Page 70 of Spicy Ever After
“If we make each other feel good—” Wait. Is that my voice? Sounding like it’s coming from a place way down inside my chest?
Like close to my heart?
This new place that aches so sweetly?
“If we make each other feel good,” I try again. Because this is important. He needs to know it. “Then nothing about you or your house or your life could be inferior, right?”
“Hattie—” And then his arms are banded around me. He yanks me to him, and he’s kissing me again, and this time it’s so, so much greater than the first time. Harder. Hungrier. He presses his whole body against me, crushing his chest against my swollen breasts with delicious pressure.
My fingers tangle in his hair as I match his mouth, those lips that are a whole world. His willful and wild tongue a new solar system.
The kiss is both more than I’ve imagined and not enough. Not nearly enough. The urge to pull his head down and beg him to kiss my breasts with the same force is a shocking revelation.
But that is what I want. Right the hell now and?—
Beck pulls away. “H-hang on… Oh God, Hattie, hang on—” His chest heaves against mine—which is heaving pretty hard too. Beck’s face is flushed, his eyes dark and hooded. “We can’t do this here.”
I suck in oxygen, but none of it hits my brain. “W-well, where can we do it?”
This close, his laughter is a flash of white and gold. His big, warm hand cups my cheek. “You… are… incredible.”
He surprises me by planting a kiss on my forehead before sitting up. Beck draws up his legs and hunches over them, elbows on his knees and head in his hands, catching his breath.
“Jesus Christ, Hattie,” he mutters softly, shaking his head.
“What?” I push up to sit beside him and that’s when I see the unmistakable bulge in his jeans. “Oh—Wow—Um—” I make a few more sounds that don’t bear repeating.
I know what it is. Of course, I know what it is. Porn exists for a reason. But I’ve never encountered one in person.
One that—could that really be true—might be for me?
Beck chuckles, his cheeks now a stunning shade of persimmon. He drags a hand down his face and gives me an embarrassed smile. “Yeah… Sorry about that.”
“Sorry?!” I yawp. “What? No! Don’t be sorry. I’m not.”
Laughter startles from him.
“I’m not joking,” I say earnestly. “I wanna touch it.”
I lift my hand to do just that, but Beck grabs my wrist, exploding with laughter. “Woman… goddamn—” he grinds out through the fit. He shakes his head, eyes glistening. “Hell, no.”
And then he brings the back of my eager hand to his lips and kisses it twice, still shaking his head. “No, baby. Not here.”
I tug my hand away. “Beck, I really like you, but you can’t call me baby,” I say, scrunching up my nose.
He winces. “Sorry. Sorry. You said that already. More than once.” He shakes his head again. “I promise, it won’t happen again.”
I blink at him a little stunned. “Thank you.” I think I first asked my dad to stop calling me baby when I was six. He’s never once apologized or promised not to do it again. He still does it. No matter how aggravated I get.
Beck holds out his hand for mine again, and I give it to him.
“Just gimme a minute and I’ll walk you back to your car.”
I frown. “A minute?”
“Um.” He presses his lips together and nods, not meeting my eyes. “To… compose myself.”
I look down again.
