Beckett stood stoically in front of Cleo's bedroom door. He was about ready to go out, head into the city for the day and meet up with Tyler; drink some beers, eat a whole lot of food and if their adventure turned into a night of partying then he was more than ready to let loose. The King men and the Sutherland women had been back from their trip to Bora Bora for a few days, and he figured since their return his father and Charlotte would be over the excited phase of the new step in their relationship. It wasn't the first time either of them were getting married after all. Beckett wouldn't have been so triggered if his father hadn't made it his mission to include him in whatever it was he was trying to achieve. Making a new family when Beckett was more than happy with his last one, or lack of one rather. Beckett had not only survived but thrived existing mostly on his lonesome. But it seemed this wasn't going to be the case anymore, and he was starting to battle with the existential crisis that perhaps, just maybe, the Sutherland's were here to stay. That thought angered him even more because now Beckett was contemplating running away, going back to college or taking an internship at one his fathers companies in Europe, halfway across the world just to get away from this shit.
With a few nails in his right hand and a hammer in his left, at the behest of his father he was here to 'help' Cleo hang up 'some pictures'. Though when he moved all her shit in he was adamant he only saw one fucking picture. The painting of her half naked form that was surprisingly tasteful but he wasn't about to admit that to her face. He had been successful in avoiding her the past few days, since the incident of his unfortunate hard on when she had been set on his lap. Though it had been much harder to forget Cleo's tiny hand firmly caressing his dick through his pants as she teased him. Alluring glances with taunting words that he still praised himself he had the urge to thwart. What she had been doing had felt good, but he was strong enough to focus on her more than cruel intentions.
Shit, those thoughts had been fucking with his sleep. Some nights all he could think about was Cleo's ass grinding against him, hands trailing everywhere, and her mouth doing things that would make her mother scream if she knew. Jesus fucking Christ. He knew it was wrong, thinking and contemplating on those thoughts but most of the time he found he couldn't stop, and the other times he didn't want to. Pressing his lips tightly together Beckett considered for the first time in his life, being considerate would perhaps help him out, and he decided to knock on her door instead of just barge in. God forbid, she was getting changed, or worse...
Fuck. He pounded on her door with his fist, and with a large sigh he reminded himself to be quick, sooner he was done sooner he could get the hell out of here. "Hurry up, Cleo, I've got shit to do."