Page 24 of Beckett (Warrior Security #2)

Audra

Sleep came eventually, heavy and dreamless. But the moon woke me hours later, silver light streaming through curtains that hadn’t been fully closed.

Jet had relocated to the floor, always on duty, even in dreams.

I should have panicked. Should have been calculating escape routes from this too-intimate tangle.

Instead, I felt…safe. Truly, bone-deep safe for the first time in months.

No mental catalog of weapons and exits. No parsing every sound for threat.

Just the solid warmth of Beckett behind me and the steady rhythm of his breathing.

He stirred, awareness returning in stages—first the tension in his muscles, then the catch in his breath as he realized our position.

“Sorry,” he murmured, starting to withdraw. “Didn’t mean to?—”

“Stay.” I caught his hand before he could pull away completely. “Please.”

He went perfectly still. “Audra?—”

“I’m tired of being afraid.” The confession ripped from somewhere deep, raw, and bleeding. “Tired of running. Tired of being alone. And I know this is insane, and I know I should run, but I need to feel alive again. Not just surviving. Alive .”

He laced his fingers through mine, calluses rough against my palm. “What do you need?”

The question undid me. When had anyone last asked what I needed?

“You.” The admission cost everything. “I need you.”

He pressed his forehead to the back of my neck, breath warm against skin. “You have me. However you need me.”

I turned in his arms, needing to see his face, to verify this was real. Moonlight turned his eyes silver, intense and focused entirely on me. My fingers found the scar through his eyebrow, tracing its path.

“I can’t make promises?—”

“Not asking for any.” He cupped my cheek with devastating gentleness. “Not asking for anything you’re not ready to give.”

“What if I’m never ready?”

He kissed me.

Not the desperate collision from the cabin, but something infinitely tender. A question posed in the language of lips and breath. His mouth moved against mine with aching patience, giving me every chance to retreat.

Instead, I pulled him closer.

I fisted my hands in his shirt, anchoring myself to his solidity. He groaned—relief and want tangled together—and deepened the kiss. His tongue traced the seam of my lips, requesting permission I eagerly granted.

Heat pooled low in my belly, spreading through my limbs like warm honey. My body remembered this dance even if my mind had forgotten the steps.

“Tell me to stop,” he said against my mouth. “If it’s too much?—”

“Don’t stop.” I pulled him back down, swallowing his response. “Please.”

His hands mapped my body through the thin shirt, reverent in their exploration. When his thumb grazed the underside of my breast, we both gasped, the sound sharp in the quiet room.

“Audra.” My name emerged like a prayer. “Are you sure?”

My body screamed yes, desperate for his heat, his touch, this connection that made me feel human again. But my mind compiled dangers—the risk I brought to his door, the target I might paint on his back.

“I won’t let fear win.” The words came out fierce, surprising us both. “It’s taken everything—my home, my job, my peace. It doesn’t get this too. It doesn’t get you.”

His expression went serious, intense. “Whatever you’re running from, whoever hurt you—they’ll have to go through me to touch you again.”

“You can’t promise that.”

“Watch me.” The quiet menace in his voice raised goose bumps. “I’ve faced down worse than whatever’s chasing you. And I don’t lose fights I care about.”

I believed him. This man who’d survived war zones and carried ghosts that would break most people—he’d stand between me and danger without hesitation.

“Make me forget,” I whispered. “Make me feel something besides fear.”

He kissed me again, deeper now, with intent that curled my toes. His hands grew bolder, sliding under my shirt to find bare skin. I arched into his touch, desperate for more.

“Beautiful,” he murmured against my throat. “Strong. Brave.”

“I’m not?—”

“You are.” He pulled back, hands framing my face. “You survived. Whatever it is, you survived. That takes courage most people never need to find.”

Tears burned my eyes. When had someone last seen strength instead of victim in me?

I kissed him to avoid crying, pouring everything I couldn’t voice into the contact. He responded immediately, rolling us so I straddled his waist. The position gave me control—pace, pressure, everything.

“Too many clothes,” I informed him, tugging at his shirt.

His laugh rumbled through his chest. “Fixable.”

He sat up enough to pull the shirt off, revealing a geography of scars across solid muscle. I traced each mark—the puckered bullet wound near his shoulder, the surgical line down his ribs, countless smaller wounds that mapped his survival.

“Do they bother you?” he asked.

“No.” I pressed my lips to the bullet scar. “They’re proof you’re here.”

He made a broken sound, hands tangling in my hair. But when his fingers brushed my neck, I froze. The brand. If he felt the raised scar tissue?—

“What’s wrong?” He immediately gentled his touch. “Did I hurt you?”

“No, I—” I caught his hands, guided them to safer territory. “Just out of practice.”

“We can stop.”

“I need this.” I pulled my shirt off before courage failed, grateful darkness hid my too-prominent ribs. “And more than that, I want this. I want you .”

Beckett looked at me like I was art, hands worshipping every inch they could reach.

Gently caressing my breasts, thumbs gliding over my nipples, causing me to gasp at the sensation shooting down between my legs.

He avoided my neck after my reaction, focusing instead on making me forget everything except his touch.

When he rolled us again, settling between my thighs, I felt him hard through his jeans and moaned at the promise.

“Still okay?” He pressed kisses along my collarbone.

“More than okay.” I arched against him, seeking friction. “Please.”

The rest of our clothes disappeared with careful reverence rather than haste. Beckett’s eyes were dark with want but watching my face for any sign of hesitation. Jet huffed from the floor, apparently disgusted by human mating rituals, and relocated to the hallway.

“You’re sure?” he asked again, voice rough.

Instead of answering with words, I reached for him, wrapping my hand around his cock for the first time, squeezing gently. He groaned, head falling back, and I felt powerful in a way I hadn’t in months. I stroked him slowly, learning his shape, his heat, what made his breath catch.

“Audra. Fuck,” he gasped, catching my wrist gently. “If you keep doing that, this is going to be over before it starts.”

“Then touch me,” I whispered.

He leaned over to the nightstand, pulling open the drawer and retrieving a condom, setting it within easy reach. The practical gesture somehow made this more real—we were really doing this.

“Lie back,” he said, voice rough with want.

I did, and he took his time exploring. His mouth found my breasts first, tongue circling one nipple while his fingers teased the other. The dual sensation had me arching off the bed, seeking more. He alternated between gentle and firm, reading my responses like a map.

“Beautiful,” he murmured against my skin. “Been wanting to taste you for so long.”

His mouth traced lower, kissing across my ribs, my stomach, my hip bones. When he settled between my thighs, looking up at me for permission, I nodded, already trembling with anticipation.

The first touch of his tongue against my clit made me cry out.

He started slow, exploratory, learning what I liked.

When he found the rhythm that had me fisting my hands in his hair, he stayed there, steady and relentless, while his fingers joined the exploration.

First one, then two. Pressing deep and curling just at the right angle to make me see stars.

“Beckett, I’m—” I couldn’t finish the sentence. The orgasm crashed over me, my body bowing off the bed as waves of pleasure rolled through me.

He kissed his way back up my body, giving me time to recover, but I wasn’t done. I pushed at his shoulder, rolling us so I straddled him. The position made me feel powerful, in control, exactly what I needed.

He reached for the condom he’d set aside earlier, but I took it from him.

“Let me,” I said, and his eyes went dark as I rolled it on with careful hands.

“I want to watch you,” I said, positioning myself above him. “Want to see your face when I?—”

I sank down slowly, taking his cock inch by inch, both of us groaning at the sensation. His hands found my hips but didn’t guide, just held firm, letting me set the pace.

“God, Audra,” he breathed, eyes locked on mine. “You feel incredible.”

I started to move, slow at first, finding the angle that made sparks shoot through my body. When I found it, his eyes rolled back, and I felt that surge of power again. I was doing this to him. I was making this strong, controlled man come undone.

He found my clit with his thumb as I rode him, circling in time with my movements. The combination was overwhelming, building me toward another peak impossibly fast.

“That’s it,” he encouraged, sliding his other hand up to cup my breast, then rolling my nipple. “Take what you need. I’m yours.”

The words, combined with his touch and the feeling of him inside me, sent me over again. I cried out, my rhythm faltering as pleasure washed through me. He sat up, wrapping his arms around me, holding me close as he thrust up into me, chasing his own release.

“Audra, I’m?—”

“Yes,” I gasped against his neck. “Let go.”

He did, my name breaking on his lips as he came, holding me tight against him as we both shuddered through the aftershocks.

We stayed tangled afterward, neither willing to break the connection. His weight felt like armor against a world with too many teeth.

He shifted beside me, pulling me against his chest, his heartbeat steady under my ear, a rhythm to memorize.

“Thank you,” I whispered.

“For what?”

“For making me feel human again. For reminding me I’m more than just someone running. For seeing me as someone worth protecting even when I can’t tell you what you’re protecting me from.”

He tightened his arms around me. “You’ll tell me when you’re ready. Until then, I’ve got you.”

I wanted to warn him, to explain the danger he was inviting into his life. But selfishly, I stayed quiet. Tomorrow would come with all its harsh realities, its necessities of distance and defense. Tomorrow, I’d have to figure out how to protect him from the truth I carried.

But right now, wrapped in Beckett’s arms with his heartbeat steady under my ear and his promises still warm between us, I let myself believe.

Not in forever—I wasn’t naive enough for that.

But in this moment. In this man. In the possibility that maybe, just maybe, I’d found someone strong enough to stand against whatever came next.

The thought terrified me almost as much as it gave me hope.