Chapter 4 #3
Wishing I had been able to take a shower before we left, I slip off my leather jacket, put it in the back, and look for my pillow.
I don’t see it, but I notice one of his flannels—though I can’t take smelling him right now.
Still, I feel his lips at my ear, his scruff tickling, causing my stomach to drop and butterflies to erupt.
“Ugh,” I groan and rest my head against the window. The coolness refocuses me on that instead of the memories. The feelings. The need. I shift again, unable to find a comfortable position. I try to ignore him, but a moment later, he holds the flannel out for me.
“Use this, baby. Get some rest before we get there.”
Looking at him, I see his eyes are fixed on me and not the dark road.
Taking the flannel he offers, our fingers brush, and that need flares again.
I bury my nose in the material to check if it smells like anyone else; all I get is a deep sniff of my Benjamin—deep woods, bourbon, earth, and cedar. He must have been working in his shop.
I twist the shirt into a ball and set it against the window, resting my head into it.
My body still aches from my workout, my compression bra itches and feels too tight, and my nipples are sensitive from the smell of the flannel.
I remember the first time I gave myself an orgasm after the assault; I was wearing one of his shirts to bed and touching myself.
“Fuck this.” I quickly sit up and turn to look at him. I don’t care; I need some relief.
“Princess?” he growls in that husky voice of his, and I want to demand he pull over, but can’t. I need to get to Evie to make sure she’s okay. Tucking my arms into my hoodie, I unzip my compression bra and unhook it. “What the fuck are you doing?” I hear him gasp as the truck slows down.
I continue to remove my bra. Working under my shirt, I slide my arms out of the straps, then shove them back through the sleeves, pulling the bra along with it and setting it on the seat next to me.
“Sorry, I was uncomfortable.”
In the truck’s darkness with only the display lights glowing, Ben’s blue eyes look so bright, but his pupils are dilated, and only a thin line of his iris is visible.
“What the fuck?” He reaches across the console as he slams the truck into park on the shoulder of the road. He grabs my bra and pulls it to his nose, sniffing it just like I sniffed his shirt.
“Eww, I was sweating into that.” I curl my lip and try to grab for it, but he grips my hand and pulls the bra farther away from me.
“Show me.” There is a bite to his tone, a gruffness I’ve never heard before now, but my clit likes it and pulses. “Show me now, baby.”
“What?” I’m not sure what he wants to see, but his eyes are pinpointed on my chest. I reach to the hem of my sweatshirt, and he nods.
“I’m on a razor's edge here, princess.” His voice now trembles.
“Don’t call me that.”
“Why?”
“Because when you do, it reminds you that I’m off limits.”
“No.” He shakes his head as he smirks at me. “I call you princess because you are mine, and I’m going to treat you like the princess you are.”
I slowly drag the hem up my body, exposing my stomach.
My fingers brush the scars, but I’ve never hidden them from him before, so why start now?
Ben was there for me. Stopping the fabric just under my unrestrained breasts, I take a deep breath and decide to trust my instincts for once and lift it to my neck.
Staring me down in the darkness, his breath catches. “Are you?” he pauses and reaches toward the dash. The overhead light flicks on, fully exposing my flesh. “Fuck, you pierced them.” He reaches out and tweaks my nipple, tugging on the hoop that penetrates it. I can’t help but moan.
“I pierced them a year and a half ago for my 18th birthday.”
“Shit, I didn’t know that. I knew about these.” His fingers drag over my stomach tattoo, then the one over my right breast that took the most damage.
“I did it when I did this.” I stick out my tongue, and he groans.
“Yeah, knew about that. Do you know how many times I’ve thought about sliding my cock along that piercing, wondering how it would feel?
But these.” He pauses, flicking the nipple ring again.
At the image, I tip my head back. “When we get there, I’m going to be playing with those.
” He nods, and I let the hoodie fall back in place. “Lie back and get some sleep.”
“You want me to sleep after you confessed that shit to me? Are you a masochist?”
He chuckles while stuffing my bra into his seat, then clicks off the light. “Maybe for you.” He waits a beat, then chuckles again. “Yeah, I’m a fucking masochist for you. Been like this since you were a teenager and realized I wanted you.”
“What?” I shake my head, confused.
“Get some rest; we’ll talk more when we get there.”
I lean my head against the window and stare out at the darkness in front of us. Closing my eyes, I try to ignore my riotous body, but his words play on repeat through my mind.
He’s wanted me for years. Am I able to handle a masochist?
As I drift off to sleep, I think of my counselor and our conversations geared around my body. Sex. Dreams manifest, and in them, I see myself allowing Ben to take control so I don’t have to think about what I want or that the things I like are on the rougher side. It’s a craving of mine.