18. Ben
BEN
She’s not paying me, but somehow I still feel like an escort as I pace the hotel room waiting for Jolie to arrive. I came here straight from practice and quickly showered up.
I stare at the cream wallpaper with the pale blue flowers on it, then turn back toward the door, my eyes grazing over the king-sized bed.
There’s also a pale blue chaise by the window and a writing desk, but that’s it furniture-wise. And the bed’s kind of all we need.
I swallow, wondering yet again if I should bail.
Do I honestly want to do this?
But I know she’ll be gutted if I don’t come through for her.
She’ll probably take it personally, thinking it’s her fault or something.
I hate the way my sisters do that. Particularly Emily.
She’s an elementary school teacher and the sweetest woman on the planet.
But whenever things don’t go her way, she always looks inward and tries to figure out what she did wrong, even though it’s usually not her fault at all.
She’s so hard on herself, and it kills me.
I can see that tendency in Jolie.
Actually, it’s more of a feeling. I just get the sense that she would do exactly the same thing, and for that reason alone, I can’t bail.
I just need to figure out how to do this without feeling like some creeper.
She asked me to help her.
So… you know, I’m being helpful.
I should be flattered. She trusts me enough to show her how to feel safe in a bedroom. That’s an honor.
Not that she knows me very well. We’ve only met three times. That’s it.
Running a hand through my hair, I pace back to the window and nearly jump out of my skin when there’s a knock on the door.
Rushing over to answer it, I will my roiling stomach to calm the hell down and manage to paste on a smile just before I open the door.
She’s standing there in jeans and a pale blue button-down shirt.
That must be the color of the night, I guess, but it suits her. Her eyes look brighter, and even though they’re gray, in this shirt, they have a blue tint to them.
Tucking her hair behind her ear, she gives me a twitchy smile. “Hi, Ben.”
“Hey, Jolie.” I pull the door open even wider and silently invite her in.
She fists her hand around her bag strap and inches into the room. “This is nice.”
“Yeah.” The door clicks shut behind me. It feels deafening.
I try not to notice and quickly fill the silence to ease the obvious tension between us.
“It was built in 1927.” And then I start rattling off everything I learned from the pamphlet I was reading after my shower.
Seriously. She doesn’t need to know this shit!
But she nods along like she’s interested, slipping the bag off her shoulder and perching on the chaise.
“I like this.” She runs her hand over the pale blue velvet. “I don’t think I’ve ever sat on one before. I never understood why it only had one arm, you know?”
I smile and walk across to sit beside her. “Apparently, they’re called fainting couches. You know, for all the swooning women in the 1920s.”
She laughs. “I love that scene in Bridgerton when Cressida Cowper swoons to get the prince’s attention.” She rolls her eyes. “What a tactic. I’m so glad women don’t act like that anymore.”
“Yeah.” I laugh. “They had their tricks.”
“I guess they kind of had to. Their sole job seemed to be finding a suitable husband, and the competition was fierce.” She makes a face. “So glad I was born in this day and age.”
I nod, aware that we’re both starting to relax as we talk about this stuff.
So I keep the conversation going. “How far through are you again?”
“Huh?”
“What season?”
“Oh. I’m nearly at the end of Season 3 now, although I’m not liking it as much as Season 2.
I think that’s my favorite. I love Anthony and Kate’s romance.
Anthony is my favorite Bridgerton boy, I think.
He can be a little grumpy at times, but he was under so much pressure during his season.
And the way he felt about Kate and how he was trying to fight it…
” She pats her chest and swoons back against the chaise.
I laugh, catching her wrist and pulling her back up. “My favorite season is the last one with Benedict and Sophie.”
Her mouth pops open.
I laugh, shaking my head. “I told you my sisters make me watch it. Once all eight episodes are out, Kelly arranges a siblings’ weekend, and I’m forced to go along and binge the show.”
She eyes me up for a second, then starts to giggle. “You love it, don’t you?”
“I have to say it’s painful.” I give her a quick side-eye. “But the truth—which I will take to my grave, by the way—is that I actually really enjoy it.”
She tips her head back, the laugh coming out of her making me smile.
“That’s so great,” she manages to say once her giggling is under control. Her eyes sparkle playfully as she whispers, “I won’t tell.”
“I know. Because we agreed that everything that happens in this room is classified.”
“It is.” She swallows and swivels to face me. Her eyes are so big and vulnerable right now, I want to cup her face and whisper that it’s going to be okay.
But that feels way too boyfriend-y, and I’m not her boyfriend. I won’t fall in love with this girl. I’m here to give her an orgasm. That’s it.
“So…” Her tongue darts out to skim her lower lip. “How’s this going to work?”
“I’m not sure. How do you want it to work?”
“I don’t know.” She flicks her hand up, almost looking exasperated. “Aren’t you the expert here? Tell me what to do. Should I take my clothes off and lie down on the bed?”
“Let’s take it a little slower than that. The whole point of this is that you feel comfortable. I highly doubt that stripping naked and lying down like some virgin sacrifice is going to help you relax.”
Her lips twitch, and then she starts rubbing her forehead with a wince. “Not a virgin anymore.”
“I’m going to treat you like one anyway.” I brush my finger over the back of her hand. “Let’s try and erase the last time from your memory.”
She gives me a grateful smile.
“And remember, we’re not going all the way. This is just about touching you and making you feel good. Helping you figure out what you like.”
She squirms in her seat. “It feels weird, right?”
“We don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to. We can just hang out.”
“No, I want to.” She snatches my wrist as if she’s afraid I’m going to move away from her.
“Okay.” I rest my hand over her tight fingers and caress her knuckles.
She seriously needs to chill. And that’s my job, right?
So I keep my voice soft and easy. “Good sex, in my opinion, is all about communication. Sometimes that can happen without words. It’s two bodies just instinctively knowing what to do and going with it.
But in your case, because you’re nervous and you’ve had a bad experience, I think it’d be way better if we talked it through. ”
Her nose wrinkles. “Talking through sex seems like you’re trying to mix oil and water. They don’t go together.”
“I disagree.” My mind flicks to Mandy for a hot minute.
That woman taught me a million different ways to please her because she could be bossy in the bedroom.
She’d tell me exactly where to put my hands and fingers.
She knew what she liked, and she demanded it.
I didn’t mind so much. I loved pleasing her, making her come.
And I’ll love doing that for Jolie too, because she deserves an orgasm.
And sitting here just talking about it isn’t going to make it happen.
So, with slow, easy movements, I lean toward her and brush my lips along her jawline.
A shuddering breath wisps out of her.
“Do you like that?”
“Yes,” she whispers.
“Okay, good. So, if you like it, tell me, and if you don’t…
tell me.” I lean back to look at her. Cupping her cheeks, I make sure we’re making eye contact when I repeat myself.
“You have to tell me. Don’t be scared or worried that I might be offended, okay?
This is about you and your pleasure, so please communicate with me. ”
She nods.
“Promise?”
“I promise.” Her eyes soften with a smile, and I kiss her lips because it feels like the most natural thing in the world.
I was just going in for a simple peck, but the second our lips connect, I increase the pressure. Because it feels right, natural, easy.
She grips my wrist, leaning into the kiss, and I can tell she’s enjoying it.
I am too, although I don’t want to enjoy it this much.
I’m about to pull away when she parts her lips and runs her tongue along mine. Natural instinct has my tongue darting out to meet hers, and it’s the easy.
Just a transaction, remember?
I heed the warning but don’t pull out of the kiss, because our tongues are skimming against each other in a rhythmic dance, and now my fingers are sliding into her hair.
“I like this,” she manages to rasp before plunging her tongue back into my mouth.
So I go with it, making out with this girl until the heat between us starts to sizzle.
She’s obviously done this before and is confident on the kissing front. But how does she feel about more?
Dropping my hand from her face, I trace my fingers down the side of her neck.
“How about this?” I whisper between kisses.
“Uh-huh.”
Leaning back to check her face, I then skim my fingers over her collarbone and down the side of her left breast. “And this?”
She swallows and nods, so I cup her. She’s small, but those curves are still there, and I can feel her nipple respond to my touch, pebbling into the palm of my hand, even with two layers of fabric in the way.
My body responds of its own accord, and I give her a little squeeze before running my thumb over that nipple.
She lets out a soft gasp, and I feel it in my chest—this tug. This pull…
And it’s only then that it really starts to hit me…
Just transactional? Who the hell am I kidding?
Shit. I am in so much fucking trouble.