Chapter 9 Benny #2
“That depends,” I say as I approach her, sliding one hand around her waist. She doesn’t push me away, just sways in my hold to the crooning singer going on about nothing scaring them anymore.
“Do you want me to defend your honor, Sophia?” I retort, using her full name.
She hums contentedly as she leans into my space, settling her hands on my chest. Her long, lithe fingers slip beneath the opening of my silk button-down, sliding through the sweat, her touch warm on my skin.
I have enough brain cells working that I realize she’s touching me. In a way she’s never touched me before.
It doesn’t feel friendly, or even sisterly. It feels intimate, and that makes my damn cock twitch with excitement.
“Kinda hard when I have no honor left to defend, ” she says, her hands slowly tracing down my chest, over my sweat-slick shirt that’s clinging to my skin. My own hands move of their own volition, right over the small of her back, resting just above her ass.
We sway like that, moving to the sultry sounds of the band for I don’t know how long. Our bodies move in perfect synchronicity and she wraps her arms around my neck. I lean in closer, close enough I can smell her sweet vanilla scent, close enough that if I wanted to, I could kiss her.
“’Snice…” she says hazily.
“Hmmm?”
“It’s nice when you’re not all grumpy and bossy,” she says with a soft chuckle, and I can’t help but grin.
“Oh really?”
She nods. “So nice…”
“You’re not so bad yourself,” I whisper in her ear. I lick my lips, fighting the urge to lick her. She smells so sweet. I wonder if she would taste as good as she smells. “When you’re not pissing me off by touching other men.”
I tighten my grip on her hips and she squeals. The beginning notes of a song I don’t know play in the air, the singer mentioning something about going ham in a sports car. Whatever that means.
“I’m not—”
“You had your hands all over Matthew today,” I growl. “And I know you kissed Eli.”
She stiffens in my hold.
“And I also know the truth about your little boyfriend,” I say. “Or should I say…ex-boyfriend?”
“Who told you?” she asks huskily.
“Matthew.” I tell her the truth because there’s no point in lying. Not to her, not now, and especially not when I’ve had so much to drink. Pretty sure she could ask me for the nuclear codes at this point and I’d hand them over.
Which is why I know we should probably call it a night. Be responsible human beings and turn in.
Her eyes start to water and I shake my head.
“Tell me what you want,” I say. “You want me to send the man a bag of dicks? Tattoo the word idiot on his forehead?”
She lets out a soft sound, almost like a faint laugh. “You’d do that? For me?” Her arms tighten around my neck and I can feel her fingers toying with the edges of my hair.
“I’d do anything for you, princess,” I vow, my voice stern and full of promises I know I can’t keep. But right now, at this moment, we both pretend I can. “Defend your nonexistent honor.” I smirk.
Her hazy gaze meets mine and I see the truth in the words.
Sophie is far from innocent, and we’re certainly not kids anymore.
We’re adults. Two single adults on vacation who have had too much to drink.
Which is why I blame the next words that come out of my mouth purely on the alcohol.
“You want to get out of here? Head back up? To bed?” Her eyes search mine and I reiterate, “You can have the bed.”
“Benny—”
“Not negotiable,” I say, the command in my voice evident.
Sophie tenses in my grasp. I also don’t miss the gasp that escapes her throat.
“Just say yes, sir,” I whisper, my voice dark and full of heat that would rival the climate here. “Say yes, Benny.”
My words aren’t my own. I feel like we’re talking about heading back, but…we’re talking about something else altogether…something dangerous.
“Yes, Benny,” she says softly. “Take me home.”
I grasp her hand as I lead her through the patio and she stumbles as she grabs her heels from the couch on the way.
Neither of us say a word as I lead us through the restaurant, heading toward the elevators. And when Sophie stumbles leaving the elevator on our floor, I don’t think twice about scooping her up into my arms, the movement making her squeal.
She feels good in my arms. Too good.
She feels perfect. Her arms slide around my neck and I feel her fingers pulling at my collar, slipping beneath it. Somewhere in the back of my brain I wonder if I’ll remember this moment tomorrow.
Sophie Martin, in my arms, where she belongs.
I hope I do.
I fumble with my key card to get us in and once I’m inside, I carefully set her down on the bed. She drops her shoes on the floor, staring up at me, and for a moment, I’m frozen in time as we stare at one another, the gap between us getting smaller with each breath.
And then she breathes a heavy sigh.
“I used to fantasize about this moment so much,” she whispers.
I furrow my eyebrows, not understanding what she means. What moment? Me rescuing her after one too many shots and making sure she gets to bed okay?
“What moment?” I ask, sinking onto the bed next to her. She scoots into my space, biting her lip, and once again my attention is drawn to my damn cock.
“You whisking me away to—” She swallows harshly, and her cheeks flush scarlet.
“Whisking you away to what?” I ask, grabbing my cock to adjust myself. The touch doesn’t do much to help matters as she breathes heavier.
“Do you have to pee?” she asks, and I nearly get whiplash from her words.
And then I realize she’s watching me. Her gaze is locked on my hand that’s currently holding my damn bulge, and I’m acutely aware of how hard I actually am.
I could easily tell her yes. Pretend it’s nothing. Tuck her into the covers, tell her goodnight and that would be the end of it. But I can’t lie to Sophie. Not now. Not ever, so I do the thing I should not do. I tell her the truth.
“Nope. Just hard as a fucking rock.”
This is it. She’s either going to slap me—like I deserve—or she’s going to brush it off. At least, that’s what I expect her to do, but instead she settles her hand on my thigh, dangerously close to where my hand is.
She licks her lips before she speaks. “I thought drinking had the opposite effect when it came to getting hard.”
I smirk at her as her fingers trace my thigh through my dress pants, and instinctively I shift toward her, letting go of my cock. It strains hard against the inside of my pants, and I know she can see the huge tent I’m pitching. For her.
It’s always for her.
Every time I think of Sophie—when I let myself think of her—I come hard and fast, which is why I’ve learned to prolong the experience.
And right now I’m grateful for that skill.
“Yeah, well, kind of hard to keep this monster in check when I’m around you.” I lean in closer, her lips barely an inch away from me.
“Is that so?” she asks, her hand inching closer to my erection. I can see the tremor in her hand, feel the tension in the air. Smell her desire.
“If…” I swallow carefully. “If you want to touch me, Sophie, you can.” I don’t miss how my voice shakes. I can hear the nerves and I hate it.
I hate that even after all this time, after all the women I’ve been with, in her presence it’s like I’m a nineteen-year-old boy again, wanting. Needing. Things I know I shouldn’t.
“You can do whatever you want to me,” I whisper, sealing my doom.
Equal parts shame and desire blanket me, because this isn’t how I usually am with women.
Usually, women prefer to be the ones begging for me, but I’ve had too much to drink and the object of my forbidden desires is here and I’m weak.
That’s the thing no one really gets, to be honest. Or maybe I just don’t show all my cards to most people.
Or maybe it’s just this way with Sophie.
Whatever it is, I try not to overthink my desperate words.
Instead, I focus on Sophie. On her wild hair, framing her face, on those perfect, plump lips that begged to be kissed.
Lips that would look so fucking pretty wrapped around my cock, painted with my cum.
My cock throbs at the thought, my heart pounding in my chest like a drum as she looks at me.
“Anything?” she asks, her voice husky and warm and slightly off-kilter from all the shots and drinks we’ve had.
We celebrated hard. All night. Not just because of the game, but because this trip, this wedding—it’s Paradise, and it’s only here for a fleeting moment, so why wouldn’t we? Living in the moment is what I’m good at. It’s the aftermath I suck at.
When the haze of alcohol wears off, or the high of a new fuck dissipates. When things go back to “normal” and the amazing rose-colored goggles are off, the after is where it all disappears and is replaced with remorse, regret, and buried secrets.
I don’t want to think about the after now, though. Not with Sophie’s hand on my thigh.
“Anything, princess,” I tell her, needing her to understand. Words are hard. But my cock is harder.
I grimace as it strains against the inside of my slacks and I have half a mind to unzip them and let it out right here. Part of me thinks she’d like that.
The other part thinks that would be a terrible idea, but thankfully that part isn’t as loud. It’s easier to ignore.
I let out a grunt as I squeeze my cock, trying to situate it in a position that isn’t so painful, but as I do so, Sophie leans in, bridging the gap between us, her lips softly pressing against mine, and I melt like ice on the sidewalk.
She tastes like forbidden fruit. Sweet and sour and fucking perfect.
Her hand slides up my thigh, right over my bulge, and I suck in a breath, opening my lips without a second thought.
Sophie’s fingers carefully run over the outline of my cock as I slide my tongue into her mouth without question.
She lets out a low moan as she rubs my cock through my pants, slowly. Stroking, grazing, feeling me out.
“You like that?” I whisper, thrusting my cock against her palm.