Page 96 of Changing Lanes

Beckett misunderstands and lowers my entire body just until the tip of his cock teases my opening. We both groan from the contact.

“Do you have any condoms in here?”

He pulls back, eyebrows furrowed, and shakes his head once. “They’re in my room.”

“We can go get them,” I suggest even though the thought of interrupting this moment sounds like actual torture.

“Marc’s home.”

“So?” I grin. “You can cover yourself with a towel.”

“So, I’m not fucking moving without keeping you on my dick and he might see you naked.”

“I’m not on your dick.”

My body is dropped an inch more directly onto Beckett’s dick, officially making me a liar. I gasp from the slight intrusion, digging my heels into his ass to keep him from pulling back out.

“If you want me to stop, tell me now. Please.” His forehead rests on mine as we both drop our gazes between us to watch our bodies start to adjust to each other’s, like they know something we don’t. “I’ve never done it like this, I swear, but if you don’t want to, if you’re worried, we don’t have to.”

The sincerity painted across his face says it all—he’s telling the truth. He’s been here with me, revealing his true self all along, it’s just taken me a while to finally see it. How he was today, the sweet gestures, the proactive measures, that’s Beckett. The one not everyone gets to see. The one he makes sure people don’t see. But he’s showing me now. He’s trusting me just like I’m trusting him. I’ve never had sex without protection either, so this step feels big. Bigger than Beckett even.

“I’m not worried,” I say, shaking my head. At least not in the way he’s referring to. “I’m on birth control,” I tell him since he seems like he’d freak about that.

Nudging between my folds, I receive him with all the fanfare one would imagine you’d welcome a giant with—a few curses of disbelief but overall a great appreciation for their company. I already knew he was big but seeing and believing really are two different things because until this moment I did not heed the warnings my brain was sending me.

I stop squirming to see him studying me.

“Are you ready?”

My head is already nodding as I grab his face, pulling his lips to mine. I’ve never been more ready.

Our bodies move together to fit him the rest of the way in but once he’s fully sheathed, he freezes as do I. Fitting together like a perfectly matched lock and key buried deep in my core, it’s like I can feel all the tumbler pins fall into place as he meets my inner walls, cementing the fact I’ve been trying desperately to ignore—this is different. He’s different. We’re fucking different.

After years of dealing with the wrong match again and again and again and ending in disappointment more times than not, being with Beckett is like running full speed at a semi-truck barreling toward you. The collision—imminent. Danger—inevitable. Carnage—every-fucking-where.

How are either of us supposed to survive this, let alone come out unscathed?

After getting our bearings, his hips thrust up into me while his arm on my back pulls me down and the contrast creates an aggressive sort of friction, kind of like hate-fucking, minus the hate. No, there’s not an ounce of actual aggression in Beckett’s movements. Just pure need. A need so strong, sparks ignite with every connection. Not bright sparks. Sparks you don’t see until it’s too late. The kind that burn entire countries to the ground before anyone even knows what happened.

We barely speak as our movements pick up speed but words aren’t necessary. There are no directions when you’re spinning out of control. And so, we fumble through whatever this is, both of us touching and kissing and groping and grinding on the other one until our movements grow messy, absolutely crazed for the other as we approach our final destination together.

Growling, Beckett rips his lips from mine so suddenly, my eyes jolt open.

“Swear to fuck, I’m about to lose it.”

“What? Why?”

Everything in me tenses, including my pussy muscles clenched around Beckett still buried inside me.

“No, no, no. Don’t do that yet. It’s not you.” His lips brush mine briefly. “It’s this fucking thing.” Twisting the top portion of his body, he uses his free hand to grab the shower curtain liner. “It’s sticking to my ass.” Then he yanks it, ripping the material clean off and sending some of the rings airborne as they fly off the rod broken. Only half of the actual shower curtain is still hanging in place with the plastic portion falling to the tub floor.

We both stare at the crumpled mess for a minute before meeting each other’s eyes.

“You killed it.”

“Nah, it’s just-” he frowns, his bottom lip sticking out, “asleep.”

Our laughs settle around us as thick as the humidity.