They weren't supposed to be alone tonight.
Rhea's best friend, Madison, had finally arrived that morning with her usual high energy and iced coffee obsession. She'd barely dropped her suitcase before dragging Rhea and Beck into town for groceries and gossip.
But by nightfall, Madison was passed out upstairs after three glasses of cheap sangria, face-first in a guest bed with her AirPods still in.
So now, it was just the two of them.
Rhea and Beck.
On the oversized couch, with the lights low, the stormy summer sky flickering every few minutes through the glass windows.
"I'm bored," Beck had said.
"You're always bored," Rhea replied.
"So let's play something."
"I'm not playing Monopoly with you again. You cheat."
He grinned. "Truth or Dare."
She gave him a look. "You're nineteen."
"And you're stalling."
She raised a brow. "Fine. Truth."
He didn't even blink. "Have you ever touched yourself thinking about me?"
Silence.
She reached for her wine without answering.
"Red cheeks," he muttered. "That's a yes."
"Dare," she snapped.
"Take your panties off."
She choked on her sip.
"Beck-Madison is upstairs-"
"She sleeps like a rock. And I'll be quiet," he said. "Can you?"
Rhea stared at him. That smug tilt to his mouth. That unbothered slouch of his long legs. And the way his eyes pinned her down.
Slowly, her hand slid under her blanket. Then under the hem of her shorts. She pulled them off inch by inch, letting them slide down her legs. He watched every movement.
Her panties dropped to the floor.
His eyes dragged up from her bare thighs to her chest.
"Truth or Dare?" she asked, breath catching.
"Dare."
"Kiss me. But not on the mouth."
He didn't even hesitate.
Beck shifted forward, closing the space between them. His hand slid under the blanket. Then over her thigh. Up. Up.
He pressed his mouth to the inside of her knee.
Rhea's breath hitched.
Higher.
A kiss just above the joint.
Another, mid-thigh.
Her fingers curled into the blanket.
He didn't go where she expected.
He leaned up, mouth at her neck now, breath against her ear.
"Can't stop thinking about how wet you were in the bathroom this morning," he murmured.
"Beck-"
He pulled back just enough to look her in the eyes.
"You want me to stop?"
She couldn't speak.
"Truth or Dare," he whispered.
She swallowed. "Truth."
"What would you do if Madison walked in right now?"
Her legs tightened instinctively. "I'd kill you."
He smirked. "But you wouldn't tell me to stop."
His hand moved under the blanket again.
This time, it landed between her thighs.
Two fingers.
She gasped.
"Keep your voice down," he said, kissing her neck again. "Or do you want her to hear how desperate you are?"
Rhea's nails dug into the cushion.
His fingers worked slow, deep, with an obscene kind of patience.
"Fuck," she whispered, forehead pressed to his shoulder.
"I knew you'd sound like this," he murmured.
"Please," she moaned.
"Please what?"
"Please keep going."
He groaned softly, kissing her harder, biting her shoulder gently.
"Next time she leaves the house," he whispered, "I'm going to eat you out on this couch until you forget your own name."
Rhea came shaking in his arms.
And Beck just held her. Smirking against her skin.
Because upstairs?
Madison had no idea.
But down here?
Her best friend's cousin had already won.
___
It wasn't even midnight.
Rhea was in her room, pretending to read, when she got the text.
Beck: You moan like you're trying to get caught.
Her stomach flipped. Instantly.
Rhea: Go to sleep.
Beck: Say my name. Just once. Beck: Bet you won't.
She didn't respond.
Three minutes later, a soft knock at her door.
Not loud. Not urgent. Just... there.
She opened it without thinking.
And there he was. Barefoot. Hoodie on. Grey sweats. Hair still messy from the couch.
"Madison's still asleep," he whispered. "So keep your voice down."
She opened her mouth to scold him. But he was already stepping in. Already locking the door behind him. Already walking her back with nothing but his stare.
"Beck-"
His hand wrapped around the back of her neck.
Not hard. But firm.
And then his lips were on hers.
No hesitation. No build-up. Just filth and hunger and possession. His other hand slid around her waist, pulling her against him.
Rhea moaned. Quietly.
Beck broke the kiss, mouth barely apart from hers.
"That sound," he whispered. "That exact sound you made last night when I slipped two fingers inside you."
Her knees buckled. He caught her.
And backed her up until her legs hit the bed.
He sat down. Spread his legs. Pulled her between them.
"You don't have to say yes," he murmured, lips brushing her stomach. "But if you stay standing here in this t-shirt, looking at me like that, I'll take it as permission."
She didn't move. Didn't stop him.
He tugged her shorts down first. Then her panties.
One knee bent on the bed, the other foot still on the floor. She was standing in front of him, trembling.
"Sit," he said. "Right here."
She lowered onto his thigh.
He guided her with both hands-one on her waist, the other between her legs. Until she was straddling him, pussy against the soft cotton of his sweats, hips grinding just slightly with every breath.
He groaned. "Fuck, Rhea. You're soaked already."
"Beck-"
"Say my name," he whispered.
She shook her head.
"I won't go any further until you do."
His hand moved. Rubbed her against him. Slow, circular, cruel.
She whimpered.
"Say it."
She leaned forward, forehead against his. "Beck."
"Louder."
"Beck-"
He slid his hand between her legs again. This time, two fingers slipped in-slow, but deep.
She cried out, clamping her lips shut as he smirked.
"Again."
She gasped. "Beck."
He kissed her. Hard. Then laid her back on the bed.
"Keep saying it," he growled. "I want to hear how many times I can make you scream it without waking your best friend."
His mouth trailed down her chest. Tongue flicking over her nipple, fingers curling deeper inside her.
She twisted in the sheets.
He moved lower.
"I want to taste you," he whispered against her hip. "But you're going to look at me while I do it."
Her legs were already shaking.
His mouth reached her core.
Tongue flat. Slow. Groaning like he hadn't eaten in days.
She arched off the bed. He held her down.
One hand on her stomach, one under her thigh. His mouth worked like sin itself. Sucking. Flicking. Cruel and perfect.
"Beck," she moaned. "Oh my god, Beck."
"That's it," he breathed against her. "Say it again. Say it until you come."
She did.
Once. Twice. She lost count.
When he finally slid up her body, mouth slick, pupils blown wide, she kissed him without thinking.
Tasted herself. Tasted the trouble. Didn't care.
"Do you still think this is wrong?" he asked.
She exhaled. "I don't know what I think anymore."
He leaned down. Whispered into her ear.
"Then let me show you until you forget how to think at all."
And that night-she didn't whisper his name.
She chanted it.
