Eleven
Sadie
I didn’t miss the way all the other women on the boat looked at me and sneered in my direction the whole day. I did my best to hide it from Ben, hoping he wouldn’t think I was delusional. I’m not jealous, simply a little put off by the environment. Ben never took his attention off of me, though, and it made my stomach coil in knots and my skin prickle with heat. I felt truly special for the first time in my nineteen years. My body hummed all day at the memory of him between my legs last night. Ben Cooper is a paradox. He is everything my body craves, and my mind is curious to explore him while also screaming for me to be wary. But I simply can’t avoid the pull he has.
I always wondered what intimacy with a man would feel like when it had the passion that Ben gives. Never in any of my dreams did it feel even half as incredible as each touch of Ben’s lips on mine. There is a sense of recklessness in Ben, and I chase it. It’s been forty-eight hours since I looked him in the eye and told him to take a hike. Now I crave his touch. I want to listen to everything he has to say and look for any information I can to make sense of why I feel this deep desire to be near him.
Minutes in Ben’s world feel like hours, hours like days, and days like months. It’s intoxicating in the best of ways.
* * *
“Night, guys, thank you for today!” I climb out of the backseat with Ben in tow as we say goodbye to Kate, Nick, and Eric. Nick and Ben share a quick look that I don’t understand, a passing glance of . . . concern? I don’t know, but for a split second I drown in worry. Turning to Ben as the car pulls away, I go to speak, but before the words even dance on the tip of my tongue, he beats me to it.
“The piano is waiting, and your angel voice better be ready,” he teases, and I nod anxiously. I decide it’s best that I bury the self-doubt clouding my brain. The more time I spend overthinking, the dizzier I become. I’ve got a white-knuckled grip on whatever is happening between me and Ben: at any second I could slip to my doom, but at the same time, he could pull me up. Which one it will be? I have no idea.
“I do not have an angelic voice. But I did make a deal, so let’s do this.” Butterflies rumble in my stomach as we make our way up my steps. I unlock the door and let us in. I’ve never been one to sing in front of a ton of people. My parents hear it the most, but outside of that, my church choir, the confines of my car, and my shampoo bottles are the only ones that get to hear me sing.
“A Yamaha S Series. Shit, baby, this is beautiful.”
In our sitting room, to the right of the front door, our piano sits adjacent to the fireplace in front of the large bay window. The sun is gone, chased away by the moon. Our neighbors’ lights are all on, and I see some eating dinner and others watching TV as Ben takes a seat on the bench.
“My mama and papa love playing the piano. In fact, every Sunday, we play it, and I listen to them sing together, humming along most of the time.”
“My mom and I used to do that. Of course, our piano wasn’t this beautiful, but my mom loved to sing hymns to me. That’s how we discovered I could sing.” I watch him while he talks about his mother for the first time. I don’t miss the apprehension in his voice and the deep sadness in his eyes.
“Do you still sing together?” I ask hesitantly.
“She died,” he replies harshly.
I see his grief cruelly etched on his gorgeous face. His mother died. Wow. I can only imagine the feeling. Almost losing my mother destroyed me, and she made it through.
“Oh, I’m sorry, Ben.”
I bring my hand up to rest on his shoulder. He peers up at me, pain pinching his face. Behind all that sadness, there is something no one could mistake—anger. I lack the courage to ask him what happened, but I lock that look deep in my mind and keep it there for the day when he may share his story. If we ever make it that far.
“Don’t be sorry; it was a long time ago. But enough of this. What’s your favorite song?” He shuts down like I knew he would before I can decide who he really is. I let him brush it off because that’s who I am—the girl who never pushes for more. I don’t want this night to be something that upsets him. Especially after the fantastic day we had together.
“Wow, that’s a loaded question. I have so many.” I chuckle, leaning on the lid of the piano and staring out the window.
“Here, let me help. Who’s your favorite artist? Band? Singer?”
“What if you can’t play their songs?” I ask, propping my chin on my hand.
“Oh, Sadie baby. I can play almost everything.” He winks, exuding cockiness.
“Full of yourself much?”
“You’ll get used to it.” With another smirk, he waits for my answer.
“Hmm. Oh! Okay, I got it. I love Lana Del Ray, ‘Lust for Life.’ Have you heard that song?”
“Yes, I have.” He smiles at me like I’m the brightest star in the sky. My stomach flips again. “All right, I’ll play and you sing.”
Suddenly, my belly begins rumbling with nerves, my heart starts racing, and my throat grows tight. When the first notes start, his joking demeanor disappears, and I see a different side of him. The playfulness fades into a reserved, serious focus. It is a captivating thing to watch.
I relax a bit, and he gets lost in the melody. Finally, two notes before the words start, he looks up at me, his long, calloused fingers playing from memory. I swallow and sing the first few words.
My voice is shaky at first, and my hands are damp with sweat. I’ve never sung solo in front of anyone, let alone a beautiful, dangerous, talented man like him. Ben makes me nervous, and I’m beyond eager to impress him.
“It’s only me, Sadie. Your voice is wonderful—you’re incredible,” he whispers during a pause in the lyrics, the melody carrying on around us. I nod, still wavering in self-doubt.
His hands are still on the keys, the notes dropping along with my stomach as he speaks. “Sadie, come here.”
He holds out his hand, and I take it. Shaking my head, I lower my eyes. I sit astride him in defeat—I really have no idea how to be in a relationship, and that is a very vulnerable feeling. It is hard to let him see that vulnerability, but with Ben I’m stripped naked, bare to him. Vulnerable takes on a form, and I am it.
“Hey, look at me.” Cupping my face in his hands, he lifts my chin. “Music is a way to be free, to let the world around you fall away. Your voice is beautiful, Sadie. Be who you are with me—don’t hide.” Ben’s brown irises search my baby blues, looking deep into me. It’s a sharp sword, being this insecure around someone who is secure in everything they do.
“Okay.” I go to stand, but he stops me, scooting us forward to the edge of the bench and placing his hands back into formation. “How are you going to play with me in your lap?” I wonder.
“Baby, I know the keys like the back of my hand, and I want to feel you, feel your voice inside my soul—be the music.” My heart thuds loudly in my chest, creating a comfortable beat. That’s exactly what it’s like with him. Ben has a way of challenging me, making me feel an urge to test the boundaries I’ve given myself all my life.
He starts us off. I swallow and pick up the next words. The piano vibrates loudly, the melody moving smoothly with the words we sing together. When the chorus kicks in, I find my voice—finally—and pray endlessly that I can keep it.
The smile on his face lets me know he likes what he hears, and the arousal hits my center. It builds alongside the words. We’re connected here in the moment, from the music to the physical touch. When he leans in to plant a kiss against my lips, that connection only magnifies as the song crescendos around us. The need on his lips captures my breath for a second.
His tongue seeks access to my mouth, and I grant it, opening and inviting him in. When he plays the next note, I reluctantly pull back to steady my breathing.
He takes the second verse, and my chest rises and falls unsteadily. I watch, intrigued and turned on by the way he gives everything he has, his neck straining and his veins rising in the column of his neck above his Adam’s apple. He’s different when he sings privately versus the man I saw onstage. There’s more intensity, more passion. He feels the music and lets it carry him away. Onstage, he hides behind the funny playboy rock star, the cocky man with no intention of showing his real self.
Within a few seconds, our voices join again, and we find the perfect pitch, my soprano to his tenor. As if we were always made to sing together, we find the groove easily.
“Damn, baby, hit that note!” The keys become louder under his moving fingers, and I hold the last note, smiling infectiously. He laughs, as do I. When the final few keys fade out, the song echoes softly.
Running my hands through his lush mane, I settle my fingers on the back of his neck. I want to get close. I want to know Ben, and with that intense moment we shared, I feel I’m tapping into a side of him that only a few people get to see.
“Let’s do that every time I come over,” he whispers. I whimper the moment his hands find my hips and start kneading the muscles there.
“I’ve never seen someone so passionate when they sing.” Truly, it was a stunning sight to see a person connect with the music and have his hands blindly find the keys.
“We make great music together, Sadie.”
“Do we?” It comes out a question, and we both hesitate. What are we? What is this we’re doing?
Staring at him for a few seconds, I watch him snap. It’s as if a brewing storm has hit its peak.
“I want you,” he growls, grasping my ass firmly and pulling me flush against him, my core directly against his hard length stiffening in his swim trunks. My chest is pressed to his, and our noses are touching with only a whisper of space between our lips.
“How?”
“I want to be the first man to have you. Make you mine.”
He leans in and kisses the top of my full breasts peeking out of the scoop in my bathing suit. I throw my head back, and by natural force the lower half of my body grinds down against him. I feel his erection straining in his bottoms, and it electrifies me, shaking me to the core.
“I want to taste your skin,” he whispers, licking up the column of my neck. “I want you to break your rules with me—for me.”
I swallow hard, and he wraps his large hand around my thin neck, squeezing with a little pressure.
“Look at me, Sadie.”
I snap my head back up, bracing my hands on his lower abs. He’s wild and untamed, completely unhinged and removed from reality. What I see in front of me is what I imagine intoxication to be like, and I feel drunk on him too.
“Sadie, you have gotten under my skin, and you can’t go back,” he admits, and I swear the moment is so intense I can hear my heart pounding rapidly. “That’s me owning you, angel.”
Those words should terrify me, completely turn me off, but they don’t. I like the idea of being owned by Ben Cooper.
“Ben.” I thrust my hips, the friction of his erection hitting my clit making my entire body tense up then dissolve on a shiver.
“Tell me no and I’ll stop, baby. But if you don’t, then I’m going to taste you.”
He brings me into him even more, and I do nothing to protest when he feasts on my lips. Flicking his tongue against mine, biting my lip and tasting me, he groans, and I whimper. I seem to be doing many things I haven’t done before.
He is chaos, and together we are a tinderbox.
Then it happens: he admits something so soft, I am almost sure I imagined it. Separating himself from me, he cups my face. “You’re the realest thing I’ve had since my mother died, and that’s the fucking truth.”
“Ben,” I whisper, locking my hands around his wrists. I tilt my head from side to side ever so slightly and kiss each of his wrists. He looks broken; whatever happened with his mother is still haunting him. In fact, it may be the entire reason for who he is. The rock star, the man with no plan except a ticket on the fast track to disaster. He has demons, and the voice inside me tells me he may not be ready to unveil them. I take on everyone’s hurt, but if I take on his, I won’t be able to let go. Self-sabotage? Or the realest connection I have ever found?
“You know what? Let’s relax tonight. Maybe watch a movie and eat really fucking shitty food.” Ben stops us from spiraling, as if he could sense it in us both.
“I would like that.”
“Good, let me run home and change.”
His attempt at relaxing me is the waving white flag I need. I don’t push him further on his mother, and he doesn’t dig more into how I’m feeling. I can ride our new relationship out and let time and my feelings work themselves out. Right?
“Up, up!” He slaps my ass, and I jump up.
“Ouch, that hurt.”
“Dirty baby likes it a little rough?” Growling, he scoops me up and presses me flush against him, one arm around my waist and his other hand on my rib under my breast. My curvy frame is small and dainty against his tall, lean figure. Dipping his head in the crease of my neck, he growls and tickles me with his scruff, a small act that he does frequently. It’s slowly becoming one of my favorite things.