Page 97 of Changing Lanes
“You think that’s funny?” he asks, getting ahold of himself first and pumping into me with long, slow strokes now that I’m relaxed again.
The laughter shrivels up into a tight ball of sensation and I nod, unable to speak from the unhurried pace. A piece of hair falls over my eyes and that same free hand he used to murder our shower curtain comes up to brush it away.
“There you are.” His blue eyes hone in on mine. “I thought I lost you today. You hid.”
I couldn’t.
“You ran.”
I wouldn’t.
He pulls me tight to him so the base of his shaft hits my clit and I cry out sharply.
“This is what you want?”
His breath comes out in spurts while mine gets stuck in my throat. Beckett rotates his hips in circles, rubbing against my aching clit each time and I’m finally able to breathe again as it all rushes out at once.
“Yes,” I moan. To his question. To the feeling building between my legs. To all of it.
I try to kiss him again, wanting to get fully lost in him, but he leans his mouth out of reach, still watching every expression cross my face. His continuous motion falters though and I see that moment of oh shit register. He’s coming much sooner than he wanted. The short-lived self-satisfaction is quickly replaced by my own orgasm forming right behind his as my legs latched around his hips shake. With my toes curling almost painfully, my heels press him to me even harder.
Only a few more circular pumps and we both tumble across the finish line, clumsy and sweaty and loud. Very, very loud.
I slam my eyes shut against Beckett and the rest of the world. A little more time. I just need a little longer in this moment. With him. With us.
His forehead presses to mine, and he breathes, “Fuck.”
I open my eyes again, watching Beckett’s sharp jawline as he works to catch his breath.
Yes. Exactly. Fuck.
The water eventually runs cold so he lowers my legs to the floor as I reach to shut it off.
“Are you okay?”
“I’ll be fine.”
Even as the words that taste like a lie slip past my lips, I still hold on to that last bit of hope that I’m right. That this didn’t just blow my plan to coast through life without being tied down wide open. Why the fuck did I think this would end in any way other than pain? Beckett and I have been drawn to each other since that first meeting with the magnetic pull only growing stronger with every encounter since.
But how can meaningless sex actually mean something? When did feelings enter the picture? And why did I let them?
Grabbing our respective towels, we dry off in silence. It’s not exactly awkward but it’s not not awkward either. My outside is quiet while my inside is anything but and I don’t know how to reconcile the two. Not yet. Not now.
I need some time to process. Or avoid. Truthfully, either will work—I think.
He exits first, wrapping the towel around his trim waist, and takes a seat on the closed toilet lid as if he’s settling in for the latest blockbuster. I follow after but keep my eyes on the task at hand, any task at hand, while Beckett’s trail me like I’m the leading lady.
Wearing my own towel, I set about braiding my hair. Blow drying it will take forever and even though Beckett looks like he wouldn’t mind the delay, my stomach is already full of butterflies on speed, so I braid it down the middle, hoping it’ll at least make for some nice waves in the morning, and finish getting ready for bed.
Although I refuse to look at him, Beckett’s gaze never wavers from me, taking in everything I’m doing from brushing my teeth to smoothing on lotion. He sits silently, just observing my mundane bedtime routine without so much as interrupting or falling asleep. I have no idea why he’s doing it or why I like it so much.
Neither of us acknowledges the fact that he ruined both the shower curtain and me, and while I’ll never be the same, the shower curtain can be replaced.
So can you, I think bitterly.
“Well, I’m off to bed,” I say to the floor.
One foot out the door and Beckett is there instead, gripping me, steering me, tempting me. At his doorway, I finally turn to meet his eyes.
