Chapter 1
Morgan
Seven years ago
“Come on, Morgan. Pleeeease.” Darcy begs.
“Why? How is this trip different than all the others?” I ask.
Darcy and I have been best friends since high school. Going on twelve years. We did what best friends do; spending most of our teen years partying on the weekends and recuperating from said partying during the week. The parties followed us through college, and although we’ve slowed down, our annual trips have not. But this time, I just don’t feel like going. It could possibly be from the bad experience I encountered on our last one. Nothing horrible happened, but it ended with me hooking up with a man who I thought was single, but when his wife walked in on us, I told myself I would never put myself in that situation again.
“Morg, don’t let one bad apple ruin everything.” Darcy sighs.
“Can you believe I still feel guilty over that? It’s been a year, for fuck’s sake.” I say.
“It wasn’t your fault.” she states. “He wasn’t wearing a ring, and flat out lied to you when you asked if he was married.”
“Still, I should have known. I can’t imagine walking in and seeing my husband eating another woman’s pussy. Marriage is sacred. It’s for better or for worse, in sickness and in health, and I helped ruin that for her.” I explain.
“He ruined that, not you. And anyway, I’m your best friend. Are you really going to let me go alone? And for two weeks, at that?” she asks.
Damn it, she would pull the best friend card.
“Fine! I’ll go! But this trip will not involve men, or muscles, or cock!” I yell.
“Never say never.” she winks. “Also, our flights are booked. I took the liberty of buying your plane ticket. I knew you couldn’t say no to me.”
“Bitch.” I chuckle.
“Slut.” she laughs.
It’s wintertime, and us Florida girls aren’t used to snow, so this year we are going to a ski resort in Colorado. The last two weeks, I’ve tried to mentally prepare myself, but all that preparation goes down the drain when I see him.
Tall, dark, and handsome; the cliche of cliches. His ski goggles sit atop a mass of dark wavy hair, and his close shaven beard surrounds a strong jaw, and kissable lips. I can’t look away, even when his brown eyes catch me staring. Whoever said brown eyes are boring, is out of their fucking mind. These are anything but. It’s as if I’m staring into a pool of melted milk chocolate.
I force myself to come back to reality, or possibly it was the cute smirk directed my way, but regardless, I made a pact with myself; no men, muscles, or cock.
The pink puffy ski jacket feels cool against my skin as I fumble with the sleeves. Coffee break is over. Maybe the slopes will chill the fire burning within me.
“Hey!” I hear a voice shout. Fuck, even his voice is smooth and sexy. Without a backwards glance, I grab my skis from the snow covered deck, and make my way to the lifts.
“Morgan! There you are. I’ve been looking all over for you.” Darcy exclaims breathlessly.
“Sorry. I needed a coffee break.” I reply. We hop onto the ski lift that will take us go the intermediate slopes. Neither of us are experts, but we’ve definitely graduated from beginners.
The cold wind kisses my face, yet it does nothing for the inner fire still aflame. Thankfully the park is huge, therefore what’s the chance of running into him again?
Darcy and I spend the day on the slopes until they close. We agree to meeting for dinner at the hotel restaurant once we shower and thaw, and we go our separate ways. She opted for a room of her own, but they are still on the same floor. I wouldn’t have minded us rooming together, but she said that would hinder her ability to get laid.
Wrapped in a soft towel, I search through my suitcase for something to wear. Knowing Darcy, she won’t let the cold weather stop her from wearing her normal short skirts, but I, on the other hand, choose warmth over sexy. With my clothes laid out on the bed, I look around for my wallet. The last place I had it was at the coffee shop, but I could have swore I zipped it back into my ski suit.
Thoughts of him flood my mind. On any other trip, I would have already been under him; naked and coming, but I made a pact that I refuse to break.
A knock on the door startles me. Darcy is probably ready to eat and to get her night started. One thing my best friend is not, is patient. Still wrapped in my towel, I rush to the door. It’s not like she’s never seen me like this before. Hell, she’s seen me naked, but not in a sexual way. Unless me having sex two years ago in the bed next to hers, counts.
“Darcy, we agreed to an hour!” I exclaim as I open the door.
“Hi.” the tall, dark, and handsome man from the coffee shop grins.
I can’t move. Clad in tight jeans and a sweater, he looks even better up close. I’m normal height, at 5’7”, but this man; holy fuck, he’s at least 6’4”. The water dripping between my cleavage brings me back to the present.
“Oh, my God!” I squeal, gripping the towel closer.
“Uh, sorry to intrude, but um, you left this behind earlier. I tried to catch you, but you were too quick.” he says. He’s holding my wallet in his large hands, but his eyes are on my breasts. My intent was to cover them, but instead, the tight grip has them spilling over the top of the towel.
“Thank you.” I say hoarsely. Yanking the small leather wallet from his grasp, I push the door closed. His foot stops it from closing all the way, and I peek through the crack,
“I’m Beckett, by the way. I hope to see you around, Morgan Tate.” he winks. I watch as he walks away, and I know in that moment, I’m doomed.
The next night proved it. Darcy went one way with the bartender, and with nothing else to do, I enter the elevator to call it a night. The door comes to a stop when a hand triggers it to reopen. Beckett. No words are spoken as the elevator begins its ascent. Our eyes meet in the floor to ceiling mirror, and I have no idea who moves first.
His mouth is on mine, and his tongue slips past my lips. My arms are trapped above my head as he assaults me with his kiss. The taste of whiskey penetrates my palate. I feel his hardness on my belly; grinding against me like a horny teenager. Yet I can’t stop my own movements.
The ding from the elevator snaps us apart. I step out, but he doesn’t move. He waits. The door begins to close, but this time, I stop it.
“Are you married?” I ask.
“What? Fuck, no. If I was, I wouldn’t be standing here hard as a rock for you.” he states adamantly.
I turn and walk away, knowing he’s following. The sexual tension is thick; looming over me on the long walk to my room. I tap the key against the door reader, and turn the handle.
His hand grabs my hair, yanking my head back. Long fingers wrap around my neck. “Are you?” he growls.
“No.” I whisper.
“When I take a wife, my cock will be for her only. I’m no cheater.” he hisses.
“Good. Now what do you say we put it to use for now.” I say rhetorically as I push open the door.
Beckett wastes no time. My clothes, and his, land in a pile on the floor. As if I’m light as a feather, he lifts me up, and my legs wrap around his muscular body.
“Tell me what you want, Morgan Tate.” he whispers.
“Fuck me. That’s what I want.” I beg. My breath escapes in a gasp from the force of being slammed against the wall.
“Condom?” Beckett sighs into my ear.
“Pill.” I reply, and then he’s filling me.
“Fuck, it’s so much better than I imagined.” he moans. His hands grip my ass, pulling me against him as he thrusts hard into my pussy. This is the best sex I’ve ever had, and it’s barely even started.
The cool air hits my back. This man has some major moves. Standing in the middle of my hotel room, he lifts me up and down over his cock with no support. I’ve been with men of all shapes and sizes, but never have I gotten so consumed with someone as I am with Beckett right now. Have I had bigger? Yes. That’s not to say the cock doing delicious things to me at the moment, isn’t big. He is, but he’s not so big it’s uncomfortable.
He walks me over to the desk, sets my ass on the edge, and gives it to me harder.
“Ah, fuck!” I scream. I feel his hand squeeze my throat; cutting off my oxygen, and I have no choice but to fall head first into the orgasm of a lifetime. Beckett captures my screams with his mouth, sinks deeper with his shaft, and releases. I feel the warmth of his come as it pumps violently against the walls of my pussy.
“My God, woman. You are like a fucking drug. Holy shit, that was incredible.” he whispers. Beckett is trembling, or is it me? “Morgan, what have you done to me?”
“What have we done to each other?” I ask, realizing we’ve both been shaken to our core.
Over the next week, our nights end just like this; in each other’s arms, yet still wanting more. We lay awake talking, confessing our hopes and dreams, but not acknowledging what we feel.
I learned he comes from money, but he’s also earned his own. The hotel belongs to his parents, but he eventually wants to open up his own. He’s 28 years old, has never been married, and travels a lot for work. This visit is for pleasure, though.
“So what about you, Morgan Tate? What do you do for work?” he asks.
“I’m a wedding planner. Well, not just weddings, but that’s my main hustle.” I reply.
“Were you born and raised in Florida?” he questions.
“Yes, despite my pale skin.” I chuckle. “I know you said you don’t have a house because you travel a lot, but where are you from?”
“Virginia. And yes, I travel a lot, but that’s only because I can. If an offer presented itself, I wouldn’t mind planting my roots somewhere.” Beckett says.
The warmth of his skin is comforting. I feel him shift as he rolls his body weight over me. It’s only been a week, yet I feel as if we could offer each other everything that’s been missing in our lives.
