Mother Faker: Chapter 27


There’s only one bed,” I whisper into the phone.

“One what?” Dylan asks.

“One. Bed,” I hiss.

“Oh!” Dylan sounds far too happy on the other end of the line. “Where is he right now?”

“Taking a shower. He told me to rest. That he had, and I quote, big plans for me tonight.”

“Oh my God. You are so getting laid.”

I lick my lips. I’m pretty sure whatever Beckett has planned cannot be categorized as “getting laid.” The man spit in my fucking mouth, and I liked it.

I always thought if a man did something like that, I’d knee him in the balls. But when Beckett Langfield spit champagne onto my tongue, I went feral. I almost begged him to do it again.

God. Beckett fucking Langfield is a beast, and I am here for it.

“Well, you heard the man. Get off the phone and go rest up.”

Setting my phone on the nightstand, I blow out a breath. I’m so damn wired. I can’t possibly rest right now. Besides, what if I do nod off and he finds me like that? I don’t know how I look when I’m sleeping, but when a man who looks like a fucking god is taking a shower, potentially preparing to ravage me, well… I don’t want to be lounging in bed looking like a pig. And I mean like a literal pig. When I’m overheated, my arms turn pink, and I can’t possibly put a sweater back on to cover them. It’s too freaking hot in this city.

Stop, Liv. Beckett obviously likes what he sees.

“I was always looking. And I always liked what I saw.” Beckett’s words leave me squirming once again, dying for relief.

Maybe I’ll listen to an audiobook for a bit. Get out of my head. Focus on this fictional couple I’ve been reading about who can’t get out of their own way. Yeah, that’s exactly what I need.

Do you want me to fuck you until you know you’re mine?” Joe Arden’s voice startles me into consciousness. God, that man could read the phone book and it would sound sexy. I must have dozed off for a few. I blink a few times only to find my husband’s gaze focused solely on me.

Shit, the damn audiobook is still playing. Loudly. I scramble for it and have to tap the pause icon on the screen half a dozen times before it stops.

In the ensuing silence, I peek up at Beckett. Damn. He was insanely hot stroking himself last week, but I didn’t get a long enough look. Now he stands before me, towel slung dangerously low on his hips, brown hair tousled and wet, his green eyes more intense than I’ve ever seen them.

“Who the hell is talking to you?” he growls, grabbing for my phone.

I squeal and clasp it to my chest. “It’s no one.”

Jaw hardened and face turning redder by the moment, he balls his fists and looms over me on the bed. “I thought I was clear. So long as we’re married, it’s just you and me.”

“Huh?” I’m too stunned and turned on by this growly man to understand what the hell he’s going on about. Then his scent hits me—clean, fresh, manly—and all coherent thought leaves me.

He closes his eyes and works his jaw from side to side. When he focuses on me again, he sighs. “I thought—” He swallows thickly, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “I don’t share, Livy. If you’re seeing someone else, we should end this now.”

Oh. Oh my God, he thinks there was a man on the phone. Not Joe Arden, my favorite narrator, but a man… who was going to fuck me until he proved I was his? I almost giggle at the sentiment. It’s ridiculous, like completely absurd. Men don’t talk like that in real life. That’s the kind of book boyfriend stuff that Dylan is always going on about.

“Beckett.” My voice is breathy as I laugh through the word.

His eyes turn to slits.

“No, baby, I… I would never cheat on you.”

Who in their right mind would cheat on a man who looks like the one hovering above me? A man with a jawline like that. With the most sexy, sinewy muscles and eyes that are, at this moment, glistening at the mere thought of me talking to someone else.

A man who rocks toddlers to sleep and loves spending time with precocious four-year-olds and makes bracelets with eight-year-old girls to cheer them up. Yeah, only an idiot would cheat on him.

Beckett scrutinizes me, his head bent over me, but he says nothing.

“It’s an audiobook. See?” I hold up the phone and show him the cover displayed on the lock screen. Then, just to be sure he understands, I press play, and suddenly, we’re taken into a scene where my man Joe is threatening to bend his love interest over her desk if she doesn’t admit she’s his.

Beckett crouches beside the bed and drops his forehead to my chest. Fully engulfed in embarrassment now, I suck on my bottom lip to keep it from trembling. When he starts to shake, I push at his shoulder, forcing him up, and find tears streaming down his face. He’s laughing so hard he’s crying.

“Holy shit. What are you listening to?”

With a huff, I push against his chest. “Shut it.”

He wipes his eyes and reaches for my hand. “Workplace romance?”

I groan. “You are going to be so annoying about this, aren’t you?”

The way one side of his lips quirks up is all the answer I need. “Not at all. But maybe we could listen to it together later. Get some ideas?”

“No,” I hiss, tugging but unable to free my wrist from his grasp.

With a chuckle, he nods toward the bathroom. “I ran a bath for you. Go relax… or listen to your audiobook. I’ve got some work to do before we head out.”

My heart sinks just a little. I kind of wish we weren’t going out. Now that Joe has gotten me all worked up and Beckett is standing before me looking like that, how could I not want to stay in? But I paste on a small smile and let him help me. Once I’m on my feet, he loops an arm around my waist and pulls me against his chest. Hand to my jaw, he lifts it and kisses me. It’s soft and gentle at first, but it quickly turns hungry. Fueled by lust, our tongues tangle together. With one final nip at my lip, he pulls back. “If you fuck like you kiss, I’m never giving you up.”

Damn. My knees wobble and my stomach flips. What was I saying about book boyfriends again?

The water in the jacuzzi is steaming, and the only light comes from the one in the shower, creating a dim, peaceful aura. Exhaling all my stress, I turn away from the mirror and undress. Why do hotel bathrooms always have mirrors in every direction? Who needs to see themselves while in the shower? Or while they’re on the freaking toilet?

I swear, this generation just likes looking at themselves.

Not me. I’d prefer no mirrors, especially while I’m undressing. Sometimes I still feel like a twenty-year-old with perky boobs, but one quick look down affirms that isn’t true. I’ve never been slim, but I haven’t always been so flabby.

With a pinch of the extra skin on my stomach, I let out another long sigh.

Then I snort when I think about the look on Beckett’s face when he walked in on me listening to my audiobook. The man was legitimately jealous. It’s barely believable that I landed one hot man. Does he really think I’m the kind of woman men like him would fight over?

God, he’s delusional.

Exhaling, I step into the tub and sink beneath the warm water. Toeing the faucet knob, I twist it to add just a little more, then I turn on the jets and close my eyes.

“Holy shit, Livy. Corey Matthews is about to pitch a no-hitter.” Beckett flies into the bathroom, holding up his phone. “And Miller hit a grand slam.”

“Really? God, that man is good. Too bad he’s so happy in New York.”

Cortney Miller is one of the best catchers in the MLB, and he’s known for his ability to calm even the rowdiest of pitchers. Unlike Clayton, our current catcher, who keeps getting into pissing matches with Damiano. Don’t get me wrong, the guy can be a pain in the ass, but it’s the catcher’s job to settle him. Clayton tends to throw fuel on the fire instead.

“Fucking tell me about it,” Beckett grumbles, settling himself on the edge of the tub. He turns and holds his phone so we can both watch as Matthews winds up the pitch again, and… “Strike!” Beckett hollers.

He turns to me, wearing one of those big smiles I see more and more every day. When our eyes connect, it’s like a lightbulb goes on, and in the same instant, we both realize I’m naked under the bubbles created by the jets.

He scans the surface of the water and licks his lips. “Sorry I interrupted your bath.” His voice comes out almost hoarse.

I can’t help but examine his chest, which is still bare, though he’s pulled on a pair of navy athletic shorts. The smattering of dark hair across his pecs ignites a low flame in my belly. Because I’m a glutton for punishment, I follow its trail down, wishing he was naked too.

“It’s okay.” Nibbling on my bottom lip, I shrug.

The movement catches his attention, and his gaze lowers to the surface of the water, where I unintentionally flashed just a peek at my breasts. His phone clatters to the tile floor, and an instant later, his hand is in my hair and his mouth is crashing against mine. Somehow he pulls me close while managing to hold himself above the water.

The kiss goes on and on, desperate and filled with promises. Every swipe of his tongue fans the flames burning inside me. God, if this man doesn’t make me come tonight, I’m going to cry.

“Beckett,” I pant, overheated. Maybe from the hot water and the steam rising around us, but mostly because of his rough kisses.

With his thumb, he pulls on my bottom lip and smiles. “Yes, Livy?”

“What are we doing?” I whisper, delirious.

“Do you want me to narrate it for you?” He presses closer, his lips ghosting my ear. “If you don’t want me to touch you, tell me to stop.”

There is no world in which I’d tell him to stop. “I want you to touch me.”

He smiles against my cheek. “Where?”

My mind goes completely blank. I’m not a dirty talking person; I don’t even know how.

“Use your words, Livy,” he says in that smooth voice I’m starting to believe is doused in whiskey. “Or should I use mine?”

“Yours,” I husk out.

Beckett’s responding chuckle vibrates against me, sending goose bumps skittering across my skin. “Beg, Livy. I love it when you beg.”

My voice wobbles as I plead with him. “Please, Beckett.”

He drags his lips down my neck and nips at my shoulder. “You taste so fucking good. I can’t wait to lick you clean. Would you like that, Livy? You want my tongue between those thighs?” His fingers trail down my arm until he dips his hand beneath the water. When he palms my upper thigh and lets out a moan, I almost die. “You feel so fucking good.” He pulls back and studies me, as if he needs to see my reaction to his every dirty word. “I want these thighs squeezing my head. Will you do that for me?”

His green eyes are full of nothing but honesty.

Want. Need. Desire.

I bite my lip in response, pulling a curse from him.

“Fuck.” His lips are on mine again, taking me in another rough kiss while he slides a hand between my thighs and presses two fingers against my slit.

With the jets on high, it’s impossible to watch what he’s doing, but the way he narrates his actions is hotter than any visual I could imagine.

“So fucking perfect. You gonna let me fuck this soft pussy with my fingers, Livy? Gonna milk them for me? Come all over them and then let me lick you clean?”

My God, this man could make me come with his words alone. My eyes roll back as he slides one finger between my lips.

“So fucking warm.” He groans. “So fucking perfect.”

With his thumb on my clit, he circles gently before adding a second finger. “Gotta get you ready for me. You’re too tight right now. My cock needs room to breathe in there.”

I can’t help the breathy laugh that escapes as I arch my back. “Such an ego.”

He bites my shoulder again. “Confidence, Livy. Now, be a good girl and fucking come on my hand so I can finally eat what I’ve spent years hungry for.”

The circles don’t stop as he fucks me with his fingers and slides his tongue into my mouth. His movements only get more quick, more frantic, until I’m biting down on his lip and writhing against his hand, the heat in my belly exploding through my limbs.

“Fuck, baby, yes,” I murmur.

When I come down and focus on him again, Beckett licks my lips and holds his hand still, his eyes laser-focused on me. “That’s the second time you’ve called me that.”

Breathless, I blink at him. “What?”

“Baby. You called me baby, Livy. You falling for your husband?”

Pressing my lips together and looking away, I push against him, but he refuses to let go.

He holds me right there, with his fingers inside me, and uses his free hand to tilt my chin so I’m forced to look at him. “Tell me you’re falling for your husband… please?”

His expression is so earnest. The desire to be desired is a concept I understand well. But even if I didn’t, I’m no liar. All I can tell him is the truth. “Yeah… my husband is definitely growing on me.”

His smile widens, then his lips are pressed to mine, almost like he can’t not kiss me. “Oh yeah?” he murmurs against my lips. “That’s good, because I’m beyond obsessed with my wife.”

We stare at each other for a long moment then. I don’t know what game we’re playing, and I’m not sure how we got here, but I can’t summon the energy to worry about it right now. The orgasm only made me more ravenous for him.

“I need you,” I whisper. “If you’re so obsessed with your wife, then show me.”


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