Page 72 of In The Weeds
He nods, eyes bright, and his hand slips down my body to join the other, toying with the sides of my underwear. He slips his thumbs beneath and snaps the fabric once, enough to have my hips jump beneath him. He grits out a laugh, and I squeeze with my hand still in his pants.
He stops laughing real quick.
Hands grab and pull, a rush to get the relief we’re both craving. He fumbles with his jeans while I try to help, an attempt to kick them off without moving from overtop me.
“If you just—” I pull hard at the material.
“If I what?” He shimmies his hips and it presses his cock right against me. I gasp and edge my legs wider. “You’re not helping. You’re making it harder.”
I snicker. “I’m making something harder.”
“Evie,” he grunts, still trying to pull his jeans over his hips, distracted as I roll mine beneath him. He pins me down to the blanket with his hand at my hip, palm squeezing tight. “Be good.”
I release a slow breath, a smile still on my lips. I’m having trouble keeping still. I press my fingertips over his jaw and rub my palm down his neck. His skin is warm beneath my touch, flushed pink in the low light. “I feel like I've been waiting for you forever,” I confess.
His face softens.
“I know, honey.”
Ignoring the jeans still trapped around his thighs, his hand slips lower, two fingers gliding right where I need him the most. After all the teasing, his firm touch has me halfway there already. He circles them once and I choke out his name. He shifts his hand, presses again, and my nails dig half-moons into his back.
“Fuck, you feel good,” he grinds out. I forgot how deep his voice gets when we’re doing this. How desperate he sounds.
I nod and grab at his arms, palms smacking lightly at the ink on his skin, trying to urge him closer. His thumb slips beneath cotton and we both groan when he feels how wet I am.
“Now,” I demand. “Right now, please.”
He doesn’t bother slipping my underwear from my hips, just twists his thumb in the material and pulls it to the side, lining himself up with his other hand and pushing deep. One heavy thrust, all the way in. My legs scramble at his hips and he drops his forehead to my neck, a groan slipping from his chest to mine. I feel deliciously full, overwhelmed in the best possible way.
My memory is nothing compared to the reality of him. Hands flexing at my thighs, forehead rocking against my neck, stubble scraping at my skin. He pulls back, rolls his hips, and pushes inside. A smooth, easy rhythm that I match. He urges his body against me, again and again, pushing me up the blanket with every thrust until my shoulder blades brush cold grass.
“Evelyn,” he says into my neck. “Evie. Fuck.”
“S’good,” I slur on a laugh, champagne bubbles in my chest. He leans up on his knees and tucks a palm to the small of my back, guiding my hips tighter against him. Everything grinds just right and I’m right at the very edge already, teetering.
“I’ve thought about this,” he says, a breathless confession. His hands curl around my hips and hold tight, lifting me up another inch against him. He looks beautiful like this. A little bit wild, a bead of sweat working its way down his neck. His gaze brushes all the places we’re touching and some of the places we’re not—my thighs, my hips, the bounce of my bare breasts and the curve of my cheek. “Every single day, I’ve thought about this. You.”
My heart flutters and I feel like I’ve got starlight slipping under my skin, hearing he’s thought about me just as much as I’ve thought about him.
“Come on,” he says, eyes locking on mine. I watch his face as he drags his hand over the swell of my hip and spreads his fingers wide. His thumb traces down my belly and then he presses it between my legs. He holds it there—a simple, heavy pressure. Everything in me pulls tighter. A hiccuping breath slips out of me and a cocky grin hitches up the side of his mouth. “Give it to me.”
I grin back at him and chase his touch, placing my hand over his to move him just the way I like. “Earn it.”
His laugh is a rough thing, breathless with the way he’s still moving against me. He collapses on one arm and tangles his free hand in my hair. He rolls his hips harder, staying deep.
“I’ll take whatever you’ve got,” he tells me. His fingers curl into a fist in my hair and he kisses me like he doesn’t want to do anything else, ever again.
Just this.
Me and him.
It sneaks up on me, the bright burst of rolling pleasure. It licks up my spine and I arch beneath him, a laugh caught in the back of my throat. I’ve never felt like this. Not ever. Stardust, it feels like, right in the center of my chest.
He keeps moving through it—frantic and without his smooth control—and I’m too occupied with the fuzzy lightness in my limbs to do anything but hold on as he chases his pleasure. He shudders and freezes against me, hands grasping, mouth working soundlessly against my neck. Everything settles in soft waves of pulsing warmth, my body perfectly, deliciously worn out.
I blink up at the sky above me, the tree branches dancing in the light breeze. I smooth my palm down his back. Beckett drops his forehead against mine and breathes out my name.
“I hope your plan includes carrying me back to the house,” I yawn, the back of my hand pressed against my mouth. Every bit of me feels stretched and sated. Lazy. “Because I don't plan on moving.”
