Chapter 18 #2
He let go of my hair and reached for my shorts.
By the time my fly was down, my cropped tee was up and over my head.
Before he could make another move, I hooked my thumbs into the waistband of my shorts and panties then shimmied them down my legs in order to step out of them.
Hungry for the fruition of his promise, I immediately turned for the stairs, knelt on the fourth step, bent myself at the perfect angle, and turned to peek at him from over my shoulder.
Surrender.
That’s how much I trusted him.
That’s how far I’d fallen.
That’s how reckless my monster made me.
I didn’t want to be in control. I wanted him to take me—to ride me—to make me scream.
I hardly needed to see the brown of his eyes to feel the intensity of his gaze.
I swear he growled as he stepped toward me, grabbed hold of my hips, and slammed his way inside of me bare. Primed as I was, he invaded me with ease, and I moaned at the mere pleasure of my swollen center stretching to accommodate all of him.
No one filled me like he did. No one.
Precisely as he promised—he fucked me.
And he fucked me hard .
It was rapturous.
I was so turned on, my first orgasm didn’t take much to coax. As my sex clamped down around his, he freed a grunt, smacked the side of my ass, then held on—pounding into me faster.
“Did my baby miss me?”
I hummed in agreement, unable to manage much else. Not that he needed a verbal reply. My body was saying plenty, and he was taking my breath away.
“Fuck—you’re so damn soaked for me, Ali. I missed you too, baby. God, I missed you and this perfect pussy.”
No sooner had he said the words than he had hold of my hair. He tugged, forcing me to arch my spine, allowing him to hit me at a new angle—and I thought I might lose my mind it felt so good.
“Oh, Ben— yes! ” I cried, the promise of another orgasm already stirring within me.
“You’re gonna come again.”
It was a demand, not a question. Still, I moaned, “ Yes .”
As he continued to ram in and out of me at a relentless pace, the hand not holding my hair roamed across my skin. The feel of his rough callouses grazing up my spine and down my side gave me goosebumps even as the heat of our passion left me burning from the inside out.
“Get there, baby,” he commanded.
I was close. So, close it ached. But I needed more.
“Harder,” I pleaded, reaching behind me, yearning to touch him. I caught hold of his wrist, and his grip in my hair tightened in response. “Fuck me harder, daddy, harder! ”
He gave me exactly what I wanted, and it hurt so damn good. When my encore climax finally crashed through me, I cried out unabashedly in ecstasy, completely at his mercy.
“Fuckin’ hell,” I heard him groan. He broke his rhythm, his control lost as he started to come. He buried himself in the deepest part of me, freeing a sigh as he filled me with his seed.
When he pulled out only to thrust into me once more, I suddenly couldn’t breathe. I choked on a sob I didn’t see coming, unable to hold it back. He let go of my hair, and I pressed my forehead against the step in front of me, my muscles completely useless.
I should have been mortified by my tears, but there wasn’t room for that. All I could feel was a deep seeded longing I’d trapped inside of me, clawing its way out of captivity as my body trembled from the enormity of it all.
“Shit,” Ben murmured, his lips gazing my bare shoulder as he curled his arms around me. “Did I hurt you?”
His question broke me wide open, and I pressed my lips closed tight, hoping to contain another sob as I shook my head no.
He kissed my shoulder again then said, “Tell me what you need.”
As I drew in a shuddered breath, I reached underneath me and slid my arm over his, silently asking him to not let me go.
He tightened his grip instead as he muttered, “I got you, sparky.”
Fuck , but he was ruining me.
The sob I was trying so desperately to hold back broke free, wracking my entire body. Benson whispered reassuringly against my skin, his warm breath like a balm to my soul.
It took me a minute to get control of myself.
When I felt like I had hold of my emotions, I shifted, giving him permission to straighten.
I stood on shaky legs and immediately felt the evidence of his release leak out of me.
I glanced down at myself, suddenly feeling outrageously self-conscious as a delayed sense of embarrassment began to invade my chest.
“Hey,” Ben called softly, skimming his hand up the back of my naked thigh.
When I looked over at him, I noticed he’d pulled his pants up—leaving his fly down and the button undone.
He gave my thigh a squeeze, and my eyes found his. “Shower with me.”
I hesitated, a part of me wanting a moment alone; a moment to hide .
But a bigger part of me, the most exposed part of me, didn’t want to hide from the man who never hid from me.
I offered him a shy nod and held out my hand in offering. Rather than wrap his fingers around mine, he went to the door and locked it, then snatched up his rucksack. As soon as his boot hit the bottom step, he took my hand, and I led him up the stairs.
As he undressed in my bedroom, I slipped into the bathroom and twisted my hair up into a bun before I started the water.
I couldn’t say what time it was when we both climbed into the shower, but under the bright light above the bathtub, the exhaustion I heard in his voice over the phone was clear as day on his face.
For the first time since he left, I wondered what he’d been up to. I wondered if he’d been successful, if it had been worth it, if it was truly finished and behind him or if whatever it was might still be weighing on him now that he was home.
I wondered, but I didn’t ask.
We didn’t linger long under the water—but it was still fifteen minutes I knew I’d never forget. He washed my body first, taking extra care between my legs, and then it was my turn. Neither of us spoke the entire time, and yet our exchange was undeniably a conversation of sorts.
Tender.
Intimate.
Perfect.
When we were finished and both of us dry, I went to my dresser to grab a night shirt. Twister grabbed me instead, pulling me toward the bed. He slipped between the sheets naked, positioning himself in the middle of my queen-sized mattress.
It had never looked smaller.
He then reached for me and tugged. I switched off my bedside lamp and allowed him to guide me directly on top of him—my legs straddling his tatted thigh, my breasts smushed against his hard, inked chest. I relaxed, resting my head against his shoulder.
“Good to be home,” he said on a sigh, placing one of his hands on my right butt cheek.
He was asleep in under five minutes, his hand still holding me possessively.
For years, I was convinced to be possessed by a man was to be owned—like an animal.
Yet, in this moment, as sleep pulled at my eyelids, my last conscious thought was how much I wished I belonged to Benson Wright.