Chapter 10
Years later, I’m thinking about that day as I cry into Ben’s chest. Because the path from that afternoon to today has been one difficult climb with no stops or detours.
My sobs are silent and nearly tearless. Mostly angsty shaking. When I’ve recovered enough, I start to pull away, but he won’t let me.
“Ben,” I mumble, my face still buried in his old T-shirt.
“Give me another minute, baby. I never get to do this.”
It washes over me with such a flood of pleasure I can’t fully process the words. But I lean into them hungrily.
Like all this time, I’ve needed only this.
I slouch against him for several minutes as he holds me tight. My body relaxes, and my mind grows hazy.
Until I actually fall asleep.
I only know I went to sleep because I’m aware of waking up slowly. It doesn’t always happen that way.
Often I wake in the morning with a jerk, adrenaline pushing me into abrupt consciousness as if the world might have fallen apart while I was unaware.
But right now I wake up slowly. Conscious first only of being warm and cozy. Then of strong arms still wrapped tightly around me. Then that there’s a heart beating near my ear.
Maybe it’s mine.
It feels like mine.
It’s beating slow and leisurely like the pulsing of my blood.
After another minute, I’m awake enough to shift my body. There’s a big, hard, warm thing beneath me. I’m somehow sleeping on it.
I sleep on the ground a lot. At least half our nights are spent in a tent with nothing but a thin mat to soften dirt and grass. But this isn’t that.
This is hard but yielding. And it has a definite shape.
One I know down deep in my gut, my core, my spirit. One I know.
I mumble something—a wordless question—and it mumbles back. Just as incoherently, but I understand the response anyway.
It’s Ben.
It’s Ben.
I’m somehow, for some reason, lying on top of Ben.
This recognition is enough to prompt me to lift my head and blink down.
Yep. Definitely Ben. He’s lying on his back—his big body cramped by the sofa’s size and by the length of my body sprawled out on top of him.
He must have been sleeping too because his blue-gray eyes are groggy as they peer up at me. “Hey there.”
I huff, a fond amusement spilling out of me. “Hey there to you too. You went to sleep.”
“I only went to sleep because you did first. Seemed like the gentlemanly thing to do.”
The archaic word catches my attention. “Who thinks about being gentlemanly anymore?”
“I do.”
I smile. He desperately needs a shave. One section of hair near his forehead is kinked wildly in the wrong direction. And his eyes and lips are both warm. “Yes, you do.”
“I do.”
“I just agreed that you did.”
“I wasn’t arguing. I was reaffirming.”
“Oh. Okay. The point is reaffirmed.”
“Good.”
“Good.”
“Very good.”
I giggle. It’s not a laugh or a chuckle or a huff of amusement. It’s definitely a giggle. “Very good,” I repeat.
Then, overwhelmed with a force of affection there’s no containing or halting, I scoot up his body until my mouth is even with his.
Then I kiss him.
It’s just a light, sweet kiss. A feather-soft brush of his lips. I have no agenda or purpose beyond giving shape to the deep feeling in my heart.
But I freeze as I pull away until I’m poised a couple of inches from his face.
He’s frozen too. Staring up at me.
Because we don’t do that.
We never, ever do that.
“Sorry,” I burst out, backtracking as quickly as I can. “I shouldn’t have done that. It was a random impulse that doesn’t mean anything. Let’s just pretend it never hap—”
My rushed words are broken off because it happens again.
This time it’s Ben who closes the distance between us. He lifts his head and his hand at the same time, finding my lips and then curving his palm around my neck so he can bring me down with him as he eases backward.
His kiss is not gentle and barely there like mine. He works my lips until I’ve parted them, and then he slides his tongue into my mouth, still holding my head against his and using his other hand to slide down my back to my ass.
He adjusts my body so that my thighs are parted and straddling him just above his groin.
My body bursts into life immediately following my heart.
I kiss him back eagerly, teasing his tongue with mine and rubbing myself against his lower belly. I make a silly moan into the kiss.
He’s tensing up beneath me. I can feel the excitement in his muscles. When I scoot down slightly, I can feel it in a growing bulge at the front of his pants too.
His arousal feeds mine. The ache between my legs starts pulsing. I’ve got one hand tangled in his thick hair, and the other is greedily feeling his shoulder, his thick biceps.
After a couple of minutes, his fingers squeeze between our bodies and fumble with the button of my jeans.
I make a throaty sound of excitement.
“This okay?” he mumbles, breaking the kiss to press smaller ones all around my mouth and along my jaw.
“Yes! Get your hand in there.”
He chuckles, the soft amusement shaking his entire body. He slides his fingers inside my jeans and then my underwear. “Yes, ma’am,” he drawls right before he reaches my clit.
My spine arches involuntarily at the pressure of his fingers. It feels so good I gasp and shudder.
“Is that the right spot?” he asks.
It feels like his eyes are on me, but I can’t tell because mine are closed, all of me tightly attuned to the way he’s rubbing my clit. “Yessss.” I stretch out the last consonant sound in an embarrassing hiss. The pleasure has tightened into a mounting need, and I grind my hips against it.
“That’s right. That’s good. Ride my hand. Just like that.”
Shit, he’s sexy as hell. Even the sound of his voice. Has he always been like this?
It’s too deep a question to ponder at the moment. I move eagerly against his fingers until an orgasm breaks hard, spiraling from his touch to overwhelm my entire body. I use my fist to block my cry of release—our people are right outside that door—and ride the waves of pleasure until they’re done.
I laugh softly as I collapse forward onto his chest again. He wraps his free arm around me. His other hand is still tucked into my jeans, his fingers stroking me gently.
“Thank you,” I mumble, hiding my face against his shoulder. I don’t know why I’m suddenly shy. It’s not like me at all.
“You’re welcome. I’m at your service anytime.”
More amusement bubbles up, mingling with my sated languor.
“Shoulda told me you needed this kind of release before. I coulda been helping you work out your extra tension all these years.”
His words help brush away that inexplicable self-consciousness. Because he’s not declaring eternal love here. He’s not expecting me to marry him and have his babies.
He just wants to give me a good fuck.
And that’s what I want too.
I rub my whole body against his, moaning softly as his fingers in my underwear get more presumptuous. He’s moved them back slightly until he’s found my pussy and slid one finger all the way in.
“You’re real wet,” he says thickly.
“What’s your point?”
“My point is that you’re real wet.” It sounds like he’s smiling. “I like it.”
“To tell you the truth, I kind of like it too.” I move my hand down so I can feel the front of his jeans. The shape of his hard cock beneath the snug denim.
He moans long and low, the helpless sound resonating deep inside me.
When I’ve found my words again, I continue, “And since I can feel how much you like it, we might as well do something for both of us.”
“Yeah?”
The question in his tone is real, and it surprises me. “Did you think I’d take a hand job and leave you with nothing?”
“I’d take it if that’s all you wanted.”
“Well, it’s not. So why don’t we pull out what feels like a very impressive cock so we can do something with it.”
He’s making throaty sounds that are part laugh, part groan. “If you say so.”
“I do.” I pull myself up to more of a sitting position, straddling the tops of his thighs. Then together he and I manage to undo his jeans and slide them down enough to get into his boxers and retrieve his cock.
It is a good one. Firm and thick and substantial with coarse hair around the base. All of him is big, so his size isn’t surprising. And it’s not so unnaturally large that I’m worried about the fit. I smile down at him.
“I guess that means I’ll do.” He’s been watching my face, and something in his expression relaxes now.
“You’ll more than do. Help me get out of these jeans so we can fuck properly.”
There’s a minute of awkward maneuvering as we strip off my jeans and underwear at the same time. But then I’m able to climb back in place, straddling him and lifting myself up until we’re aligned.
He holds his cock in place as I lower myself over him.
The penetration is tight. It takes a minute of shifting and adjusting until he’s comfortably inside me. Then I breathe deeply, trying to relax my pussy around him.
“How’s that?” He’s gripping the flesh on each side of my ass, holding himself intensely still.
“It’s good.”
“You tellin’ me the truth?”
“Yes, I’m telling the truth. I’ve had plenty of experience fucking a man when I didn’t want it. I’m not going to do it again.”
Unexpectedly, he lifts one hand to cup my cheek. “I know you did, baby. That’s why anythin’ we do together is with you all in. So you better tell me if this is feelin’ good to you or not.”
“I’m all in. I promise. I’m feeling good.” To prove it, I start easing up and down on his cock, testing the position.
“Shit,” he hisses, his hips bucking up once before he controls it. “You’re gonna kill me before the end of this, aren’t you?”
I’m almost laughing again at his dry tone and tense expression. “I’ll try not to. But you know how I get when I’m on a mission.”
“Yeah, I do.” His eyes are warm and fond. “No one focuses on a job like you. So I’ll hold on for the ride and enjoy it.”
I’ve never in my life felt excited and aroused and affectionate and safe like this—not in the middle of sex, not in any situation. It’s a heady combination.