Chapter 2 Sophie
SOPHIE
I wake up in the middle of the night, the urge to pee overwhelming. The clock on the nightstand tells me it’s three in the morning.
The witching hour. Great.
Nothing good ever happens at three am, but I always wake up in the middle of the night needing to pee, and then I can never go back to sleep.
I make my way out of bed, into the hall.
The house is quiet and dark, and I realize I don’t know where the bathroom is.
Because I’ve never been here. I’ve never been to my brother’s house before.
The realization makes me feel like complete shit, and the memory of how I acted earlier comes seeping in. Of how I snapped at him. And Elijah.
I groan, knowing I should probably apologize to them in the morning, or at least to Sam. I know I’ll see Elijah at some point, but I doubt I’ll see him in the morning. It’s not like he’s hiding in these halls like a damn ghost or something.
I rub my eyes as I carefully make my way down the hall, and stop when I see a closed door, the light on behind it. The light peeks through the sliver at the bottom of the door, and I hear the irrefutable sound of someone taking a piss.
I contemplate searching to see if there’s another bathroom, but before I can, the door opens and someone walks right into me. Someone tall, thick, and heavy.
“What the fuck,” the gravelly, raspy voice calls out, and I realize all at once who that voice belongs to.
I look up at Benny, at his messy hair, his rough stubble adding to the shadows that fall across his sharp features. And then I notice his chest.
Or rather, his shirtless, muscled, tattooed chest. And then I do what I probably should not do at three am when I run into the guy I used to fantasize about when I was a teenager.
I look down, somewhat relieved he’s wearing sweatpants and isn’t parading around my brother’s house in his boxers like he used to do when he spent the night at our house when we were in high school.
“Oh, it’s just you,” he mutters, his voice tinged with sleep.
It’s just you. Just you. No one important. My friend’s sister.
“Uh-huh,” I say, brushing past him, making a beeline for the bathroom because I’m not sure I can hold it any longer. I barely get the door shut before my jeans are around my ankles and relief hits me as my ass hits the—
“Fucking hell!” I curse as I fall into the toilet, because fucking Benny didn’t put the seat down.
“Oh, shit!” I hear him curse on the other side of the door as I extricate myself from the bowl of cold water, but the damage is already done. My ass is wet, and I’m pissing like a damn racehorse. I groan as I finish, feeling like this day can’t get any worse.
Technically, it’s a new day, Soph. So you’re now two for two.
“Asshole,” I mutter as I hunt for a washcloth to clean myself. I’ll shower in the morning, but for now, a quick wipe-down will have to suffice.
I find a washcloth in one of the cabinets and run warm water over it to clean up. Shaking my head as I finish up, I toss the cloth into the hamper beside the sink. When I leave the bathroom, I don’t expect to see him, but he’s still standing there.
Shirtless, in a daze. Shadows play over his defined chest, illuminating the sharp lines on his hips, which only draws attention to the way his sweatpants are hanging off of him.
Embarrassment floods me, but also frustration. Anger.
“What the hell are you still doing here?” I bite out, my exhaustion evident in my voice.
Benny looks at me for a moment, and for a moment I wonder if he’s sleepwalking or something because his stare is so vast and vacant, it’s practically a shadow itself.
His gaze trails over me for a second, as if he’s finally remembering where he is.
Is he drunk?
Of course, that would explain why he’s here. At three am. I know my brother sometimes lets the guys stay over when they’ve had a couple too many. Which makes me feel bad, because there’s only one guest room, so if I’m occupying it, that means Benny’s probably sleeping on the couch.
Why the thought of him sleeping down the hall makes me feel flustered, I haven’t a clue. Well, I guess I have some clue, but I don’t exactly want to process that tidbit at three am in my brother’s house when I’m still tired as shit.
Besides, the damn idiot doesn’t know how to put the seat down. Which is rude as fuck, in my opinion. Especially at someone else’s house.
And then he speaks, as if his faculties are finally returning.
“Sorry…” he mutters.
I huff out a tired sigh. “Whatever, I’m going back to bed.”
He gives me another look, shrugs his broad shoulders, and runs a hand through his hair. “Bed, right,” he says, almost like he’s forgotten how to speak or something.
“Yeah, bed.” I roll my eyes, because clearly he is still drunk. “Now if you’ll excuse me…”
I’m heading down the hall toward the guest room when I hear, “Night, kitten.”
I stop, turning to look at him, because that’s not what he usually calls me. In fact, the only nickname he ever actually gave me when we were younger was Princess Sophie. Or just princess. Because he said I was a spoiled brat.
Whatever, Soph, it’s just the ramblings of a drunk asshole in the middle of the night. He probably doesn’t even realize it’s you he’s talking to.
Highly likely. I know, just from the little hints my brother drops, that Benny’s a bit of a playboy. Honestly, he’s always been like that, so I’m not surprised he’s still chasing that whole vibe, even though he’s in his thirties. I wish I could say it was weird, and I didn’t like it, but…
Truth is, I think it’s part of what adds to Benny’s appeal. He’s always had that air about him, even when we were younger. You just knew he’d be a good time. And I don’t just mean that he would be the life of the party and fun to hang out with, though he is those things too.
I heard the whispered rumors about Benjamin Anderson and his huge pierced cock. Among other unsavory things. I latched on to those whispered words of gossip, let them feed my fantasies more than I want to admit.
I swallow harshly as I realize he’s gone, and shake my head.
When I find my way back to the bedroom, I shut the door and turn the light on.
I know it’s late—or early, technically—and I should get back to bed, but my legs are sore from sleeping in my jeans and my tits are sore from sleeping in my damn bra, so I knock over my suitcase and set about finding my pajama pants, if only so I can be a little more comfortable.
But once I start, I can’t stop, so I unpack my entire suitcase, needing something to do. I know it’s probably rude to assume I’m actually going to stay here for the next couple of days, but I need something to do to get this nervous energy out. Though I’m not sure why I’m so nervous right now.
I look to the door, my insides twisting as I remember running into that hard, solid mass that is Benny now.
Growing up, he wasn’t a stick or anything, but he definitely wasn’t a big, beefy guy either.
He was an art kid, dressed in black and Converse and always doodling on his skin with sharpies.
He definitely wasn’t the guy I just ran into in the hallway.
Yes, I know it was dark, so I very well could have mistaken some details, but I was eye level with his hard, defined pecs. I could see the ink cascading across his chest, even though I couldn’t make it out.
My insides twist again, and I shake my head. Thinking about shirtless, tattooed Benny is a recipe for disaster.
But I also know an orgasm is a surefire way to get me to pass the fuck out.
So I tell myself it’s just a means to an end. It doesn’t really mean anything. It’s just old memories, old fantasies, brought up from close proximity and stress. And I’ve had a fucking stressful day.
Two days. Day and a half?
I get under the covers this time, relishing in the warmth of the comforter against my exposed skin, and tell myself I should just try to get some actual sleep. I need to shut my brain off. I do not need to be masturbating down the hall from my high school fantasy.
But the more I toss and turn, the more I try to get comfortable, I just feel irritated, and I know it’s no use. I sigh in exasperation. “Fine.”
I slide my hand under the waistband of my satin pajama pants—the black ones with the pink stitching I bought last year as my Valentine gift to myself.
My legs are still slightly cool from my brush with the damn toilet, which makes me feel uncomfortable, but I did clean myself as best I could, and I definitely washed my damn hands more than once.
I close my eyes and try my hardest to clear my mind. My fingers slip beneath my panties, and I find my clit quickly enough, telling myself this will just be a quiet, fast flick and then I’ll go to sleep. And in the morning, everything will be fine.
Well, maybe not fine, because nothing’s going to change what happened. Keaton still isn’t here.
I tense as the thought of him fills my brain.
Is he with her? That woman who didn’t know he was engaged? Is he touching her, fucking her in our bed right now?
I stiffen at the thought. How long has this been going on? How many times has he brought her there? Is she the only one, or have there been more women like her?
My thighs clench as anger swells in me, along with sadness. It’s not our bed anymore, and I have no idea when that happened. When it became an open field.
I try to push the thought away and focus on something else. Someone else.
Hard, solid muscles. Tattoos. That huge cock with steel pierced through it.
I’ve never actually seen Benny’s cock, not even on accident, so I have no idea if the rumors are actually true or not about the size of his fabled battering ram or its capabilities.
I know he does have a piercing, only because my brother was his ride when he got it, and he said he almost passed out when the piercer actually did it.
Which I’m sworn to secrecy about, of course. The secrets I know about Benjamin Anderson, I’ll take to my grave.