Hard to Let Go (11 page)

Thank God for small favors. Mood he was in, Beckett wasn’t really fit for public consumption anyway. In his bare feet, he started across the room.

Movement from the corner of his good eye.

He nearly groaned out loud.

Kat. In some sort of weird contortionist position on the mats.

“What the hell are you doing?” he asked.

No answer. In the dimness, he made out the thin white cords to a pair of earbuds.

She shifted position, lowering the leg that had been raised so that she was on her hands and feet, her firm little rear up in the air. Who did yoga at oh-dark-hundred?

Jesus. He scrubbed a hand over his face.

He didn’t need to be seeing this right now. He really didn’t. Because his body couldn’t stand to witness her ass offered up like that in skintight black pants and not react. Not after what they’d shared yesterday. Not after he’d learned how fucking good it felt to be buried deep inside her.

After a few moments she shifted again, going down into a high plank that emphasized just how fit and tight her little body was. She held the plank for what must’ve been a full minute without even shaking.

“Kat?” he said louder, feeling like an asshole watching her work out without her realizing he was there—and getting more and more turned on by this little demonstration of her strength and flexibility.

He came up along her side, close enough to hear the deafening volume of the music playing in her ears, and crouched down.

She screamed and jerked away, her hand going to her heart even as she back scrabbled. “Damnit, Beckett.” She tore out the earbuds. “What the hell are you doing?”

God, she was gorgeous. That was all he could think for a long moment. Even annoyed as shit with him, she appealed to him in a way no other woman ever had. “I, uh, was trying not to scare you.”

She tossed the length of her ponytail over her shoulder. “Well, congratulations on a job well done.”

Beckett sighed. “Kat—”

She held up a hand. “Never mind. Neither of us needs another fight. I’ll go.”

He rose as she did. “Kat—”

For a second she gave him a strange look, and then she bolted toward him, rammed into his gut, and flipped him over her back. As the breath whooshed out of him on impact, Beckett’s brain scrambled to catch up to what the fuck had just happened.

He blinked and looked up.

Kat stood over him, arms crossed, hip jutted out to the side, smirk on her face. “That was just for the record.” She turned on her heel and made it maybe two steps.

A flash fire ripped through Beckett’s mind. He flew off the floor and grabbed her from behind before she’d even made it off the mat. Light as she was, he easily lifted her off the ground, keeping her from using the floor for any leverage against which to strike at him. She screamed and thrashed against him.

And then he took her to the mat and came down on top of her, his front to hers. Breathing hard—from the adrenaline rush more than the hit he’d taken—he pressed his lips to her ear. “Five seconds. For the record.”

Kat’s muscles exploded into action, her arms and legs surrounding him, trying to grip him tightly. She was going for a choke hold or a joint lock, and he wasn’t giving her the satisfaction. He fought against her holds, went for his own shots at pinning her, and wrestled her until they were both breathing hard and cursing and hot from the exertion.

Beckett had possibly never been more turned on in his life.

“Give up, Kat,” he rasped, less and less worried about hurting her when she was so ably proving she could take it.

“Fuck you,” she whispered, going for his throat.

He grinned and gripped her arms, prying them apart with his greater strength and pinning them to the floor.

Her whole body moved in a wave beneath him as she brought her hips up to try to clamp her thighs around his neck. Damn, she
was
skilled at this. He had to give her that, especially as she managed to get a knee up over his shoulder and knock him hard enough in the carotid artery to momentarily daze him. She got her arms free from his and had almost escaped from underneath him when his wits returned.

He dove and caught her around the stomach, taking her down once more so that he lay on top of her, his front to her back. “Where do you think you’re going?” he whispered in her ear.

Slowly, the fight drained out of her muscles. “Nowhere,” she said, panting. No doubt his weight made it harder for her to catch her breath. But he wasn’t giving up this advantage for anything. Because being pinned underneath him was probably the only way she was going to listen to what he had to say. And the fact that she wasn’t
still
struggling to get away set his blood on fire.

“I’m sorry. About last night,” he whispered, dragging his lips against her ear. She shuddered. “I
was
an asshole.”

“Yes,” she said, although the need he heard in the word was as much about how he was teasing her skin with his lips and gently rocking his hips against her ass. He would’ve put money on it.

“I just didn’t want you there,” he said.

She huffed and jerked, suddenly trying to get free of him again. “That was clear, Beckett.”

Way to go, asshole
. But he wasn’t letting her go until she understood him clearly. He pinned her arm down again and shifted his weight upward, securing her upper body beneath him. “Because I hate the thought of you getting hurt, Kat. Nothing to do with whether you can handle it. But the thought of you in harm’s way makes me fucking crazy. Okay? I don’t like it. It makes me want to destroy things with my bare hands. Jesus.”

“Oh,” she said, the fight going out of her once more, as if his words had appeased her. “But you’ll be there. You all will.”

He dragged his tongue up the side of her neck. A thin sheen of sweat had broken out across her skin as they wrestled, and she tasted fucking delicious. Salty and sweet and something that was all Kat. “I’ll be there, Kat,” he said, shifting his hips against her ass. He was rock fucking hard.

“Beckett,” she whispered, the sound plaintive and needy.

“You drive me so goddamned crazy I don’t know what I’m doing half the time,” he said, his arm curling under her shoulder, his legs going to the outside of hers, his hips grinding against her rear.

And then she ground right back, arching her spine to bring her ass up more firmly against his cock. The breathy moan she unleashed went right to his balls, making them heavy and achy.

“I swear I didn’t plan this, but I want inside you, Kat. Tell me what you want.”

She twisted her head as far as she could in this position and met his gaze from the corners of her eyes. “Just like this,” she said as her hands went to her hips and pushed the stretchy fabric down.

Beckett couldn’t move fast enough. He lifted his hips to help tug her pants and panties down to mid-thigh and to free his cock and balls from the denim. And then he laid down on top of her again, pinning her to the floor as he penetrated her opening inch by scalding hot inch.

“Feel how fucking wet you are. Jesus Christ, that’s so good.” He bottomed out inside her.

“Oh, my God, that’s deep,” she cried.

“Never deep enough,” he said, withdrawing his hips on a slow retreat. “Never deep enough, Kat.” He wrapped her ponytail around his fist and forced her head back. She came up on her elbows, allowing Beckett to wrap one arm around her upper body while he used the other to turn her face toward him. “It’s never fucking enough,” he said, meeting those bright green eyes. So filled with desire. For him.

He kissed her on a tortured groan and fucked her hard and fast, then maddeningly slow and deep until they were both moaning and cursing and panting.

“Jesus, Beckett, I’m gonna come, I’m gonna come.”

“Yeah, Angel. Show me how much you love my fucking cock, how good I make you feel.”

Her channel tightened, tightened, tightened around him until Beckett groaned and Kat cried out. And then they were both coming, Beckett’s orgasm going on so long his vision went splotchy around the edges. Jesus. He couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t see. Couldn’t do anything but feel Kat around him, under him . . . inside him.

“Oh, my God,” she rasped when their bodies settled down.

Beckett was immediately conscious of how heavy he might be, and now that the haze of lust was gone from his head, it bothered him in a way it hadn’t before. He moved—

Kat caught his hip in her hand and held him. “Don’t move. I want to feel your weight awhile longer.”

The words made his chest squeeze. “You . . . like the feeling of me on top of you?”

“You feel good, Beckett.” She shifted a little, and he let her move until she seemed comfortable, and then wrapped his arms around her and laid his head partly on his bicep, partly atop her head.

She wanted him to stay. She welcomed him inside her body, where even now he remained. She thought he felt good.

Beckett realized that as satisfied as his body was in this moment, it was his soul that was all lit up inside. Because even though it wouldn’t last, for right now he was wanted and he was good. And he so rarely experienced either that it was one of the most special moments of his life.

Chapter 11

A
ngel. He’d called her Angel.

Kat could barely breathe, and it had absolutely nothing to do with the 250-pound linebacker currently lying on top of her.

He’d called her Angel.

Why? All they did was fight and annoy the shit out of each other. Where had the term of endearment come from?

Maybe it was just the haze of lust and epically good sex talking. That could totally be it. She wondered if he even realized he’d said it.

But it was still confusing as hell. She’d been so mad at him last night that she hadn’t even wanted to be in the same room with him. And she’d promised herself that after all the bullshit he’d said,
this
wasn’t happening again. Not ever.

Now, here she lay. His cock still tucked inside her, his body covering her, his arms holding her. And a part of her didn’t want it to end. Because he’d also apologized. More than that, he’d made it clear that he’d flown off the handle because he was worried about her. Which was downright sweet, really. In a totally fucked-up Beckett Murda kinda way.

Honestly, he was, at once, the sexiest, most attractive man she’d ever known—and the most confusing and infuriating.

He’s rough around the edges, but he’s a good guy. Beckett just takes a while to let anybody get close . . .

That’s what Marz had said. Could it be that Beckett’s whole strong-silent-grouchy routine was just . . . some kind of defense mechanism? If so, a defense against what?

And did it really matter?

She laid there for a long moment, surrounded by Beckett’s heat, his soft breath playing over her ear.

Yeah, on some level it did matter. Because there was something between them. Clearly. Maybe it was just pure animal attraction. Except he’d given her glimpses that there was something more to him. Something deeper. Something that spoke to her heart. All of which played as much of a role in the fact that they kept ending up naked together—or partially naked, anyway—as the fact that he fucked her better than she’d ever been fucked in her life. At least, it explained why
she
kept giving in.

“Beckett?” she whispered, not possessing the energy to speak much louder.

No answer.

“Beckett?” she said again.

Holy shit. The big, hard-ass jerk had fallen asleep? Holding her.

Aw, crap.
That was kinda sweet, too. Proving that her heart was such a sucker. Because she didn’t want to wake him up. She didn’t want him to get off of her. All she wanted was to listen to the call of her exhaustion and close her eyes.

But she couldn’t. Because they weren’t exactly in a private place. And Beckett’s ass was, she guessed, hanging out for all to see. She grinned. Ah, but what an ass. Shakespeare might’ve written sonnets about that ass.

For a long while Kat lay there and listened to the rhythmic in-out of his breathing. She wished they were in a soft bed somewhere with no clothing between them, because she would’ve loved the feeling of his bare chest against her back. Instead, she was stuck wearing long sleeves until the bruises healed—especially now. If he flipped out over her participating in the morning’s op at the coffee shop, imagine how he’d react if he saw fingerprint-shaped bruises on her arms. Nope. Couldn’t let that happen.

It got harder and harder to keep her eyes open, and finally her lids sagged closed altogether. If she didn’t get up soon—

Beckett’s whole body flinched, jarring Kat into awareness so hard that her heart kicked into a sprint. He groaned and flinched again, like he’d been shocked by an electrical current.

“No,” he moaned.

Was he having a nightmare? “Beckett?”

“Why you doing this?” he slurred. “What did I do?” His breath caught hard.

A knot lodged in Kat’s throat, because his words were so pleading they nearly broke her heart. “Beckett, wake up.”

Most of his weight lay on the right side of her back, so she pulled herself to the left, trying to get out from under him so she could try to pull him out of whatever had its claws in his subconscious. As she moved, his head slipped backward, and her elbow accidentally caught him in the cheekbone.

In a flash Beckett’s hand clamped down on her upper arm. Hard. Kat yelped. But before she had a chance to react, he shoved her away with enough force that she rolled over onto her back. Breathing hard, heart racing, and not a little alarmed at the ferocity of his handling, she stared at him with wide eyes, braced to flee or fight.

His eyes remained closed, but the expression on his face was one of abject desolation. Whimpers and harsh, uneven breaths rasped out of him.

What the hell could he be dreaming about?

What she wanted to do was go to him, cup his face in her hand and gently wake him out of whatever it was. But, clearly, he wasn’t aware of his surroundings, because there wasn’t a chance in hell he’d treat her that way if he was. She was certain of that down into her very soul.

She tugged up her pants and moved onto her knees, but stayed outside the reach of his arms. “Beckett? Beckett?” She slammed her hand down flat onto the mat twice.

His eyelids flipped open and his body stilled. Awareness immediately slid into his eyes, which locked onto her with a cold calculation.

“Beckett?” she said, unsure if he was actually awake.

He rolled onto his side, his gaze darting between them. “What just happened?”

Her shoulders sagged in relief. He was back. “I think you were having a nightmare.”

Bracing on his upper back, he lifted his hips and hiked his jeans up, covering himself. Then he sat up and let out a long, shuddering breath. “Yeah, I think so.”

“Are you okay?” she asked, fisting her hands together in her lap.

Beckett’s eyes narrowed at her. “Why wouldn’t I be?” He tilted his head to the side. “Why are you over there?”

A quick shake of her head. She’d give Beckett Murda shit for a lot of things, but this wasn’t one of them. “It just seemed bad, that’s all.”

His gaze was so intense that it made her feel observed, analyzed. “What happened, Kat?”

“Nothing,” she said. “You just flinched and started talking. And I couldn’t wake you up.”

He crawled closer, and Kat hated the momentary urge to back away. He hadn’t meant to be rough with her. He didn’t even know he’d done it. Remembering how bad he’d felt when he thought he’d hurt her yesterday, when he hadn’t hurt her at all, no way did she want to guilt trip him with this.

“Something happened,” he said, coming to rest on his knees right in front of her. “Tell me what I did.”

“You didn’t do anything, Beckett. Really.” She forced a small smile. “It was actually a good thing you ended up dreaming, because I would’ve fallen asleep and we would’ve still been laying here when everyone gathered in the morning.” That part was actually true. And then she gave in to the urge she’d had a few minutes before. She rose up onto her knees, cupped his handsome face in her right hand and pressed her lips to his left cheek. “Everything’s okay now.”

His hands flew to her hair and his blue-eyed gaze drilled into hers. “Kat,” he said, voice raw. “I know something happened. I remember . . . things. When they’re bad like that, I know I . . . act out parts of my dreams. Just tell me.”

Oh, God. He was breaking her heart right now. But it was clear he wasn’t going to let this go. “You just pushed me away. That’s all,” she finally said. She stroked her thumb across his cheek.

Hard eyes searched hers as his Adam’s apple bobbed on a rough swallow. “I’m sorry,” he gritted out, then he pushed her hand away. Not hard, but not gentle either.

A rock sat heavily in her belly. “You were asleep, Beckett. You didn’t know what you were doing. It’s fine.”

“Don’t make excuses for me—”

“I’m not—”

“Don’t fucking make excuses for me!” he yelled. At least, it sounded loud in the silence of the gym.

Kat reared back, her heart in her throat. She held up her hands. “Okay, okay.”

“Oh, God, I’m sorry—”

She was on her feet in an instant. “It’s fine.” With a shaking hand, she scooped her phone off the mat in a quick movement. Her brain was a whirl of
What the fuck?

“Kat—”

“It’s fine, Beckett,” she said, walking away from him. But it really, really wasn’t.

“J
ESUS
C
HRIST
,” B
ECKETT
said, dropping his head into his hands. Across the gym, the door
snick
ed shut. Kat was gone.

No, you chased her off. Like the useless, piece of shit your father always said you were.

Half collapsing, Beckett lay down on the mat and stared up at the shadowy ducts and beams that made up the old ceiling.

The night had gone from shit to perfect to shit again. And the bad parts were all his fault. It was almost like he couldn’t help destroying anything good that came into his life. His mother, who was so unhappy the whole time he knew her that she slowly drank herself to death. Marz, who had nearly died for and because of him. And now Kat.

Beautiful, brilliant, strong Kat. Who was his friend and teammate’s baby sister, to boot. You know, just in case this situation wasn’t already enough of a giant cluster.

What had he actually done to her? Before yelling at her, that was. In the dream, his father jumped him the minute he came home from football practice, almost like he’d been lying in wait. The dream was based on a memory, from when Beckett was fourteen. That day his old man had caught him in a choke hold from behind, taking him entirely by surprise. He slammed Beckett face first into the refrigerator and then after a short shoving and hitting match, his dad tripped him and he went down to the floor. Hard. As if that wasn’t insult enough, the mean old bastard had kicked him with his steel-toed boots, catching him in the cheek.

That was the first time it had been really bad. Before then it was joking face slaps that weren’t really jokes and playful shoves that weren’t really playful. It was belt whippings that Beckett had thought were totally normal forms of discipline, until friends saw his back and backside in the showers after practice. And it was a constant stream of verbal attacks and name-calling that slowly chipped away at his self-esteem and warped his own sense of himself.

After all, both his parents had been miserable people, so there had to have been something wrong with him, right? That’s why his mother drank herself away from him and his father tried to chase him away with his meanness. Beckett was the common denominator in both their lives.

Now, shaking his head, he forced his thoughts back to the dream and what Kat had said—that he’d pushed her away. Like he’d pushed against his father? But, in the dream, he’d also elbowed his father and grabbed his arms, trying to break free of his grip, and the two of them had fought before he fell. Was it possible he’d acted any of that out, too?

Yes. It was fucking possible. Beckett didn’t dream a lot, but he’d woken up on more than one occasion over the years and seen he’d wrestled his pillows and blankets to the floor. And that meant he could’ve hurt Kat. Even if he hadn’t, even if she was telling the truth, he
could’ve
hurt her. And everything about that was fucking unacceptable.

What good was keeping her safe from their enemies if he was going to turn around and hurt her at home?

Jesus.

He scrubbed the heels of his hands against his eyes.

Meow
.

Beckett’s gaze cut to the left to find Cy standing at the edge of the mat, blinking his one eye at him. “What do you want? Huh? To tell me what an idiot I am?”

Cy’s tail flicked back and forth, and then he came a few steps nearer.

Slowly, Beckett extended his arm in the direction of the orange cat and held out his fingers. He wasn’t sure why he wanted Cy to come to him so bad, but he really did. Maybe it was because if you couldn’t get an animal to accept you, what the hell did that say about your chance with humans? For fuck’s sake. “Come on,” he whispered. Moving slow and easy, Beckett pushed himself into a sitting position and stretched a little closer.

Reaching out his neck like he wanted to sniff Beckett’s hand but wasn’t sure, Cy’s nose twitched and his ears quirked back.

The door to the gym clicked open.

Kat
.

Beckett rose instantly to his feet, sending the cat into flight across the gym and into the darkness.

“Hey, what are you doing down here?” Marz asked, crossing the room, showered and dressed for the day.

“I don’t know,” Beckett said, irrational disappointment flooding his gut. He’d wanted it to be Kat. So he could make sure she was okay. So he could apologize one more time. He heaved a deep breath.

“What’s up, B?” Marz asked, frowning.

Beckett shook his head. Even if it was within his character to talk about the shit that bothered him, which it totally was not, he
couldn’t
talk about this thing with Kat. She wanted to keep them quiet, and he’d agreed it was for the best. More than that, respecting her wishes was the least he could do.

Marz crossed his arms and nailed him with a stare. “Want me to take a guess or leave it alone?”