“Keep doing that. Suck, just suck it hard for me. The way I’ve been dreaming.” His fists tightened in her hair. “Please, Kenna, please. Again, again. I’m going to—”
Beck broke off with a roar as blinding pleasure ripped through his middle. He lost control of his body, hips pumping upward trying to wring every last glimmer of perfection from Kenna’s mouth. Her fingernails dug into his thighs and she moaned around him, taking everything he had and more. The more he hadn’t known existed until now. The pain in his stomach faded into a dull memory, muscles practically liquefying him onto the mattress. It was impossible to wrap his mind around the stunning relief, so he scooped Kenna off the floor and onto his lap and held her, inhaling her incense scent in greedy gulps, knowing he would equate it with pleasure for the rest of his life and he was glad for it.
But the sweeping relief vanished when he became aware of her movements. She shifted in his lap, hands clenching and unclenching in the material of his shirt. “Now you, Kenna,” he growled, tipping her flushed face up. “Show me how to do that for you.”
Her nod was jerky, gaze refusing to find his. “When we wake up, okay?”
Sleep? He couldn’t sleep knowing she was experiencing the same discomfort he’d been afflicted with. Not a chance. “No. I need you better.” Hoping he wasn’t going too far, Beck pushed her thighs open, wincing at her moan. “Oh God, please…let me take care of it. My hands, my mouth—”
“No,” she blurted, softening her refusal by rubbing circles onto his chest. “I’m not ready just yet, okay?”
She seemed ready to him—beyond ready—but he’d rather saw off his arm than push a woman toward anything she didn’t want. Even if the idea of leaving her wanting sort of felt like both arms had already been sawed clean off. Dammit, he should know what to do here. How to fix her. It hurt to swallow. “When we wake up?”
“Yes,” she breathed. He reclined back onto the mattress, taking her body with him. He swore there was no way in hell he’d fall asleep, but then, he’d never had Kenna curled up underneath his arm. Never had her rub her face on his shoulder. Never felt her tuck her small feet between his legs.
Home. I’m finally home.
That was his last conscious thought before he fell asleep.
CHAPTER THREE
Kenna stared through the lens of her helmet at the two pieces of cut metal she was welding together, but found herself getting lost in the blue sparks. She set her welding gun down and slumped onto the workshop stool. From across the space, she could feel her friend Darla watching in that quiet way that used to unnerve her, but right now only served as an irritant.
Feeling irrationally restless, she pushed her helmet up and studied the half-completed sculpture sitting ten yards away on an elevated pedestal. Yesterday, the idea of finishing the piece of artwork that would be displayed in a local park had imbued her with a sense of accomplishment, but nothing was penetrating her preoccupied state of mind today. Not even Darla, who sat perched on the adjacent workbench tracing the spine of a thick book with a single finger. Probably Tolkien. Or something else that involved a Middle Earth-like setting.
It was Monday afternoon and her friend had just broken free of second-grade hell, hoping to catch Kenna in the workshop. As if she’d be anywhere else. These days she seemed to spend every free second in the dark workshop, working on various orders from around the country. When she wasn’t chauffeuring giant, sweetly complicated men around base and subsequently giving them a sexual education, that is. Or the beginnings of one. Before she’d crept out the apartment door and burned rubber getting out of the parking lot.
Totally healthy.
She wasn’t too proud to admit she’d gone home afterward, rifled through her sock drawer for the perfect vibrator, flipped it to the highest setting and gone to town. Because, holy mother of blow jobs, she hadn’t even been the one receiving pleasure and yet she’d never—never—been hotter in her life. The way Beck had begged, twisted on the bed, yanking on her hair and gasping in such a purely masculine way, she’d shivered the entire time. Not only had lust burned her from head to toe, there had been unmistakable power. Power in being the first for him. However, something beside Beck’s wood had popped up. A…connection. A passing of trust. An idea far too emotional to acknowledge, so she was hell-bent on ignoring it.
But Beck didn’t want to be ignored. A day later and she still felt guilty for leaving. More than guilt, though. She couldn’t shake the intuition she should have stayed.
And done what, Kenna? Found out more about his sweet-potato-eating, aw-shucks-ing life? The last thing she wanted was to get caught up with some peach farmer who missed his dog. They had nothing in common. Except their apparent love of getting him off.