Redeem Me (Beckett Brothers #2)

35. Ivy

Chapter Thirty-Five

IVY

I’ve never been on a private jet before. I certainly didn’t expect to be on Caelon Beckett’s jet, yet here I am, sipping champagne, with Orla and Owen watching Taylor Swift’s Eras Tour on a sixty-inch cinema screen.

The flight to Faro takes a little over two hours. We breeze through security, the scent of summer lingering in the air. Caelon, with Damon at his side, is waiting for us in arrivals. He looks absolutely devastating in a crisp white shirt that complements his olive skin. His sleeves are rolled up to reveal tanned forearms covered with masculine veins that look like a map to my own personal treasure. His inky hair is slightly tousled as if he’s been raking his fingers through it in frustration. Dark, dubious eyes light up as he spots us.

‘Daddy!’ Owen and Orla scream, running to him. It’s a battle not to do the same. He’s only been gone a few days, but it feels like an eternity. I’ve been missing him more than I have any right to. I have no idea where this thing between us is going. The only thing I do know is that my stomach flips uncontrollably every time his name appears on my phone.

Caelon lifts his kids up, one in each arm, kisses their foreheads tenderly, and squeezes them to his chest. My ovaries sing like a pair of sopranos.

Caelon’s eyes lock on mine, rake over my face, then linger on my lips for a beat before dropping to my chest. He lifts an eyebrow, and I bite back my smirk. I deliberately chose a short white summer dress. One that’s light and airy, and so low at the back, it’s impossible to wear a bra.

‘Ivy.’ He places the kids on the ground and gives me his full attention. Damon watches on with a neutral expression, but a hint of curiosity lights his eyes. I’m guessing Caelon hasn’t flown too many other women out to meet him on his business trips.

I expect Caelon to be cold, reserved and professional in front of Damon, but he stalks towards me and presses a tender kiss on my cheek. His lips sear my skin. The gesture is so chaste compared to what we’ve done, but it sets my soul alight.

‘Welcome to Portugal,’ he murmurs into my ear, and I get a lungful of his woodsy, masculine scent.

He takes Owen’s hand and slips the other on the base of my back, guiding us out of the airport and into the bright Portuguese sunshine. Heat shoots up my spine, but it has nothing to do with the climate. Orla falls into step beside me, chattering about the flight, the sunset, the sweets the air stewardess gave her, and Roxy, who Liz and Samuel have promised to take care of.

All I can focus on is Caelon’s palm. Specifically, the tremors it’s sending through my body.

Throughout the forty-minute drive, Orla and Owen ask a million questions about Caelon’s week, about the size of the hotel pool, and if they can buy a dolphin while they’re here.

Caelon answers with the patience of a man who has genuinely missed his children, though the primal glances he keeps tossing at my tits are anything but patient. I swear, if the kids weren’t here, he’d have them in his mouth by now. I don’t even think Damon’s presence would stop him.

We pass a gigantic billboard for a waterpark and the kids press their noses against the glass in their desperation for a closer look. Taking full advantage of their distraction, Caelon leans across and traces his tongue over my lips in a slow, seductive gesture. I glance at Damon in the driver’s seat, my eyes widening.

‘You are in so much trouble,’ Caelon murmurs in my ear.

‘The dog?’ I knew he’d be mad, but I don’t regret my decision.

‘Not the dog. What did I tell you about those damn dresses?’ he growls, and my core clenches. When we finally reach the hotel, I’m not sure if I need a cold drink or a cold shower.

Damon drops us at the gleaming glass entrance. The front of the building comprises brilliant white marble, the name, Bliss, carved directly into the wall in a bold italic font with a gold leaf inlay that sparkles under the setting sun. “A Beckett Hotel” is written in a smaller font beneath it, and it hits me with a sudden clarity just how successful Caelon and his brothers are.

Caelon greets the immaculately dressed staff with a curt nod before ushering us through a bright, airy lobby and directly to a glass lift. ‘We’re in the penthouse. The porters will bring the bags up shortly,’ he tells us.

As we start our ascent, I soak in the panoramic views below; a crystal-clear infinity pool overlooking a stunning sandy beach, rugged cliffs, and azure-glittering water as far as the eye can see. I can’t believe I’m here. That this is real.

‘Can we swim in the pool, Daddy?’ Owen asks, pressing his hands and face against the glass.

‘Tomorrow, buddy. You’ve had a big day travelling.’ Caelon ruffles Owen’s hair. ‘It’s almost bedtime.’ The feral look he shoots me suggests I won’t be getting any sleep, though. A burst of butterflies soar through my stomach as I clench my thighs together.

The penthouse is every bit as opulent as the rest of the hotel. A huge, open-plan living area with a wraparound terrace overlooks the sea. There are three bedrooms, each with their own enormous en suites, plus a master bathroom with a rainforest-type shower with mood lighting and a million different settings.

‘And you call this work?’ I tease Caelon as he gives us the tour.

He lets out a long, slow breath. ‘Don’t get me started on work. It’s been a shitshow this week. One complication after another. I’ve got planning problems, and permits and paperwork coming out of my ears.’

‘You sound like you need a distraction,’ I whisper, brushing my body against his as I pass to help Orla take her sandals off.

‘I’m permanently distracted watching the nanny cam, and that’s half the problem,’ he moans.

An hour later, both kids are asleep in one of the queen-sized beds, wrecked from the impromptu journey.

‘Hungry?’ Caelon asks, retrieving a bottle of Louis Roederer Cristal Brut from the fridge. He’s changed into a pair of navy linen shorts and a white polo shirt that’s every bit as appealing as his earlier outfit.

‘I told you before, I never met a calorie I didn’t like,’ though the only thing I really want to eat is him. It must be apparent on my face because his lips lift in a wolfish grin.

He pops the cork and pours the champagne into two long-stemmed glasses. ‘Dirty girl.’

I shrug. ‘My boyfriend–or is it “partner” — banned me from touching myself.’

‘Damn right he did.’ Caelon pulls me towards him, until we’re chest-to-chest, hip-to-hip, and I can feel his arousal pressing against my pelvis. ‘I want all of those orgasms detonating on my face, on my hand, or on my cock.’

I swallow hard at his filthy words, at the images they stir in my brain. ‘Don’t hold back or anything, hey?’

‘Oh, believe me, baby, I don’t plan to.’ His voice is low and gruff . The way he calls me baby makes my insides melt. Given how I’ve been babied my entire life, it should feel irritating. Instead, it feels intimate.

‘Promises, promises.’ I run my tongue over my lower lip and take a sip of the champagne.

‘Are you wet for me?’ His hand reaches beneath my dress, cupping the junction between my legs.

‘Obviously.’ I roll my eyes.

His fingers snake inside my panties and slide over my seam. ‘Up on the island. I need a closer look.’

‘No,’ I say, putting down my glass.

His black eyes blaze. ‘What do you mean, no? Don’t you want me to lick your delicious little cunt until you come all over my face?’

I inhale a sharp breath. His filthy mouth might just be the death of me. ‘Of course I do, but first I’d like to wrap my mouth around your delicious big dick until you come in the back of my throat.’

It’s his turn to inhale sharply. ‘And I thought I had a filthy mouth. I think I may just have met my match.’ Deft hands reach around my back and loosen the gigantic bow tying my dress, which slides to the floor, leaving me standing in nothing other than a white silk thong and silver-heeled sandals. His gaze roams hungrily over my body. ‘I will never tire of looking at you like this.’ He reaches for my already hard nipples and rolls them between his fingers. ‘Do you know how distracting it’s been, knowing you’re in my house while I’m stuck here? You’re like poison, Ivy. I’ve tasted you and now I’m ruined. ’

‘Let me taste you.’ I breathe him in, drinking in his intoxicating cologne and pure masculine scent of his skin.

‘Over there.’ He points to a luxurious daybed with a thick mattress on the terrace. He picks up our glasses and tucks the champagne bottle under his toned arm.

I don’t need telling twice. I practically run out of the door, desperate to feel his dick in my mouth, then in my centre. He follows languidly, a smile lifting his lips. ‘The impatience of youth,’ he tuts.

‘The impatience of a woman who has been sexually starved since Sunday.’ I motion for him to lie on the bed.

‘It was four days,’ he reminds me.

‘Exactly.’

He places the champagne on a small, circular glass table and lies down. I reach for his shorts and tug them off, along with his black boxer briefs. He’s rock hard and my lips are around him within seconds.

‘Not so fast.’ His palms rest on my cheeks. ‘Turn around and back your ass this way. I want you to ride my face.’

My moan reverberates over his shaft, and he laughs, actually laughs, as I spin my body round and shamelessly back up onto his face, yanking my thong to the side, all without taking my mouth from him.

‘Good girl,’ he purrs. He offers my slit a long languid lick before his tongue plunges into my centre. I take him deep into my throat before running my tongue back up to his tip as I rock back.

My hums of pleasure vibrate around his cock and the taste of precum fills my mouth, leaving me desperate for more. Firm hands grip my ass, stilling me as he catches my clit in his mouth and hums out his own appreciative moans.

It’s carnal.

I don’t care that anyone with a drone or long-lens camera could see us. All I care about is the magic he’s working with his tongue, and making magic with mine.

My legs shake, my orgasm building with every passing second. I work his cock at an increasingly frantic pace. I’m so close to coming, and I’m determined to drag him into oblivion with me.

‘Ivy,’ his voice is guttural, low and weighted with warning.

I take him as deep as I can, and when the first rope-like spurt hits the back of my throat, primal pleasure ruptures through me. White hot pleasure consumes me as I swallow his release with a sense of satisfaction.

Looks like we’ve both been poisoned, because I’m officially ruined for anyone but him.