Page 78 of In The Weeds
“I don’t think you’ll find Luka and Stella hiding in your bushes,” I say as I lean my hip against the table he’s been working at. Three small pots and a packet of seeds. A bright blue watering can and some pruning shears. I tilt my head and glance at his neat handwriting at the bottom lip of terracotta.Lavender.
“Are we going to talk about what’s going on, or are you going to silently poke around my greenhouse until I lose my mind?”
I blink up at him and feel a smile tug at my mouth. I bite down on the inside of my cheek in a show of restraint. “The second option sounds nice, thank you.”
He shakes his head and rubs his knuckles against his neck, exasperated. This poor man. I’ve really put him through the ringer this week. The pond, a kiss … sex in a field. I’d feel bad if I didn’t know for a fact he loves it. He loves the challenge, the fight, the big tease of it all. He drops his hands and reaches under the table, flicking some hidden switch. A low string of lights twined around the ceiling panels blinks to life and the whole space glows with a warm, hazy light. I catch a reflection of us in the glass to my right, night creeping across the fields outside and cloaking everything in shadow.
I’m captivated by the look of us reflected back in a wavy distortion. Me standing in front of Beckett, his body strong where he’s propped up against the table. His tattooed arms spread wide. My ponytail curled over my shoulder.
“There are other options to explore, I think.” He steps forward and cages me against the table at my back, his hands finding my hips and lifting me carefully on top. He drags my legs wide and pats once at the outside of my thighs, stepping between them. All of his movements are so easy, so effortless. Like he’s been out here planning exactly what he wants to do with me.
“So far, so good,” I say.
A smile flirts with the corners of his mouth. He settles the palm of his hand against my neck and traces below my ear. “I like you, Evie,” he breathes, and the humid air in the greenhouse turns thicker, warmer. His gaze softens on mine and everything in his eyes looks a lot more thanlike. My heart pounds in my chest and I know whatever he feels, I feel it, too. “I like you a lot. I want to see where this goes.”
“See where this goes,” I repeat back to him slowly, focused on the fingers of his other hand toying with the hem of my dress. He could be reciting the Star-Spangled Banner and I’d probably still have the same stupefied look on my face. He strokes my legs again, thumb curling under the edge of my skirt. I put on a dress before we left the house this morning. I liked the way Beckett swallowed hard when I walked into the kitchen, how his eyes lingered on where the hem brushed my thighs.
He gathers the fabric in his fist and rolls the material up once. I shiver.
“Yeah,” he says quietly. “Does that work for you?”
“It’s a good start.” I want more from him than that.See where this goessounds a little ambivalent for the big feelings bursting the seams of my chest, but it’ll do for now. He flips the skirt of my dress up again, another inch of skin visible. “I like you too, for the record.”
I more than like him.
“I’m glad we talked about this,” he tells the tops of my knees, a heavy swallow in the strong column of his throat. He leans forward and nudges under my jaw. I obediently lift my chin and he presses a soft kiss right over my pulse point. He likes that small concession, a rough breath exhaled over my skin, fingers dragging along the outside of my thighs. I stop his hands at the place where my underwear rises over my hips, my hands curling around his wrists.
“I’m going to want to talk about this more.”
“Alright.”
“Lots of conversations.”
His hands flex at my waist, fingers slipping under the band of my underwear. He twists the material and tugs. “As many as you want, honey.”
“Beckett,” I drag my lips across his forehead. I’m taller than him like this, propped up on the table, his big body occupying all the space between my spread legs. “The walls are made out of glass.”
He nods and tucks another kiss under my ear. Drags his teeth down my throat and gives me a sharp, biting kiss just above my collarbone. “They are.”
“Someone might—” I cut off on a gasp when his meandering path takes a sharp turn, his mouth wet and warm over my breast through the fabric of my dress. He bites once at my nipple and my hands release his wrists to find his hair instead, threading through the thick strands. I jerk his head back roughly and he makes a soft pleading sound in the back of his throat.
Oh, boy.
“Someone might see,” I manage. “We should go inside.”
I already know how I want him when we get there. Fast. Hard. Against the dresser in his bedroom. Bent over the edge of his bed. Maybe the couch, too. I fist my hand in his hair and guide him until I can catch his lips with mine. I let him know everything I’m thinking with my mouth against his and he groans something desperate into my bottom lip. When he pulls away, his hands are clenching at my legs, head already shaking.
“No one will see,” he tells me, voice rusted over with need. “It’s just us here—you and me. I want you just like this.”
His gaze slants to the side and he curls his hand under my jaw, guiding my face to follow until I’m looking at our reflections again.
“Can I have you like this?”
I see it then, exactly what he wants. Beckett pressing me into the table with my dress rucked up around my hips, the long line of my legs a streak of copper in the window. I can’t see anything beyond the glass now. Just the two of us, globe lights glowing above our heads like fireflies. The one in the corner flickers on, off, and then on again.
“I want you to watch,” he tells me.
And then he drops to his knees.
