Chapter 2 Sophie #2
My body responds to the thought of him immediately.
Though the bulky frame and the tattoos are new, the eyes and the cocky attitude aren’t.
He’s still the same asshole he was back then, and that doesn’t help matters.
In fact, it’s somewhat comforting to know not everything has changed since I’ve left.
I know it’s dumb, and even more cliché, because Benny was always the quintessential “bad boy” of the bunch, and you knew he was trouble. He was hot, in that dark kind of way. The mysterious kind of way.
Benjamin Anderson was like the whiskey your parents kept in the basement, that they told you to never drink, but you did it anyway. A sip here, a sip there, until you realized you were drunker than a goddamn skunk, and it felt so good you knew you’d be back.
I relax into the familiar fantasy, but instead of the long, languid Benny of my youth, I picture current Benny. Shirtless, those delicious hip bones pointing to that mysterious attraction.
My insides start to clench as I let the fantasy unravel, piece by piece. I imagine sliding my hands up over his chest, my fingers tracing the ink on his skin. I imagine him slamming me against the wall—like I used to think about all those years ago—and wrapping his hand around my throat.
Keaton would never do anything like that. I asked him once to smack my ass, and he thought it was weird. I tried to tell him it’s not that weird—plenty of men smack their girlfriend’s or fiancée’s ass when they’re fucking them. It’s like, basic-level shit.
Keaton did have a way of controlling things in the bedroom, which if I’m being honest, I didn’t mind, because sue me—I like a man in charge.
Most of the men I’ve been with think “taking charge” is just telling me they’re going to fuck me and then getting three pumps out before it’s over, leaving me hanging like forgotten laundry.
But I enjoy not having to be in charge. I had to reinforce the concept a lot, mostly because Keaton would only direct me to do what he wanted.
His pleasure was always above mine, and it needed to come first.
Which is just another reason why it hurts so bad. What he did. I did everything he wanted, how was it not enough?
I tense, not wanting to think about my fiancé—ex-fiancé—especially like this.
Sex wasn’t bad with Keaton, but it wasn’t really great either. It was just…routine. Or rather, it had dulled from when I first moved in.
We fucked a couple times a week, but it was always pretty much the same thing. A little kiss here, a little lick there, a little thrust, and that was that. At least, that was how it’d been since we got engaged.
My psyche wants to bitterly tell me that it’s because of her.
Because before we got engaged, when we moved in together, sex was great.
But after living together for six months, it tapered from a fire down to a consistently burning ember.
I felt like having sex a couple times a week was good, all things considered.
Even if Keaton seemed to prioritize his pleasure above mine.
I just attributed it to stress, but…I guess now I know the real reason.
I shove the thought of him out of my brain as I speedily stroke my clit, gritting my teeth as I try to latch on to the thought of something better. Someone better…
And for a little while, it works. I imagine Benny with his tattooed hand around my throat, pressing his sizable erection against me.
I imagine his mouth on mine, his thick fingers stretching me instead of my own.
A deep groan escapes me, and because I’m clearly a mess, that’s when the image of Keaton and her comes to my mind.
All I can see is the stains of his cum on her skin, her pink pussy gleaming with his glaze. His cock stretching and pummeling into her ass.
The betrayal sinks in further, because I’d practically begged Keaton to stop using condoms since I was on the pill, but he refused because he said he didn’t want any accidents until we were married.
I was pissed, but when he told me how women in his past had tried to purposefully get knocked up so they could take a chunk of the family fortune, I relented.
I understood, and I didn’t press him about it.
And when I asked for anal, he refused. Told me he didn’t like it. Told me it was gross.
But he sure didn’t look grossed out with his bare cock buried in her ass.
I bite back the tears as I stroke my clit and insert one finger in myself, rocking my hips as I combat the poison of Keaton and his betrayal alongside the familiar yet new fantasy of Benny.
When I come, it’s a relief, but I feel like shit. I didn’t enjoy it as much as I thought I would, and I know it’s because I can’t let go of what he did to me.
I close my eyes, sighing in exasperation, and let slumber take me, vowing that tomorrow will be a better day. I’ll talk to Sam and Raegan, and I’ll focus on the details at hand—preparations for the wedding.
When I wake up, the clock reads ten thirty. I groan into the soft pillow, knowing I do need to get up, because I can’t sleep like the dead forever. I have to face Sam, and Raegan, and—
Shit, what if Benny’s still here? That will be more than awkward, though he probably won’t remember a thing about last night, even if he is still here.
I hear the faint sound of voices outside, one being my brother’s, and I figure I can at least get up, shower, and then make my way out to talk to him and Raegan.
Reluctantly, I push myself out of bed and grab some clean clothes and my bag of toiletries. I’ll have to toss my clothes from yesterday in the wash since we leave tomorrow, and lord knows I won’t have time to do laundry at the resort because who actually does laundry at a resort?
I carefully open the door, looking back and forth down the hall to make sure the coast is clear. I don’t see anyone, but I can definitely hear my brother and Raegan talking with someone.
Benny, probably.
I hurry down the hall, slipping into the empty bathroom with ease, and go about setting up my stuff in the shower before turning the hot water on.
The warm water on my skin feels good, a welcome relief. I close my eyes for just a moment, and it’s almost like I’m back home.
Home.
Technically, I guess I don’t have one of those anymore, seeing as I moved in with Keaton and let the lease lapse on my apartment outside the city.
I let out a heavy sigh. Shit, I’m going to have to figure that out too.
I make a mental note to look up any apartments outside the city that might have vacancies, but trying to find something is going to be a challenge on such short notice. Not to mention my things are still there, and I’ll have to swing by at some point to get my stuff, unless I call Keaton and—
No. Absolutely not. I can’t even look at the man, let alone talk to him.
I decide not to dwell on the sudden realization; I know it’ll only stress me out more.
What I need to do right now is focus on getting showered, talking to my brother, and maybe get some breakfast in me because I’m seriously starving.
I barely ate on the plane last night, and when I got in all I wanted was to crawl into bed and just pass out after the shitty day and the long flight.
The scent of vanilla and lime fills the room, and I breathe it in, trying to do those deep breathing exercises Melissa is always raving about. I don’t think mindfulness or whatever is for me, but she swears by it, and she’s one of the least stressed people I know, so maybe there’s something to it.
I suck in a breath, counting to ten in my head before I let it out.
I run my hands through my hair, getting all the soap out before I condition it.
By the third breath, I think I actually do feel a little better.
Once I’m done, and feel like I’ve hidden long enough, I turn off the faucet and set about drying off and getting dressed.
I run the detangler through my long, dark locks.
I can still see the contrast of the bright blond highlights peeking through, a testament to the fact that they’re so fresh.
I made a point to have all my appointments completed this week so I’d be in tip-top shape for this trip, for this wedding.
After fresh highlights, a mani-pedi, and a visit to the spa for a facial—I’ll look perfect for wedding pictures, even if I feel like crap underneath all the makeup and hair.
At least I’ll look pretty for my brother’s immortalized wedding photos even if I don’t feel it…
By the time I’m finished combing, detangling, and drying my hair, it’s nearing eleven fifteen. I drop my clothes off on the bed, steel my resolve, and head to the kitchen with more courage than I truly feel at the moment.
“Hey,” I say, noting the kitchen full of people. My brother leans against the counter with a cup of coffee while Raegan peruses her phone, her coffee just in front of her on the island.
But it’s not either of them my gaze settles on. It’s Benny.
“Morning, princess,” Benny says with a smirk.
Good night, kitten.
I blink, trying to forget the murmured words from last night, the words of a drunk friend.
Is Benny really my friend, though? I considered him a friend once, in that adjacent sort of way, but like Elijah, I haven’t talked to him in years, so I’m not sure I can consider us close or anything. Still, he is my brother’s friend, so I guess that still counts as friend-ish territory.
“Morning,” I say, avoiding his gaze.
“Coffee?” my brother asks with a smirk as I take a step into the space, toward where Raegan sits. She meets my gaze with a softness that’s so warm and comforting it’s like a cup of coffee all on its own.
“I’d love some fucking coffee,” I say, probably more sarcastically than I mean to sound.
Benny sets his mug on the counter. “Anyway, I’ll catch you guys tonight at the dinner.”