Page 111 of Changing Lanes

“Whatever,” we hear as they finally turn away but not before muttering, “nice dress by the way,” in a pissy tone I recognize all too well.

Their jealousy coming for my jealousy is the final straw and I tip my head back, laughing a mocking sort of sound.

What am I doing?

“Do you want to stay with me tonight?” Cruz asks Cynthia with too much desperation for his own good.

I’m about to argue on her behalf, even though I don’t technically know where else she could sleep, but when I look over to see them involved in a game of serious tonsil hockey, I drop the issue. They only break to wave goodbye then take off together for that pillow fort he calls a tent.

Beckett rumbles his own amused laugh before he presses his lips to the side of my throat eliciting an embarrassing shiver. He pulls back to smile down at me like I’ve just given him a gift.

“She’s right, you know? That dress-”

“Is a shirt,” I finish, then clarify, saying, “your shirt.” Tilting my head, I ask innocently, “Still want it back?”

I didn’t get a good look at the shirt I pulled from Beckett’s dresser last weekend until the next morning when I wore it back to my room. I should’ve known it’d be one of his infamous riding innuendo shirts, this one saying Put The Fun Between Your Legs. Once I saw it though, I found the irony too great to return it. His scent embedded in the dark material was an added incentive to keep the shirt that much longer. Then when he made my harmless thievery common knowledge in front of everybody at his shop, I figured a little payback was in order. I cut the sleeves off, distressed the shit out of it, threw some sexy panties on underneath, and a dress was born. A short dress. He’s tall but so am I. It covers all the important bits but barely.

He eyes the short hem, admitting, “More now than ever.”

“The offer still stands.” The one where he has to take it back. I’d prefer him use only his teeth but that’s just me.

Beckett’s arms coast down mine, along my sides and down to the bottom of my heavily altered dress, fingering the fabric.

“I can just get it off my floor in the morning.”

“Your floor, huh?” I ask and he smirks. “Just because I chased off a couple of groupies doesn’t mean I’m rooming with you. Marc-”

“Can go fuck himself,” he finishes calmly. “But I doubt he’ll need to. Dude has no problems finding chicks to warm his bed for the night. Which won’t be you ‘cause you’ll be in mine. With me. You’re in my clothes.” Fingertips snake beneath the fabric, rubbing the top of my thigh and goose bumps break out across my skin despite it still being in the eighties outside. “You’re alone.” Wandering inward, the pads of his fingers graze the lace edge of my panties, making my breath catch in my throat. “You better believe you’re in my fucking bed tonight.”

One of Beckett’s nails catches on the front of the damp material covering my pussy.

Suppressing a needy moan, I counter, “Why are you so concerned with where I’ll be sleeping tonight? Wouldn’t you rather know who I’ll be fucking?”

He’s now frothing at the mouth, for blood…or something else. The feral look in his eye blazes as his entire body turns rigid and ripping his hand out from under my dress, he uses it to goad my backbone into submission to make my chest rise to his.

“You got a sharp tongue yourself. Ever use it for anything else?”

“Like this?” With a sweetness that could cause cavities, I raise my middle finger to my mouth and bite the tip, never backing down from Beckett’s crazed eyes.

Deathly silent, he tracks the movement before gently pulling my finger away and nibbling the same tip I just had in my mouth, swirling his tongue down to my knuckle, making as much noise as a lion on the hunt—none.

Damn…

Hissing like his lioness, I clutch the top of my dress, surreptitiously waving air down the neckline.

“But the shirt you’ve got on is so popular.”

I’m grasping at straws at this point and they’re weak. So very weak.

Without hesitation, Beckett reaches up, gripping his Bigfoot shirt at the top of his back and rips it over his head in one smooth motion.

I love when guys do that.

I love when Beckett does it more.

What? No.

He tosses the shirt down, raising an eyebrow.