I consider pushing back against him, refusing to give him my backside. I know it will immediately ease my fear because I do not fuck doggy style.

Never.

Not since that night.

I’m betting the few partners I’ve had just assumed that means I’m just too vanilla for that, or maybe they just don’t care as long as they get to fuck me, but I’ve never been pressured before to do it. Only one guy had an issue with it, and he ultimately declared me too boring in bed to satisfy his needs when I refused.

Of course, he only said that after he fucked me missionary and got his rocks off.

But as much as this situation concerns me, there’s an equal part that is curious. My fight-or-flight response would normally gear me to flight, too terrified to do anything that would too closely resemble those vague flashes of memory that haunt me.

But Beck has proven to be different. That was apparent the minute he made me orgasm that first time, and thus there is a part of me that has formed a measure of trust in him to not hurt me. This part of Sela Halstead wants to push at my boundaries even though I’m scared shitless to do so.

With a deep breath, I take a moment to also remind myself that I don’t want to do anything to turn Beck off. I don’t want him to lose interest in me, and thus lose my tenuous connection he gives me to Townsend. So as if that sentiment almost gives me permission to explore my desire for him, I decide to let Beck have his way with me from a position where I can’t see a damn thing he’s doing to me.

My hands lower to the dark Danish teak wood to support myself and I lower my torso until my ribbon-covered breasts are mashed against the table. I turn my head to the side, rest my cheek against the cool surface, and stare out the window at the twinkling lights of the Bay Bridge. I take deep breaths to try to calm my racing heart, which is fueled in equal parts by apprehension and desire.

“I think this might be the most beautiful and amazing gift I’ve ever been given,” he says, and I know he’s knelt behind me as I can feel his warm breath from those words whisper against the flesh between my legs.

He doesn’t touch me though, and doesn’t say another word, which makes my heart pound harder. I only feel the warmth of his breath fluttering and I start to tense with anticipation.

Crack.

His palm comes down on my right ass cheek with the force of what feels like a sonic boom. It scares me so badly I scream, “Fuck!” and push upward from the table, but then just as quickly groan and flop back down when he sinks a finger inside of me.

My legs start to buckle as Beck runs his lips over the stinging skin on my butt and his finger moves gently in and out of my pussy. He bares his teeth, bites my flesh, and murmurs against me, “That was for the old man comment.”

I laugh for just a brief moment, almost hysterically, as I realize with relief that he just spanked me and it wasn’t all that bad. But then it’s not so funny anymore when his finger is gone and his tongue takes its place. He works at me from behind, finally bringing his hands into play to help spread my legs further with extreme gentleness.

Beck groans in delight as he licks and sucks at me, making it sound as if I’m the most delicious present he’s ever had. No matter how many times he has had his mouth on me down there, I still always marvel at his voracious appetite and his clear love of making me come this way. The man has some serious oral skills.

“Christ, Sela,” Beck says as he pulls his mouth away from me and replaces his tongue with two fingers now. “You’re so wet. You’re pussy is fucking begging for my cock, isn’t it?”

I nod against the wood, but just so he knows my thoughts are still with him, I whisper, “I’m begging for it, Beck.”

He laughs darkly, pushes his fingers in extra deep, but just as quickly they’re gone as I feel him stand up behind me.

An undercurrent of panic fills me when I hear him tearing open a condom packet and the sound of his belt being pulled free of his pants. When his hands grab on to my hips, I have to suppress the urge to scramble away from him. The only other time a man has been behind me, he fucked me in the ass with no lube, and it tore me up so bad I bled terribly. I imagine it was quite the surprise to the doctors who worked on me in the hospital when I was brought in bleeding from my wrist, to find blood in my panties as well.

The looks of pity on their faces…

My eyes prick with unwanted tears and I blink against them furiously. I want to tell him to stop, or maybe to just be careful with me, but then the tip of his cock is being pressed to my pussy. Immediate relief and lust slam into me so powerfully that I actually have to suppress the urge to ram myself backward onto his shaft. This is proof positive that Beck North has definitely broken through some barriers I have with regard to sex.

“Happy birthday,” I tell him again softly, a tacit permission for him to do with his present what he wants, but also to myself. It’s permission to myself that I’m allowed to enjoy this.

He doesn’t disappoint, punching his hips forward and filling me up in one seamless stroke.

I cry out from the force of the pleasure that rockets through my body.

“Fuck yeah,” Beck groans, and immediately sets a quick pace. The feel of his length moving in and out of me, the friction and sounds, the smell of his cologne and the extinguished candles in the air. It all makes me dizzy with lust, hungry to get him to completion, and an almost savage need he’s created within me for a nuclear orgasm that apparently only he can hand out to me.

Beck pounds inside of me, the head of his cock hitting that most sensitive spot, and my orgasm curls inward before blowing apart. I cry out his name, as it’s become my habit to do so, and it causes Beck to plant deep as he starts to come right along with me, and all I can think is that this is the best feeling in the entire world.

He bends his body, curls around me, his hands slipping around my waist. His labored breath ruffles at my hair and I can’t help but smile when he murmurs, “Best. Birthday. Ever.”

Chapter 12

Beck

I cut two slices of the cake that Sela bought, and even though I detest raspberry, I know I’ll give my best groan of pleasure when it hits my tongue so she knows how much I appreciate what she’s done. I cannot even remember the last time someone recognized my birthday, outside of Linda giving me a card each year and Caroline calling me on my birthday, which is way better than a card.

My parents, the cold, emotionless robots that they are, never celebrated birthdays in an intimate way. When Caroline and I were younger, they would, of course, throw huge parties and invite everyone in their social circle. There would be ostentatious food, pony rides, clowns, bouncy houses, and a gazillion presents for Caroline and me. But that wasn’t really for us. That was for show.