Beckham woke to the consistent knocking on his front door. What time was it? Why was his arm asleep? He realized first, it wasn’t that late. He couldn’t have been asleep for over an hour. It was still night outside, and his drapes were still open. Annnd Sandy Brown was in his bed. Odd. Rather than panic, he felt…at peace.
“Hey,” he said, easing his arm out from under her. “I think it’s Calli.”
Groggily, Sandy sat up in bed, looking plain just glorious in it—by the way—so much that he was hesitant to leave as he eased into his slacks and didn’t even bother to put on a shirt. He lifted a finger and mouthed—one minute—before he left the room.
KNOCK KNOCK KNO—
“Is Sandy with you?” Calli asked the moment he opened. He glanced at his sister, taking in her look of concern. “Is she, Beckham?”
“Why would you think that she is?” He wanted to scowl but in reality he ended up smiling at her like some strutting peacock who just got off.
Inside Sandy.
“Oh, come on! Harrison told me you were salivating after her like a rabid dog. Is she? Her fiancé is looking for her at the club. Please tell her.”
“I will. But don’t be roaming around on your own, Call…”
“I’m not. Harrison’s downstairs.”
“Yeah, tell him I’ll kill him once I get completely dressed.” He shot her a look, and then backtracked mentally on what Calli just said.
Whoa.
Her fucking wha--?!
“You touch my man, and I’ll kill you.” Calli grinned, and Beckham shook his head warningly and clicked the door shut, then headed straight to his room, gazing at the bundle of complications on his bed, his chest hardening. “Your fiancé is looking for you.”
Sandy sat up with the sheets clutched around her, eyes wide and innocent. “Ex fiancé.”
He watched her search his room for her things.
“You were getting married?”
She hiked up one rounded little shoulder.
It irked him that she didn’t tell him more.
Hell it irked him that she was going to get married.
He sat on the bed and watched as she sat back too and pulled up the covers to her neck, covering the luscious little body he had enjoyed so much only hours ago.
“Why are you here, Sandy?” He meant ‘Houston’ and not really ‘his bedroom’, but he ended up signaling to his bed, noticing how messed-up they’d left it.
“Closure.” She avoided his gaze, hopped onto her feet, and pulled her panties all the way up her legs. “You were a living breathing fantasy of mine…I couldn’t seem to love him like I wanted to. I broke it off and came back for closure.”
“Closure.” He laughed. They'd never had anything, never began, always fought it, were still fucking fighting it even as her naked body stood half naked in his bedroom. Ahh, fuck, but he’d feasted on her body, hadn’t he? Hell he’d been hankering for so much more than what they got last night. He wanted to talk dirty as fuck to her, push her buttons until they flew right off her.
“How did that work out for you?” he asked.
Because it wasn’t working well with him, at all.
She hiked up one small, rounded little shoulder again, walking to his bathroom.
“Do you have somewhere I can dry this?” She raised the hot little number she’d worn yesterday up in the air. Her dress was a wet mess and dripping as she lifted it off the floor.
He told her where, and then watched her reach out and wrap the bedsheets around herself and pad down his hall. Strange emotions flitted through him, and he didn’t even know how to sort them, but among them was a strange tightness at the thought of her having a fiancé. He’d thought nobody would ever stand her. He’d thought she only wanted…Beckham.
What was wrong with him?
You’re a selfish prick, that’s what, man. You want her to pine for you. You don’t want to have to deal with her but you don’t want anyone else to be near her. Yeah, you’re fucked up, Beckham. A real fucking dick, man. Sandy’s got your brains more scrambled than your favorite eggs now. You wanted to fuck her out of your system and guess what? Those buttons of yours that somehow only she pushes? She’s still pushing them.
When her dress seemed moderately ready, she came back wearing it. “How do I get out?”
Confused as fuck over the feeling of protectiveness sitting like a ton of bricks on his chest, he rose and followed her to the door. He didn’t need to, he could’ve just pointed her in the right direction, but he wanted to. At the door, he deliberately took his time pressing the code to open the door, once again pressing his body into hers—his chest to her backside. Cause she smelled good—felt warm. Fragile, almost…
He couldn’t hold back from bending his head and taking in a deep inhale of her scent because…despite his best interests, his mental warnings, and the fact that she was a woman almost on her way to the altar, he wanted her again. He wanted her before she went to kiss and make up with her fiancé with the same mouth she had just been using to devour Beckham. He wanted to get her out of his system…um, again.
Instead he bit back the impulse and opened the door, his eyes staring almost blankly straight ahead. She said nothing when she left. He said nothing to her.
Maybe it was better. They never seemed to be able to have a decent conversation without fighting.
So much for closure.
He slammed the door and gritted his teeth, grabbed his phone, and flung it aside. It clattered and the sound of the glass cracking promptly appeared. Now what the fuck did he do that for? He grabbed the pieces and came back to the door, and that’s when he noticed she’d taken his damned car keys by the entrance.
Yeah. Well.
So much for closure.
Sandy stared at Beckham’s car key’s, elated at the feel of them in her hand, then dismayed in realizing she’d brought them with her for she’d have to send them back to him somehow. She’d fought the impulse to take his wet shirt with her, too, but then he would have obviously noticed, and yet it had been so hard to leave! It had felt as if a piece of her had somehow ended up scattered around in Beckham’s apartment and she couldn’t find it or get it back. She’d had to have something of his, something to ease the pain of…separation. Separation for good, this time. So when she’d spotted the key chain…
Why was this happening again? Why was the impulse to steal so strong and only appeared with him?
She rubbed the keys between her fingers and both the leather keychain and the car key itself felt good. Like his hands. Oh my. His hands. He was better than she’d imagined. He was everything she didn’t have with Glenn. Passion…ecstasy…even rage. She thought she’d realize he had no power over her anymore. He was a figment of her young imagination and an old fantasy she’d had to make a reality in order to overcome it, but she’d—in actuality—been putty in his hands.
She’d meant to dismiss him from her mind once and for all. Instead she would remember last night forever.
Four
He found her in a familiar gray sweatshirt and a pair of men’s socks when she opened the door of her motel room. “Go away,” she said, instantly trying to shut the door on him.
He stuck his foot in to prevent that from happening.
“Gladly. When you give me the fucking keys to my La Ferrari!” he snarled. He pushed the door open and scanned the dingy place, kicking it shut behind him.
“If you’re looking for Glenn, he’s gone,” she said.
He stopped searching, and exhaled, his body relaxing. How the fuck did she know he was scanning the room for Glenn? Appeased, he turned to her. “You all right? Will he be coming back for his fucking keys, too?” He smiled at her, but she didn’t return the smile.
He shoved his hands into his pocket to keep from reaching out and hauling her to him and kissing the air out of her. The truth was, the relief he felt knowing Glenn was gone was indescribable. He’d only seen her less than twenty-four hours ago, and he couldn’t get her
off his mind not even for a second.
“No to both,” she said.
He sat down on the small bed and pulled her to his lap. “Then what’s going on? Talk to me.” He softened his tone, concerned over the sadness in her eyes.
“You’re the last person I want to discuss this with.” She squirmed to try to get off him, but he stilled her hips.
“Why?”
She made a pained sound and turned her head away.
He seized her chin and turned her to face him, her eyes misty and dark and lonely, and he dropped and gentled his voice even more. “Because it’s me you want?” he asked.
She closed her eyes to avoid his gaze.
“Is it?” he insisted.
“Yes! What? You want to gloat? Go right ahead and gloat.”
She tried to get away but he secured her with one arm curled around her waist, forcing her to stay on his lap.
“I think I will gloat,” he teased her. “It’s been ten years. You mean to tell me you’ve been carrying a torch for me all this time?”
She stiffened, and he’d been holding her for the past minute, trying to talk to her, ignoring the fact that she was wearing his sweatshirt, and it had ridden high up her thigh, and he was as hard as iron. He slipped one hand underneath and stroked her skin along the inside of her thigh. “Talk to me, Sandy.”
“I hate you,” she mumbled. “I don’t see why my body doesn’t get the memo.”
Slipping his hand higher, up her abdomen, he realized her nipples were up at attention, and he flicked one with tender care, feeling it spring back up after he pressed it with his thumb. He was buzzing with desire again, surprised he was wanting her this much, this loud, boisterous little thief he’d grown up to love/hate and have fantasies about. “Maybe we just need to give it what it wants. What it needs. This sweet little body of yours.”
“It needs me to kick its ass,” she grumbled.
He could’ve laughed, but instead the thought of her ass aroused him beyond measure. He shifted her so that she straddled him with one easy move. Sandy stiffened, and her reaction aroused him even more.
“This ass needs tender loving care, not to be kicked,” he murmured as he slipped both hands around her back, to cup the generous flesh and knead it in his palms. He eased his hands into her panties from behind and caressed for a minute, then allowed his middle finger to dip between the crevice of her buttocks and tease and taunt her there too.
He pushed a fingertip into her backside and when she gasped, he took her mouth in a rapacious kiss. “How many things of mine have you taken?” he asked in a thick, guttural voice.
“I…don’t know.” Her voice thickened with desire, and her eyes were barely open, she was this aroused by him.
As aroused as he was.
He inserted his finger deeper, feeling her pussy go wet against his cock—separated only by the flimsy fabric of her panties and his pants. “Yes you do, you do know how many things of mine you have taken,” he crooned.
“Twenty-three,” she admitted.
“What have you taken?” he asked, nuzzling her neck, rocking his hips upward so that she could feel his hardness against her wet spot.
“I have socks and underwear and sweatshirts, a T shirt, and a few belts and ties.”
“Reach between our bodies, grab a condom from my pocket, put it on my dick and put me inside you, Sandy,” Beckham said as he lifted her gently by the hips.
Sandy scrambled to do as he bid. Trembling fingers pulled out a condom, then she stood to unbuckle, unzip, and pull down his pants and boxes, and then she slipped the condom over his hard-as-fuck dick and when she sat on top of him, he groaned as her channel parted with every inch of hard cock that she introduced inside her.
“You feel amazing, Sandy,” he said as he lifted the sweatshirt over her head.
Her little tits looked glorious and he sucked each of them for a full minute, licking and laving the peaks until she was moaning so hard he didn’t know if it was because she loved it or because it hurt.
“Beckham,” she murmured as she unbuttoned his shirt and then pulled his arms out of his sleeves. “I’ve been spanked before. I asked Glenn to do it once.”
“I’m not spanking you.”
“Oh.”
Well fuck. Did she sound disappointed?
Her breasts heaved with each breath. He lifted her and lowered her above him, watching every bounce of her breasts. Then watching how her pussy opened to take him inside her. His eyes blinded as the soft curls between her legs shone wetly and the pink lips grew red and swollen with each thrust.
“Sandy?”
“Hmm….”
He clamped his teeth together and swatted out his hand, spanking her lightly on the ass, and she stiffened with a little gasp. “Maybe I will spank you,” he said then. “Once for each stolen item…and you get to keep my stuff.”
Another.
She cried out and her ass cheeks squeezed—and her pussy squeezed around his cock too. “Relax your muscles,” he said, his hand hovering above her ass before it smacked into her flesh again. His loins heated up at the sounds of her moans, her whimpers, her ass under his swatting hand, the clench of her pussy on his cock. By the time he hit her past twenty, he could smell her sex, how wet she was, her breath so ragged.
He caressed both cheeks and stroked between the fissure; the wetness he discovered was running from her pussy all the way back, causing him to groan, low and deep, in his throat.
“Becks,” she said, begging. They were both wildly affected, he was breathing as fast as she was, and he didn’t even know why. He pulled her up and tossed her on the bed, curled her legs around his shoulders, and thrust inside, and when her mouth parted to yell out his name, this time calling him, “Beckham,” he covered her lips and started kissing her without control. Fucking her without control.
He didn’t need to ask if he’d hurt her, he felt her gratitude in her kiss, some sort of silent understanding stretching between them.
She wanted—needed—some boundaries. She wanted him to give her some attention, and he was. And he would.
He never broke the kiss, never broke rhythm, started pounding very very hard. Needing this release of his frustration, needing to give her what she needed—a punishment for what she’d done and also, a reminder that he’d noticed. If she wanted attention….he wanted her to know, to feel, his attention.
Hell he never, ever, wanted her to forget his attention.
He brought her arms up over her head so he could run his fingers down the satiny skin of her arms, watch her squirm underneath him, her panting breaths intensely hot against his neck. “You little beauty,” he said gutturally, urgently. “You filthy, wicked girl, you love this don’t you. What’s on your mind. Sandy. What do you want.”
“You…you want me to talk dirty?”
“Fuck, baby, you feel the jerk of my cock? I like it already and you haven’t said a thing. Just looking at you…you’re so damned perfect, Sandy.”
She reached for his buttocks and pulled him in deeper, speaking fast, the words running into each other. “Cock dick pussy cunt oh god I don’t know but don’t stop!”
He chuckled softly, then sucked on each of her tits for a little while, enjoying this too much. Her, and this need, intense, burning need to have her, again and again….
The sounds echoing in the small motel room, in his ears, stirring up his already pounding heartbeat. Her fluttering touch on his back, up his chest, Beckham exhaled heavily in enjoyment cupping her ass and rubbing it gently in his hands, as gently as she caressed his erection with her cunt. She squeezed his buttocks again, and he felt a shiver run down his whole body as he set his forehead against hers, breathing her same air, and kept pumping.
“Yeah,” he rasped, reaching to stroke her sweet, juicy folds with the head of his cock before plunging back in.
Her hand became bolder. Going downward to cup his balls. Her breath coming faster to match his as her knuckles grazed the matt of hai
r from where his shaft erected.
Pulling out, he let her caress his cock a little and shoved two fingers into her. His hips swiveled into her hand. Her pelvis tilted up to his fingers.
His eyes drifted shut as the pleasure whipped him. “Yeah,” he rasped, bending to take her lips once more. Hot, moist. The pleasure engulfed him, tensing his muscles as her delicious vagina clenched around every slide of his probing fingers.
He grabbed her legs and spread them apart and heard himself groan as he entered her again. She let out a guttural sound, her hands coming to pull his ass muscles and urge him deeper.
Scorching heat raged through him and he shook from the intensity as he plunged hard and deep, Sandy eagerly meeting each of his thrusts.
He lost control, bringing her legs to drape around his shoulders, getting deeper into her, so goddamned deep she yelled and twisted beneath him as her sex clutched and sucked him into a vortex of pleasure. He yelled out as his hips wildly struck against hers, pounding and ramming to the sound of slapping flesh and moans and groans, until she cried and a set of wild spasms overtook her, and he groaned and clutched her hips as he came, convulsing over her, so hard he feared he’d leave a bruise.
Panting, he pulled back slightly to look at her, and Sandy’s eyes were closed, her face flushed.
“You hungry?”
She made a noncommittal sound.
“I’ll take you out if you give me back my car keys.” He smirked at her.
“I thought you said I could keep everything if you spanked me.” She started to frown instantly.
He chuckled softly, then stopped smiling. “Did I hurt you, Sandy?”
She sat up in bed, fully naked. “It felt amazingly good.” Her cheeks, now a bright shade of red, called to his hands.
He ran his knuckles down her face. “Why did you keep everything though, Sandy? Why not give them back like my keys. Why so many?”
She puzzled him. She’d been abandoned and had been raised by her grandparents, he knew, her parents too young, bohemian…
She’d never really known love, he supposed, or acceptance, or maybe even had gifts for Christmas or for her birthday. He regretted to have asked all of a sudden, but she’d already dropped her gaze to the floor.