Page 8 of Beckett the Bad Boy (Suitor’s Crossing: The Caldwells #4)

BETH

When we arrive at Beckett's home, I'm surprised to learn that instead of a bachelor pad in one of the apartment complexes in town, he lives in a two-story Craftsman.

“Wow,” I say as he parks in the two-car garage. “This is a lot of house.”

“Don’t worry, it’s not all for me. My best friend, Ranger, and I share the place. You might have met him.”

Right.

For a second, the wildness of what I’m doing eclipsed the part of my brain that knew he and Ranger were roommates.

“I’m surprised an MC guy lives off the compound.”

“He’s not the only one.” Beckett rounds the vehicle to open my door.

“Ranger and I were roommates in college. After he got out of the military and…” He trails off and shakes his head like he shouldn’t say something.

“Moved to Suitor’s Crossing, it wasn't that big of a leap for us to rent something together.

He commandeered the basement. I've got the upstairs, and we share the first-floor kitchen and living areas.

It's a good compromise. We both have our own spaces.”

“It sounds like a dream.”

If most of my friends weren't in serious relationships, I'd suggest we share a large home like this.

Unfortunately, Kat and I are the only single girls left from our original book club group, and Kat still lives in Everton, where we all resided before the Great Migration to Suitor's Crossing.

Beckett punches in a security code and unlocks a door that opens into a kitchen full of shadows.

“Is Ranger here?” I ask, a little uncomfortable with the idea of him hearing us together.

Though, he is probably used to Beckett bringing women home.

Don't think about that!

I shake the thought off as I attempt to hype myself up and remember why I'm here.

I'm going to have sex with Beckett Caldwell.

Me, not-so-cautious-now Beth.

Beckett shakes his head and flips on a light. “No, he's out on club business. Which means I've got you all to myself.”

Oozing confidence, Beckett whisks me upstairs to his bedroom, which better fits my idea of a bachelor pad.

Chrome details.

Sparse knickknacks.

Function over form.

His arms wrap around my waist, silver eyes studying my expression as I look around the room. It’s a decent size with a huge king bed centered on one wall.

“Are you sure you're okay with this? You can change your mind at any time.” Beckett’s quiet voice interrupts my obvious inspection.

“I want this. Promise.” I lift up to press my mouth to his and silence the nagging worries in the back of my mind.

Because I do want this.

It's only fear of the future that has my stomach tied in knots.

Worry for when he moves on to someone else.

Because this is Beckett Caldwell we’re talking about.

The Suitor’s Crossing bad boy.

He literally leaves town for hook-ups because they’re so prolific.

Which reminds me.

Rearing back, I quickly ask, “Healthwise… I’m good. What about you?”

“Tested regularly. We’re in the clear.”

I release a breath of relief before Beckett retakes control of the kiss and backs me into his bed.

We flop down onto the mattress in a chaotic heap.

Hands, tongues, teeth.

His palm slides expertly underneath my shirt to unhook my bra, and soon I'm naked from the waist up. The man has had some serious practice undressing a woman.

Stop thinking about his past.

“Goddamn, you're pretty,” he whispers in awe, and a bit of my self-consciousness fades away.

“Your turn.” I tug on his shirt with trembling fingers.

Unlike me, Beckett has abs for days. It's evident how hard he works to remain in shape for his job.

“Wow,” I say dumbly. My fingertips trace the deep indentations of his muscular stomach, drifting over the ‘V’ lines leading to his groin.

“Like what you see, baby?” he teases, thrusting into my tentative grip around his boxer-brief-covered dick.

Licking my lips, I nod, words escaping me.

“Me, too.” Beckett groans, and his fingers toy with the button of my jeans, waiting for my silent consent.

I give it to him with one quick nod.

There's the rasp of the zipper then cool air wafts over my bare hips and thighs. The man is dragging my panties off with my jeans, and a wave of nervous anticipation crashes in my veins.

“Oh my God,” I gasp after the first confident press of Beckett's thumb on my clit.

“This is only the beginning.”

He kisses down my collarbone and nips at my nipples with his teeth before licking the sting away. Before continuing his southern trajectory.

He nudges my thighs further apart, one hand bracing on the inside of my thigh to hold me open for his perusal. His silver gaze a physical caress over my skin.

“Beckett,” I plead, one part self-conscious, the other, needing him to stop staring and start doing .

“What do you need? My tongue inside this pretty cunt?” He demonstrates with a firm thrust of the flexible muscle through my clenching walls, and I whimper in response.

“Or do you need it wrapped around your clit?” Beckett strikes again. This time curling his tongue around the sensitive bud atop my sex.

“What do you need , Beth ?” he repeats.

I seriously hope he doesn't need me to answer that, because it's all I can do not to black out from the pleasure of his fingers and mouth manipulating my aching flesh.

“Whatever you want, I need whatever you want to give me. Please ."

“So accommodating,” he rumbles. “Such a good girl.”

Then, his wicked grin disappears in the shadow of my thighs. His hot tongue licking where no man has ever been before.

I arch into his ravenous mouth, my fingers scrambling for purchase on his shoulders, then his scalp, scratching and pulling, urging him on.

I don't know if it pains him, or if it does, if he likes it.

Because Beckett just grunts and redoubles his efforts, devouring my pussy like a hungry bear diving into a pot of honey.

His beard scrapes; his lips soothe.

And he eats, eats, eats , until I come on a scream, my body quaking in pleasure from his rough feasting.

“You're fucking delicious, baby.” Beckett rises to his knees with a cocky smirk.

The evidence of my arousal gleams on his mouth, and another shudder wracks my limbs when he licks his lips with a hum of approval.

“You feel incredible wrapped around my tongue, but I know you'll feel even better snug around my dick.”

He reaches over to the drawer of his nightstand and pulls out a condom.

I watch in fascination as the thin rubber drags down his thick cock. Somewhere along the line, he lost his boxer briefs, allowing me free access to the sight of his heavy dick and balls hanging between his legs.

I can't tear my attention away from the mesmerizing display of male virility.

Until the broad head of his cock nudges at my entrance.

My clouded gaze meets his, and once again he waits for my permission to continue.

“Please.” One word, but it's all he needs to thrust forward.

So big and long that he bumps against my cervix.

“Beckett!”

I've heard stories about it being painful when a man goes that deep, but then I've also seen accounts about cervical orgasms being more powerful than clitoral ones.

Since I'm not in pain, I pray I'm one of those lucky women who experiences the latter.

Could I really be so lucky?

It seems I'm already using my fair share by spending the night beneath Beckett's rock-hard body.

“Thats right, Beth. Scream my name. Let my neighbors hear how well you take my cock.” He retreats, then slides forward again.

In.

Out.

Slowly quickening his pace until the headboard bangs against the wall, and I slide up the bed.

Until every thick vein and hard ridge of his cock strokes each tingling inch of my pussy. The massive head battering deep.

We're both sweating. Breathing hard. Animalistic sounds rumbling between us.

Sex with Beckett is dirty and hot, slick with our desire, and I can't get enough.

“Come for me, Beth. Come for me, baby.”

I'm powerless to deny him.

My mouth opens on a silent shout as the strongest orgasm I've ever had rends me in two, and with a roar of his own, Beckett isn’t far behind me.

Just before I pass out from the pleasure, I send up a desperate prayer.

Please don't let this be all I ever get of this man.

I don't think I'll be able to survive it.