Page 26 of Covert (Ruthless Love #2)

Chapter twenty-three

Beckett

She's got a depth to her that her beauty and her outfits hide.

I want to probe, ask questions, get to know her better, but after she told us she'd leave if we pressed, I've bit my tongue.

Yes, I want to know all about her past, and her life, and her family, but if I can't have that, I want to know about her present.

I want to know her favorite foods, movies, and books.

I want to know what her dreams are, what her fears are, what she thinks about us.

We're a trio of broken misfits, but somehow she fits right in, filling our cracks and bringing us closer together.

But mostly, I want to know what she thinks about me. I know Axel and Maddox want her. Diesel fucking has her already. But what about me? Could she want me the way I want her? Could she see herself with someone like me? Could she want more with someone like me ?

The way she comes to me every night, the patient way we touch in the dark, the sad and scary stories she tells me. It feels as if we're building something bigger than a friendship. I'm friends with Axel and Maddox, but in the stunted masculine way that doesn't let us go deeper than the surface.

And then Nikki comes in, fuzzy socks and all, and shares her deepest darkest secrets while we share small touches in the dark. It's incredible. It's something I never knew I needed. I'd resigned myself to dying anxious and alone.

But Nikki took one look at me, saw beyond my appearance, and decided I was worth the effort.

What kind of woman does that? What kind of woman would waste her time with a monster like me, when she has dozens of other men she could be spending her time with that are less broken.

Why put in this kind of effort if I may never be better?

But she comes in anyway, like she always does, sits on my bed facing me, and lays her palm out face up.

She's got a fire in her that isn't afraid of anything. And a softness that gives space to my demons. She's an incredible enigma that I just can't believe would spend time with me.

I watch her for a beat longer than normal, simply appreciating the woman in front of me.

She watches me back, patient as ever.

I place my palm in hers confidently. Sure, my heart's racing, but I'm pretty sure it's because of the woman in front of me.

She looks fucking edible in a baggy sweater, skirt, and fuzzy socks.

I want lazy Sunday mornings with her. I want to cook dinner with her every night.

I want vacations, and holidays, and fights with her .

We'd argue over something stupid, because let's be real, there isn't anything I wouldn't do or give this woman.

We'd argue over whether tiramisu or crème br?lée is better.

She'd get all fiery and feisty at me. She'd threaten to kick my ass.

I'd probably let her. And we'd end up cuddled up together on the couch, me compromising that whatever she loved is clearly the better dessert. If only because she loved it.

With a small bit of newfound confidence, I slide my palm up her wrist to clasp the inside of her arm. She lets out a tiny gasp at the contact and inches closer, giving me more access to the rest of her body.

We sit like this for a few beats, both of us working through whatever this is.

Her eyes scan my face. She raises her hand to my face and pauses for my permission.

I swallow, but nod. I feel safer with her than I have with anyone else for a while.

Her tiny palm grazes my cheek, and her eyes follow the movement.

"God, you really are gorgeous, aren't you?"

No other woman has ever looked at me the way Nikki does. No other woman has looked at me like I'm anything other than a monster, capable of heinous acts of violence. I'm drunk on the trust and adoration this woman has given me.

My eyes dart to her lips. God, she's right there.

She's inches from me. She's so close I can smell her shampoo.

If I were a better man, I could pull her into my lap and kiss her.

I could lay her down and kiss the breath out of her.

I could make love to her until she saw stars.

God, I would give anything to be that man.

That man who could return the pleasure she's given me .

God, it's a bad idea. It's a terrible idea. What if she freaks out because I'm reading all this the wrong way? What if I freak out because it's too intimate?

I've thought about kissing her for months now. What she would feel like, what she would taste like, if she'd want me to kiss her at all.

I'm driving myself crazy, drowning in what-ifs. But she's RIGHT THERE, and she's looking at me like she wants to kiss me, but is holding back for my sake.

Groaning, I pull her into my lap. "Fuck it," I growl before I drag her face to mine and kiss her plump, soft lips. She gasps, but she's instantly kissing me back. She straddles me and I'm instantly hard. Her skirt's up around her waist, and I can feel how warm her core is.

She pulls back, saying breathlessly, "Wait. Stop."

I freeze.

Oh, fuck.

I fucked up.

She didn't want this at all.

She was just being kind.

What the fuck was I thinking? Why in the world would I think a woman as perfect as Nikki could ever want me?

I pull away with a start, so terrified that the edges of my vision are starting to blacken.

I'm starting to shake. I grab both of her wrists, ready to pull them off of me and get the hell out of there.

But before I can, her lips are on mine again.

She doesn't move at first, letting me come back to my body and focus just on where our lips are touching.

Slowly, she starts melding them against mine, and my hands fall to her hips .

Maybe I was wrong? Why would she tell me to stop and then kiss me again?

"Hey," her sweet voice says, both hands bracketing my face. "Don't do that. Don't go there. I'm just checking in on you. I just want to take things slow so you're comfortable," she says, resting a tiny hand against my chest. Dark brown eyes find mine. "Your heart is racing. Are you okay?"

And just like that, the balloon of anxiety in my chest pops.

She's worried about me. She's worried about how I feel - about slowing down so I don't freak out.

This could not be more opposite of Samantha.

Samantha only cared about herself. I was taking up too much of our foster mom's attention, so she decided she had to get rid of me, and she didn't care about destroying my life in the process.

I nod, stupefied. "I... uh... yeah..." I say dumbly, but she smiles.

She brings one of my meaty hands to rest between her breasts, and I swallow. "My heart's racing, too."

And I can feel it. There's a flurry of a hummingbird's wings, just under her ribs. She's as affected by this as I am.

"Wait. Give me your phone," she says, pulling back. This time, the panic doesn't come because I know she's coming back. She wants this just as much as I do.

"What?"

"Your phone, give it to me," she says impatiently, holding her hand out for it.

I grab it from my nightstand, the twist pressing my aching cock against her more, and the moan she lets out makes me even harder. I unlock my phone and hand it to her. I have nothing to hide from this woman, except my porn searches. But fuck that, maybe she'd be into watching porn together.

She swings her leg over to join the other and stands. I go to protest, but she doesn't let me.

She flicks to the camera app and sets my phone up against my bookshelf. It's recording us.

"That way, you have proof of nothing but my enthusiastic consent."

It's the proof I didn't have. It's the proof I didn't know I needed. And it's the final piece of the puzzle that fully lets me relax. She's given me all the tools I need to get out of my own head and just be a man with a woman.

She walks back to the bed, a sexy, playful swing to her hips.

"Hey, big guy," she purrs, resting her hands on my shoulders and swinging her leg back over my lap. "Come here often?"

I appreciate that she's trying to bring levity to our tense situation. This delicate push and pull between us. We both want each other, but have no idea what that looks like. Do the clothes stay on? Come off? How far are we going to go? Just make out? All the way?

"I've… never done this before," I rush out on a breath.

I cringe. Why the fuck did I just say that?

She's not asking for sex. This isn't sex.

I don't think. I just… I need her to know that if this becomes sex, I don't have the first clue what I'm doing.

I've watched plenty of porn, but am also aware enough to know that it's fake.

I watch as her brain figures out what I mean.

"Oh my God. You were fifteen when you went to prison. And then you came out afraid of touch. Beckett, are you a virgin?"

Heat blasts up my neck and into my cheeks in embarrassment. She didn't ask it with any judgment. But I am embarrassed nonetheless .

Her forehead hits my shoulder, and she groans. "God, the woman that's going to get you is one lucky bitch."

You! You could get me! You could have me for the rest of my life! Choose me! Be with me!

Yeah, I'd give her the rest of my life. I'd give her everything.

Because I am not half in love with her already.

I am fully in love with her. She's kind and sweet and funny and strong and feisty.

She saw me as the man I desperately wanted to be.

She saw the potential in me, and instead of being disappointed that I was less, she bulldozed into my life and patiently helped me become more.

More.

I was going to be more.

I am going to be the man I want to be.

"You. I want it to be you," I say, my voice quiet, but sure.

Her head snaps up in shock. That shock softens to a resigned sadness.

Her hand cups my cheek again. "It can't be me, but I can help you get ready for her.

" Her whisper is soft, pained, full of longing and sorrow.

I want to fight her. I want to argue with her and demand that it can be her.

That she's the only woman who's given me the time of day and the only woman I want in my bed.

But I recognize demons, and she's battling her own.

Instead, she takes my lips in hers again.

This kiss is slow, languid, and exploratory.

My heart's still beating too hard in my chest, but it's not the frantic pace of before.

She cups my face tenderly, and I let my hands roam up and down her back and her hips.

Occasionally, she grinds on my erection, making us both groan .

Slowly, this push and pull between us builds. Her hands tentatively roam my shoulders, arms, and back. She's careful about it, but the need thrumming through my veins outweighs any panic. I WANT her to touch me. I want her to touch me everywhere. I'm blind with lust.

And after she touches me without any reaction from me, her movements become frantic. Her grinding on me becomes faster, needier, hotter.

"Fuck, are you wet for me?" I ask on a grunt when I pull away from her mouth.

But her lips chase mine. She doesn't want to talk. "So, fucking wet," she whispers before pressing her tongue through my lips again.

She releases my mouth before kissing my neck.

"Is this okay?" she whispers between kisses. The warm, wet suction of her lips and tongue has my hips rutting up towards her. I may have never done this before, but my body knows what it wants.

Until suddenly, I'm going to come.

I try to pull her off of me, to get some distance. I don't know what the fuck I'm doing, but coming in my pants is not exactly cool, is it?

"Baby, I'm gonna..."

But she doesn't get off of me. She grinds on my erection again with frenetic energy.

"I know." Kiss. "Me too." Kiss. "It's okay. You can come."

Ohhhhkkkaaayyy. So, this is how it was going to go down.

Her greedy little hands caress all over my body like she can't get enough.

Her tongue plunders my mouth, and I revel in it.

I've never had a woman want me like this.

I've never had a woman want me at all. Axel and Maddox get around, but I'm looked at like a leper.

The mountain, who is a registered sex offender .

But the amazing woman in my lap? She's half gone with lust. I take a risk and wrap one of my hands around her breast, squeezing it for effect. The needy whine and grind of her hips it elicits should be illegal.

And with one last grind of her hips, I come in my boxers, and she goes rigid in my arms, moaning my name as she comes with me.