Astor Hill

Chapter 22

22

Olivia

I hadn’t spoken to Ben since the gala because I didn’t want Will to be right about me. At the end of the day, Will and I didn’t work because of issues that predate Ben’s entrance in our lives. Ben just… pulled the curtain back. And even though I feel this is true in my bones, a tiny voice in my head— that sounds an awful lot like Will— tells me I am as selfish as he says I am.

Looking up at Ben, I recognize the darkness swirling in his eyes for pain. He’s waiting for me to tell him I left Will, and I’m contemplating not saying I did because I shouldn’t be selfish? I ended things with Will, in part, so that I wouldn’t feel like this. Like there are parts of me I should suppress or ignore because it doesn’t serve someone else’s purposes. I left him so I could be true to myself. I don’t know if Ben wants me the way I want him, but I’m willing to feel stupid if there’s any chance he does.

I focus my gaze on Ben, and tell him.

“No. I’m not with him.”

His shoulders relax as he tries to suppress a giddy grin and I feel it too. The way the air around us vibrates with possibility, the way the tension between us is pulled so taut but relief finally feels on the horizon. Please kiss me , I think to myself, desperate for my read on him to be right.

“Okay,” is all he says, but his assessing gaze says so much more. He takes his time looking me over, like he’s committing my body to memory, his gaze heated but so painfully casual. Like he actually has all the time in the world. My body hums with an incessant urgency, willing him to do something, anything . Because I am paralyzed, afraid to move for fear that I might miss the exact moment that I burst into flames or erupt into light. He glances away, clearing his throat. “Now that’s cleared up,” he says, smirking, “we should probably get to studying.”

I quickly recover from the disappointment, brazenly asking him, “So to be clear, you apologize?”

“I apologize,” he says, his smile growing.

I spin around, making my way to my printer and pulling out two copies of the reading we’re meant to be doing.

“Now we’re even,” I say with a subtle arch of my brow, handing him his copy. “Wait! Actually—” I grab his hand without thinking, realizing I did so when I feel the warm embrace of his hand in mine. I don’t let go.

I lead him to my room, recognizing what this seems like and deciding that I don’t care. I playfully shove him toward my bed, surprised when he lets himself fall into it.

“ Now we’re even.” I’m smiling, incapable of stopping, because when I look at him embedded in my sheets, he is too.

“You getting in here, Beckett?”

Heart racing, I will my nervous system to chill out. I will not be over eager , I decide from one moment to the next, aware of how this man’s presence is making it difficult to be consistent. I sprawl myself opposite him and hand him a pen, shaking my article for emphasis.

“We have work to do,” I remind him, smiling down at my reading. I hear him hum in acknowledgement and force myself to concentrate on something other than Ben Cabot for even a minute.

The sun is nowhere to be found by the time our study session nears its end, and the flutter in my stomach has yet to abate. Not that reading about romance novels has done anything to ease the sexual tension so thick, I could cut it with a knife. When I look across to Ben, his large frame exaggerated by the way he’s so casually laid himself opposite me, he’s squinting at the paper as if that will help him understand what he’s read any better.

“I think what she’s trying to say,” I start to explain, “is that even though these novels are often expressing real problems or realistic relationship dynamics, they’re ultimately unrealistic. That in an ideal world, these issues would no longer persist, we would have achieved real equality, and we would be free to choose relationship dynamics that seem unstable or unhealthy, or whatever.” He’s squinting again when I meet his eyes, more questions now than before I bothered trying to explain this stupid paper.

“So you’re saying women want a world where they can be submissive, or stay with the toxic guy, without judgment?” I ponder this for a moment, unsure.

“No I think… I think women like to read about worlds where women get to choose what it is they want. They want to experience vicariously through these texts, what it is like to realize what you want and actually, for once, choose it.” I feel my cheeks heat at my interpretation. “Like, these books aren’t some project in humanity, but they do allow women to imagine what it would be like to go after what they want and get that happily ever after, peanut gallery be damned.”

He’s contemplating me, studying me like he could discover whatever he wanted to know if he just looked hard enough. “Paper get boring?” I quip, suddenly feeling vulnerable and wishing it would stop.

“What do you want, Olivia?” He says this contemplatively, but his gaze intensifies.

“What do I want?” I laugh, knowing full well what he’s referring to.

“Yeah. It’s a simple question,” he shoots back, a playful grin failing to hide the seriousness in his gaze.

My stomach flutters, my mind reformulating what I should say over and over again, deciding it’s too risky. Yes, I want him to kiss me. Yes, I want him to close this distance and touch me. But verbalizing that feels like a quick ride to vocalizing other things, and that scares the shit out of me. I just got out of a relationship with his brother , for god’s sake. The thought train I’m on has me stalling, engaging in old strategies to get myself out of this corner I’m starting to feel backed into. I give him a look that says the answer is obvious, subtly rolling my eyes.

“I want what every girl wants— a happily ever after. I told you, I’m just like the rest of them,” I shrug, pleased with my response.

“Don’t do that Olivia,” he says, his gaze steady and heated as he tilts his head to the side, deciphering me. The move unsettles me and I feel hot under his scrutiny.

“Do what?” I play dumb, but heat creeps up my neck.

“Deflect,” he says with nonchalance, like he isn’t aware of his question’s significance. Something at my core heats and twirls around itself simply because of the way he’s regarding me.

“I told you. It’s not my fault you don’t like my answer,” I tell him, quickly opening a random book. Before I can even pretend to be deep in intellectual thought, Ben’s oversized hand— really it’s unsurprising he plays basketball— juts out and steals the book away.

“Ben!” I leap across my bed ready to steal back my book and wind up unceremoniously straddling the book snatcher. I’m acutely aware of the way my body is resting on his, the hardness of his quads and the warmth of his skin radiating beneath me. He looks up at me through thick lashes, a sheepish grin painted on his stupidly perfect face. He holds the book up, as if inspecting it.

“Well, this isn’t on our reading list.”

“I was—” I reach out to grab Social Principles and the Democratic State only to find my wrist clutched in Ben’s other oversized, wonderfully warm, rough but not too rough hand.

“What do you want, Olivia?” he cuts me off, his grin wavering, his jaw set in determination and restraint.

And I’ve seen this look before. Not in real life, and not directed at me, but I’ve read it in books and I’ve seen it in movies. This is the moment where the dam breaks. Where their carefully charted plans fail, and everything goes to shit in the most spectacular of ways. It’s the moment they say “fuck it” and disregard the world around them. And I feel myself at the precipice of this moment with Ben, and I am terrified and electrified at the same time. I’ve never been on the other side of this kind of disaster.

What do I want?

I want to talk about books and disagree over how to interpret an article and steal heated glances while we do so. I want to sit in comfortable silence and feel valued just for existing in the same space as them. I want to be more to someone, not because I play a perfect role in the life they’ve created, but because I’m simply enough for them just the way I am. I want to feel like the person I’m with is more interested in the thoughts swirling inside my head than thoughts swirling around in the ether about me, about us.

This all-consuming look leaves little room for interpretation. I know that if I leaned forward just an inch and angled my head slightly down and to the right; if I placed my free hand on his chest and pressed my lips against his, it’d take all his strength not to kiss me back.

What do I want?

I want Ben to kiss me, now.

Logic evaporates from any part of my being as I lean forward, angling my head toward him. I watch his sharp intake of breath as he registers the move, but that’s all he does. Like the ball is in my court. And I guess it is because this is about what I want . He is asking me what I want because it matters to him.

“What do you want, Olivia?” he almost whispers, his lips barely moving, his body frozen besides the way his chest rises and falls.

“I think you know what I want,” I say, secretly hoping I’m right.

I catch the mischievous glint in his eyes just before he closes the distance between us.

When his lips touch mine it’s feather soft, like he’s memorizing every line on my mouth with his. My eyes fall shut the moment his hand slides through my hair from the nape of my neck, and I feel the reverberations of it everywhere. He’s barely touched me and I’m buzzing with anticipation, internally begging him for more.

Like he senses this, he kisses me deeply, his tongue sliding and twirling with mine, his other hand slowly descending from my collar bone to my breast. His hand cups me, lightly caressing me there, coiling whatever was heating in my core earlier tighter.

“Is this okay, Liv?” he asks against my mouth, pausing only long enough to register my vigorous nodding.

“Yes,” I manage to express between kisses, his lips and tongue moving with mine in perfect harmony. It almost feels unreal— like I’m dreaming this, his touch so intoxicating in this moment that it must be a figment of my overactive imagination. I can taste the hints of cinnamon in the tea I gave him earlier, the mintiness of his toothpaste, and him . It invades my senses as I kiss him, this almost feral need to be as close as I can to his very essence. I restraddle him, subtly rubbing against him, satisfaction coursing through me when I feel how affected he is. I reach for his belt buckle at the exact moment that his hands grasp my hips, rolling me against him before adeptly laying me back. He’s above me now, grinning down at me with those kiss swollen lips.

“This still okay, Olivia?” he asks, with a seriousness in his tone despite the ravenous look in his eye.

“Please stop talking, Ben,” I beg him before pulling him to me. Strong arms rest on either side of me, the beautifully corded muscles of his forearm barely twitching as he holds himself above me. His lips traverse the expanse that is me, with kisses that feel like the softest kindling, leaving warm, stirring fire in their wake. When he gets to the part of me that needs him most, sliding my pants off and tossing them on the floor, it’s all I can do not to levitate off my bed. His hand splays against my lower stomach, keeping me in place while he pulls me apart, his fingers moving in perfect tandem with his tongue. Just when that coil couldn’t be spun any tighter, stars erupt in my vision, sparks skitter across my skin, I pulse with the most infatuating sense of pleasure and I come apart.

I sit slightly up on my forearms, catching Ben’s gaze just as he licks his lips, and I’m already pulsing again with insatiable need. Never did I ever think I’d be on the receiving end of this kind of pleasure; again— books, movies, but not me. He presses sensuous kisses back up my body, his hands gripping and caressing me, my hands gripping and caressing him, until his lips are whispering in my ear.

“Tell me to stop, Liv.” And while something in my brain holds up a warning sign, waves it in the air, screams at me to pause, I simply don’t want to.

“Don’t stop.” I feel his smile against my ear before he sits up and pulls off his crewneck. We peel off our clothing, his fingers caressing my ribcage as he pulls my sweater up my torso and over my head. Those same fingers make quick work of my balconette bra, tugging my underwear off, his eyes on mine, before suddenly pausing.

I breathe in sharply, literally naked under his gaze. His teeth worry his bottom lip, and I watch him swallow.

“You can’t be real, Olivia.” A slow smile spreads over my face as his mouth comes back down to me, claiming my mouth, his hand gently gripping my waist, the other settling between us.

“Ben, it really won’t happen again,” I insist, despite feeling myself spun tighter and tighter with every touch.

“Is that a challenge?” he growls against my ear, and I feel his mouth upturn in a knowing smile.

“No, I—” I gasp, his fingers reaching that spot deep inside me, before retreating. “Again,” I demand, but I know I’m not in control here.

“Patience, Liv.” He coaxes me open, his kiss consuming me and driving me even further toward the edge. My hands slide against his skin, now slick with a thin layer of sweat, exploring each dip and hard line of his chest the way I wanted to that day in his apartment. His hands roam, tracing circles and rubbing gently against every sensitive spot I know and don’t know on my body. I hear a rip and he reaches between us again, and I silently, irrationally wish he wouldn’t put anything between us. He captures my mouth again, bracing his hand on my left hip, his other on the bed as he lines himself up against me. I feel him already, and the anticipation itself is enough to send me over the edge.

And then he’s inside me, and I’m so full of him, so completely connected to him, and I know I will never not want this. Never not need this. It’s intoxicating, euphoric, perfect . His forehead rests against mine as we breathe in tandem, everything about us so perfectly in sync in this moment. His lips move to my neck the moment my body wishes they were there, and his hand reaches behind me, sliding down my back before aggressively claiming me the second my mind asks for it.

“Ben, I’m?—”

“I know,” he says, and of course he does.

This time, I don’t just come apart— I shatter. I dig into his shoulders, the feeling almost unbearable, when I feel him go rigid beneath me, the euphoric strain of his climax painted on his face. My release intensifies and I kiss him, desperate to be connected in every way, until I feel him relax above. He rolls to his back, taking me with him, my head resting on his chest, and I hear his heart beating.

Nothing has ever been this perfect , I think to myself as I feel a smile tug at the corners of my mouth.

“I guess I can see why you have a reputation,” is the first thing I think to say out loud when it seems both of our heart rates have stabilized as we lay side by side in my bed. I feel Ben freeze in an instant and I turn to look at him. “It was a joke, Ben,” I add, slightly annoyed that he can’t just indulge my humor.

“Would it be just as funny if I said it to you?”

“Well no… but I don’t actually have a reputation. I mean I’ve only been with—” I stop, because we can both assume who I’m going to say. “What I meant to say, what I was trying to relay to you was how… amazing that was. Because it was incredible. It’s never been that way for me, but it probably has been for you, which I guess makes me feel a little unsure of myself? So I made a joke, which was obviously a bad joke, and?—”

“Olivia,” he stops me, his brows furrowed. “It has never been like that for me.”

His admission sits heavy between us, the enormity of what he’s confirming causing my heart to skip a beat. He sits up and I follow him, wrapping myself in my throw blanket. “I’m not going to sit here and tell you that I don’t have a past, because I do. I did a lot of things I’m not proud of, treated a lot of people in ways that are… shitty. I was a different person when I left Astor, Liv. I need you to know that.” He pauses, his hand caressing the side of my face, and I internally whimper. “But the way it just was between us… that’s just as new to me as it is to you.”

Vulnerability in his gaze, I wrap my arms around his neck, my throw falling away as I tilt my neck up to look at him.

“Then I guess we can figure this out together.” His arms settle low around my hips, his fingers lightly trailing my lower back.

“Together?” he asks, subtly surprised. I take a breath, feeling self conscious. I’m jumping to conclusions, assuming Ben sees the same “us” I do.

“I mean,” I start, feeling his surprise turn into amusement. “We can just… see where this goes,” I tell him, my tone oozing nonchalance, like I didn’t just have the most intense orgasm of my life. Something unclear flashes in his eyes before they turn heated, that sly grin quickly taking up residence on his face, and I assume he’s glad I’m not asking for anything more than this. Maybe he doesn’t want more than this , I tell myself, disappointment landing like a pit in my stomach.

“And what does that look like to you, Olivia?” he asks, his voice intense but hushed, his gaze intently on me.

“We can keep doing what we’ve been doing… plus what we just did,” I add, blushing, “but I don’t expect you to exclusively be with me.” The words feel foreign to me, so far from anything I would ever want, but I can acknowledge how chaotic it is for me to want to be with Ben so soon after ending things with Will. His brother .

“Do you want me to be with other people?” he asks, even more intensely than before, and his face is suddenly so close to mine. His eyes search mine as he waits for me to reply.

“No,” I admit, my lips barely moving, I feel so paralyzed by his attention.

“Good,” he tells me. “There is no one else, Olivia. Not for me, not for you. Not after this.” My heart beats so loudly in my ears, I swear he can hear it, too. Those words, full of possession and control, should alarm me considering the dynamic I just left. But instead, his words settle deep in my core, warming me, embracing me, full of belonging.

“No one else,” I repeat, watching his lips curve into the most delicious smirk, and kiss him.

“I love that I can just do this now,” I say, smiling against his mouth. He’s still grinning but he puts some space between us, his face telling me there’s a caveat.

“We should talk about what this looks like out there.” He nods toward my door, referencing the world beyond the haven that is just us. “We should probably be mindful of?—”

“Oh my god, of course,” I cut in, guilt washing over me when I remember Will. The guilt isn’t even about my relationship with Ben. It’s the fact that I was ready to loudly, proudly claim Ben as mine without any thought to how Will might feel about it. What is wrong with me? “Let’s keep this between us, for now.”

He gives me a weary look. “Are you sure, Liv?”

“Yes. I just wasn’t thinking. How is he?” I ask, more timid than I’d like to be. I don’t know what this will be like now, talking about Will with him. He takes a deep breath, sighing, the heaviness of his relationship with Will evident.

“He’s been better.” His smile is tight, but he doesn’t elaborate.

“Yeah, of course. I guess I was hoping he would take this better than he probably is,” I add, feeling shitty.

“It’s not you, Liv.” He shakes his head, his gaze not meeting mine. “Will has a lot of shit to figure out, and… this breakup is just bringing a lot up for him.” He finally raises his gaze to mine, and I’m startled by the regret I find there. “You were really important to him, I know that. And if he reaches out to you, I want you to talk to him. For me, okay?”

His question feels dire, like I can’t say no, so I just nod. “And when things settle, I plan to do this,” he leans into me, his hand finding its way back to the nape of my neck, “whenever I can, just because.” He closes the distance, his mouth crashing into mine with unexpected fervor, and I welcome it, eager to move on from this conversation.

Wrapped in my sheets, tangled with this man, I can’t help but feel like the stars have conspired for me. Like every moment before this, meeting Will and being with Will, were for this greater good. And as I kiss Ben back, I thank those stars for their scheming.