myself together,” he says into my skin, his hands batting mine away from his jeans. He quickly finds the button of mine instead, slipping it free and tugging at the zipper, his movements quick and agitated. He jerks the stubborn material down my legs with a grunt—only halfway down before he gives up completely, distracted by the sight of plain white cotton. He groans and tightens his grip on my thighs.
“I had a plan,” he says, eyes still fixed on the line of unimpressive cotton at my hips. I wiggle under his stare.
“Oh? Feel free to share it.”
“I was going to make you come and then take you home,” he says in a low voice, his eyes blazing a path up my body. He fixes me with a hungry look and flexes his hands again. “But I don’t think I can.”
“You can’t make me come?”
He releases my thigh to smack lightly at my ass. Goosebumps erupt on every square inch of my body.
“You know I can, honey.”
I feel a sharp pull low in my belly—a string between his words and the desire running hot through my blood. “Did you come up with a new plan?”
He considers, gaze lingering on the two inches of soft, smooth skin between my belly button and the edge of my underwear. I’ve had his mouth there before, while I was propped up against the edge of a dresser with my hands in his hair. I want that again. I want a million other things, too.
“Up,” he commands, tapping once at my bare hip. When I lever my body up, he curls his hands in my jeans and tugs, pulling them off with three rough jerks. I’m in nothing but a sensible pair of white cotton briefs while he’s still fully dressed, out in the middle of a grove of trees in the dark of night. It has me shivering beneath him, hands clenching in his shirt.
I clutch at it. “Off.”
He reaches between his shoulder blades with one hand and pulls it over his head, biceps flexing as he throws it to the blanket. He collapses back on top of me, his mouth on mine, his body a delicious, warm pressure tucking me down, down, down into the ground. I curl my legs around his hips and lock my ankles at the small of his back, denim rough against the inside of my thighs. His zipper bites into my skin and I flex my legs higher, his chest pressed tight to my breasts and his inked arms holding me tight. I focus entirely on him—the heat of his body and the hollow ache between my legs.
“Tell me you brought a condom,” I plead into his mouth, his thumb plucking at my nipple. He shakes his head with a muffled sound of frustration, pushing up on his arms to meet my gaze. He strains there for a second, distracted, before he dips back down to brush a kiss against my lips. He lingers and groans, another stolen kiss when I squeeze his hips tighter.
“No,” he says, regret etched into every line of his face. I let my hands map the strong line of his shoulders, his broad chest, the muscle stacked down his abdomen. His body is formed by work, colored by the sun and the earth. I’ve already seen every piece of him, but I find new things to discover. The cluster of freckles at the top of his ribs. The thin line of contrast where tanned skin meets pale, creamy white. The trail of hair that leads down his stomach, under the hem of the jeans riding low on his hips.
“Okay, that’s okay,” I babble. We don’t need a condom. There are plenty of other things we can do. My mind unrolls a list a mile long, and the ache within me pulls deeper. Sharper.
I scratch my nails against his hips and reach for the button of his jeans, sliding my hand beneath when it gives. My knuckles brush against warm skin and I wrap my hand around the hard length of him. He closes his eyes, teeth clenched. “I didn’t think—” He looks down at me, bewildered and enraptured. Disheveled and delighted. All of my favorite things. “I wasn’t expecting this.”
“You literally just told me you had a plan.” I pump my hand once and he makes a bitten-off groaning sound. I immediately want to hear it again. “You weren’t expecting me naked on this blanket?”
He shakes his head and rolls his hips into my touch.
“Do you remember the night we met?”
I stroke him again and he thrusts into my grip harder, fucking into my hand with another pained, desperate sound from between his teeth. I like that sound so much I do it again. And then again, my thumb swiping at what I can reach.
“You almost fucked me in the back hall of the bar, Beckett.” I had wanted him to. Practically begged him for exactly that, if I remember correctly.
His hand catches my wrist and he holds me still, eyes blazing. “You first,” he says. His fingers graze the curve of my hip, slide under the waistband of my underwear and squeeze at the bare skin of my ass.
I shake my head and smile at him, my hand still trapped in his pants. I need him so badly I almost hurt with it. All of my ideas scatter and I know what I want. I want us, together. “I’m tested regularly,” I tell him. “On birth control. If you wanted—”
His mouth drops to mine in a kiss, softer than it should be with my body bare beneath him and an invitation on the table. He grips my chin and licks into my mouth with a gentle caress, his thumb tracing my jaw to the tender skin below my ear. He rubs there once, a slow swipe.
“I was tested last month,” he manages when he pulls away, his palm flat against my neck. He slips it down slightly until it’s pressed right in the center of my chest. I loop my hand around his wrist and squeeze. “There hasn’t been anyone since you.”
