Page 46 of Changing Lanes

“Come here.”

A moody Beckett is hot as fuck, a demanding Beckett is beyond. Beyond thought. Beyond words. Beyond reason.

That’s what I tell myself when my feet move before my head can even make the decision.

Within reach, he slips a hand up my neck and into my hair before gripping a handful. I hiss at the pain that hurts in the best way possible, his cloudy eyes locking on my mouth as the sound escapes.

“What were you thinking about?” His husky whisper travels over my face, hypnotizing me like a shady snake charmer in a back alley.

With his hold at the back of my head feeling like it’s gripping more than just my hair, I work, I fight, I all out scrap for the smallest bit of control still, needing it more than the shoes on my feet atop scorching asphalt.

“You know,” I goad quietly, not breaking eye contact for a second. To show dominance you must look your opponent in the eye without wavering and I do just that. Bossy is cute and all but that doesn’t mean he’s in charge and it’ll do him well to remember that.

“Why are you fucking with me?” It comes out strangled and raw. Exposed.

I open my mouth to ask the same thing but a whimper comes out instead as the hand in my hair tightens, drawing me closer so my body is flush with his much like this morning in his room. That was next to his bed and yet this somehow feels more intimate. More dangerous.

I’m ready to throw in the towel and ride him instead of my motorcycle but that’s what scares me. He’s too tempting. His moods—the indifference half the time and the intense awareness the other half—they shouldn’t appeal to me the way they do. My loved ones take precedence over everything else, whereas the rest of the world could burn to the ground and I wouldn’t even notice. At some point Beckett stepped over that line and has been straddling the damn thing ever since.

Do I care about the guy or not?

The more important question is—should I?

Everything is going wrong and while it’s tempting to feel something that may be right, I’m not naïve enough to believe being with Beckett is right in any way. The guy is a manwhore with a superiority complex. Taking him down a few pegs is all I should keep this as, not invite him to equal footing.

Last night was one peg and I’m willing to bet he could down go a couple more. Easily.

With shaky hands, I grip his thighs—overly sensitive thighs—and squeeze as I bring my face in close to his. He bends to meet me halfway, our noses bumping from the momentum. Lips hovering an inch apart, I swipe my tongue across his seam and, as expected, his eagerness gets the better of him as he ducks down for more. Remembering his hold in my hair, I’m forced to lean my head back in order to avoid losing chunks of my beloved locks. His mouth clashes with my chin but instead of discouraging the guy like I’d hoped, he uses it to his advantage. He gives my chin a sweet peck before trailing his tongue lower to my throat. I can barely make out greedy moans and frenzied kissing over my own labored breathing. The pain behind my head as he grips my strands vigorously mixes with the pleasure of his ravenous caresses on my neck and I curse my stupid plan to tease him.

I severely underestimated Beckett.

That thought, and any other, disappear as his other hand cups my face, tilting it to the side. My body, no longer following my orders but his, does as its told, complying effortlessly. Beckett’s lips graze my sensitive skin, landing just below my ear, causing a ground shaking shiver. Fighting my own traitorous body is futile, so I accept the tremble for what it is. Who am I to deny my body what it wants and what Beckett clearly wants to give it? The guy knows what he’s doing. I should just let him do it and be on my way, one orgasm happier.

“It was you, on your back, tits in the air, begging for me to taste their rosy tips.”

The unexpected words have my eyes snapping open only to see movement across the lot. I chock it up to hallucinating from Beckett’s swirling tongue on the shell of my ear and tune back in. Seriously, the guy is talented.

“Legs spread, pussy glistening, aching for me to fill it.”

Said legs nearly buckle as I see a form approach that isn’t a mirage at all.

“Your mouth, parted and gasping, begging me to fuck you.”

My panties are drenched, most likely soaking my shorts by now.

“But the part that made me come harder than any other chick has ever been able to milk out of my cock was when I walked away, leaving you a fucking mess, wishing you could actually keep my attention for longer than the two minutes it took for you to make yourself come.”

What?

All at once he releases his hold on my body, sending me a few feet back. With my mind hostage in a serious loop of what the fuck, I gape open mouthed at him. Where did that come from?

I can tell by the bulge in his pants that he’s as affected as I am but his harsh words were delivered with lethal amounts of spite, not wanting.

“Paige?”

Hearing my name jolts me back to reality.

Parking lot. Dickish roommate. Brother’s best friend.