“Thank you,” I mutter.
“Can I say just one more thing?”
“What?” I ask. Without a word, he gets on his knees before me. I back my towel clad ass up against the bathroom bench, but there’s nowhere really for me to go. “What are you doing?”
“You didn’t totally nix the idea of groveling so I thought I would try some. Very sincere and apologetic groveling at your feet.”
“Beck…”
Then the idiot grabs the sides of my knees, leaning his forehead against the slight round of my belly. He’s basically talking straight at my barely covered crotch. “Alice, I’m so fucking sorry I lied. You were right, I was following my father’s handbook. Doing things the Elliot way without even giving it a second thought despite all of my bullshit about wanting to be different.”
I don’t know what to say.
“I acted like a dickhead and you deserve better.”
“Yes, you did. And I do.”
“Let me make it up to you.” He presses his face into one of my thighs, his hands sliding up the back of my legs. His warm breath brushes against my sex. “Please, Alice.”
“You knew your grandmother was out to get me and you left a wide-open fucking hole in our defenses with your bullshit and lies.”
“Yes.”
“You’re meant to be my person. The one who’s always on my side. And yet you were working against me this whole damn time.”
“I’m sorry.”
“God, would you stop this and get up?” I groan. The tickle of his breath against my crotch is confusing me. Turning me on when I’m trying to shut him down. Of course, the problem is that after waiting for weeks we’d only just started sex and now we’ve crashed headfirst into this wall. My body cannot have what it wants. Not right now. “I feel like shit and I need coffee. Once I’m thinking straight, then I’ll decide how we’re going to handle this and what it will take for you to fix it.”
“I can smell your sweet cunt.” He takes a deep breath. “Let me start making it up to you now.”
I press my thighs together.
“I can make you feel better.” He looks up at me, gaze so hot and full of promise. Just the sight of him on his knees before me makes me wetter. This is so confusing. My anger is righteous and all consuming. On the other hand, I’d kind of like to ride his face. Dammit. This cannot be happening. Being attracted and wanting him right now when we’re in crisis and need to be dealing with serious shit is ridiculous. What a weak-willed woman I am when it comes to him. Though the weeks of deprivation, minus one night, don’t help. His hands grip my ass cheeks, massaging the flesh. While his nose nudges my mound. “Let me do this much at least. Let me make you feel better.”
“I am furious at you.”
“Understood. I deserve it.” He nods his head eagerly. “But let me lick you. Then later, once you’ve come, you can kick me to the floor. Hell, I’m already halfway there. It’ll hardly take any effort on your part at all.”
“Shut up.”
His hands pry my legs open just a little. Just enough for him to tease around my clit with the tip of his tongue. Tingles shoot through me at the sensation. I’m not going to win this battle. I am going down. Or rather, he is on me.
The stubble on his cheeks grazes my inner thighs and everything low in my belly tightens. My stance widens further, giving him better access. I grab hold of the bench behind me. He guides one of my legs up onto a nearby antique wooden chair. Because rich people have fancy chairs in their bathrooms for some damn reason. And he doesn’t hesitate, shoving his face into my pussy. Like the first time we had sex, his hunger apparently outweighs any desire for finesse or skill. He just wants what he wants and what he wants is me. Fingers spread open my sex and Beck eats me like a man starving.
“Fuck,” I gasp.
His tongue lashes me from my back entrance to my clit. Over and over he does it as if he can’t get enough of the taste of me. The muscles in my thighs quiver and pleasure shoots through me. Any alcohol in my blood is probably long gone. But this high is even better. Hot and heavenly. His lips suck at my labia, lavishing attention on every single inch of my cunt. No part of my sex is neglected.
“I am s-so mad at you.”
With one hand he tears the towel from my body, exposing my hard nipples to the cool air. Then he makes a humming noise and jams his tongue into my opening. In and out, mimicking the fucking he’d no doubt like to be doing. Given my shaky hungover condition, it’s a wonder I don’t take longer. Make him work harder. But the pressure inside of me mounts and mounts. It’s like sunlight and rainbows and the sweetest of daydreams. Only it’s coming at me like a cannon ball. Sensation tearing through me, racing down my spine. My mouth opens on a moan and every part of me tenses. I draw tighter and tighter, each molecule in me singing. Until the wave of bliss rushes through me. And still he doesn’t stop, but he does ease back a little, giving my sex gentle licks and soft kisses. Every so slowly my brain comes back to Earth. My panting echoes in the quiet room and a fine film of sweat covers my skin.
Beck just looks up at me, the lower half of his face damp and glistening. I have magic come in this lighting, apparently. Nice to know. The way he looks at me is reverent. Hopeful, even. But when he speaks, his voice is subdued, “I know…you’re still pissed at me.”
“Not even great head can fix everything.”
“Great?” He raises his brows. “Well, thank you.”
The need to touch him is second nature. I can’t help myself. I reach down, running a fingertip across his wet mouth, down to his damp chin.
“Pussy juice,” he says, licking his lips. “Best facial moisturizer in the world.”
I just shake my head. I honestly don’t know whether to smile or cry or what. Coming hasn’t helped anything. There’s still this ominous storm inside me. A break in my beating heart.
Slowly, he rises to his feet, grabbing me another towel. He wraps it around me, tucking it in at the front, as if I were a child in need of care. Then he hands me my pile of clothes. “Why don’t you go get dressed, grab some breakfast,” he says. “I’ll be down soon.”
And I want to say something, but I don’t know what.
Holy hell, this sucks. We’re both hurting so badly. But if I forgive him too soon, too easily, will it happen again? Am I setting us up for failure? We’re talking a lifetime’s worth of bad habits and a crappy family culture he needs to take a long hard look at here. And yet we’re both so damn miserable. Not to forget, it hasn’t even been twenty-four hours. No wonder some people run away when things go wrong. This is hard.
“We need to talk,” I say.
“Okay. Go get some coffee. I won’t be long.”
Guess this time, he needs some space. A chance to deal with what’s straining the front of his suit pants, perhaps. Under normal conditions, I’d offer to return the favor and make him come. However, these aren’t normal conditions. What is the sexual etiquette when your relationship is the thing that has been fucked?
I nod. “See you downstairs.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN