Chapter 16 #2
His hands on my shoulders guided me back to the couch, his shove playful as my legs hit the structure. He was back on my lap practically as soon as I’d settled, his legs to one side, his arms around me.
“You really think we can make this work?” he asked, and it was the most vulnerable I'd seen him.
“You really want to?” I was vulnerable right back.
With no hesitation, he responded, “I do,” before his mouth found mine, somehow desperate and sensual at the same time.
I pulled away to answer, “Then it’s vital that we make it work. That we figure it out. That we convince … everyone,” I said, not wanting to call out the fact that convincing Beck and Ben seemed like a Herculean task.
His lips were on mine before I could say more, the slow pace of it like the gentle ebb and flow of the Charles as it calmly laps at its bulkhead. My mouth may have been following along leisurely with his, but the rest of my body was vibrating like the inner workings of a plasma ball.
Everything about the moment was paradoxical, I thought as I wrapped my arms around him and kissed him back with all the confidence I could muster.
I’d kissed men before, even had a few on my lap, but nothing had ever felt like that moment, intensity coupled with calm, chaos and comfort all at once.
I’d need more than simple equations to dissect my feelings in that moment, but the beauty of it was that it didn’t require calculations, it just required me to be there, present, with Benji.
The rest would work itself out. It had to.
Benji hitched up, seeking more, and I realized he was straining from his awkward position. He lifted up, and maybe he was about to straddle me, but I moved us instead, lowering him to the couch and hovering above him.
Then I just stared. His hair was a mess of curls, his brown eyes dilatated, a look of excitement and calm staring back at me, letting me know we were in this together.
I lifted one arm, first brushing the hair from his forehead, then resting two fingers on the arm of his eyeglasses, my face a question.
He nodded, and I sat up, slowly pulling the glasses from his face and placing them carefully on the table next to my own. When I turned back, he was smiling up at me, his hands gripping my legs. He looked different without his glasses, but he was still Benji: my Benji.
For the first time that evening, I regretted the thick denim I had chosen to wear.
I ran my fingers through his hair again, and his hands began to move up and down my thighs.
I lowered myself down, and we kissed for long minutes, my weight on him, his hands roaming my back.
Strands of my hair fell loose, and his fingers found my scalp, tucking my hair behind my ears and holding it there as he cupped my neck.
Running his fingers through my hair seemed to ignite a fire in him, and soon he was thrusting up, positioning us so that our legs interlocked, our bodies pressed close together.
Every move, every moan, each thrust, each run of his fingers through my locks, had my neurons colliding.
I could feel every cell in my body as it pulsed, driving me closer and closer to him.
We were both focused on the gyration of our hips, his vocalization turning from moans to grunts, causing our lips to separate. From centimeters apart, his rhythmic growls drove my own need.
I pulled back slightly, briefly, taking him in without the glasses, his face flushed, his eyes alight. His lips sought mine, but our rhythm meant he was chasing me, like I’d chased a French fry not so long ago, his tongue out, desperate with need.
“Stunning.” I smiled as I leaned in and gave him what he wanted.
When our lips met, he kissed me with resolve. Soon, his body stiffened, and he tipped his head back, separating us. It was my turn to chase his lips until my brain caught up and realized he was pulling away. We both breathed heavily as I tried to read the look in his eyes.
He must have seen the worry in mine because he smiled, a beautiful, flushed, heated smile, and pecked my lips.
“Not like this,” he muttered into my mouth, and for a brief moment, I thought I had missed a cue, misread the situation. Done something wrong.
I hoisted up to look at him again, finding his hair a mess atop his blush-red face, his lips swollen and ruby red from my kisses, his eyes, which had me dreaming of chocolate hearts, looking almost coal black and wide. But no, it was desire I was reading on his face, I was sure of it.
When his expressive eyes turned to concern, I knew he was reading my look again as well. His hand on my cheek calmed me.
“If we don’t stop, I’m going to come in these fancy pants. I don’t think that’s what either of us wants even if I wasn’t planning on wearing them to graduation in the morning.” He lifted himself up until he was leaning on the armrest, his look questioning and very sexy.
“Bedroom?” he asked, and all I could do was nod.
I didn’t move right away, and he smiled at me as he found my waist under my shirt and pushed me up.
I stood, and he followed, his hands still warm on my torso.
Face-to-face again, those hands raked up my sides, sending chills to every part of my body, the sensation overwhelming.
I was so focused on the feeling that Benji needed to say, “Arms up, baby,” before he could toss my T-shirt aside.
He removed his suit jacket, placing it on the coffee table, picking up his glasses and returning them to his face as he rose.
He leaned down for mine, but I shook my head no. I could do without them.
After smoothly sliding his glasses back on, his hand reached out, seeking mine. Our fingers loosely intertwined, Benji turned to walk forward, unbuttoning his shirt with the other hand as he went. His arm extended back, I followed behind him past a small, open kitchen to the door beyond it.
His room was neat, simple, and small. He turned to catch me looking around and shrugged. I dropped his hand and walked to the desk, where a laptop sat open next to a computer screen. Running my fingers across it, I asked, “Is this where you sit when we work remotely?”
“Mostly.” He nodded. “That first night I was out at the kitchen table, but yeah. This is where the magic happens.”
“Now I can really picture you, instead of imagining you when we’re not together.”
Another pink blush ran up his cheeks, visible even in the dimly lit room. “I sometimes imagine you in here with me. Or …”
He shook his head and walked toward me, dropping his loosened shirt to the floor.
We were touching skin to skin, and before I could ask him to elaborate, he kissed me again.
Like flipping through a filing cabinet, I recalled past dalliances with other men, many older than Benji, some taller, some with the type of rippling muscles I thought I fancied.
None of them, not a single one, made me feel the way I did with Benji wrapped around me, his lips somehow like fire and ice as they pressed on mine, feeling a pulsing that could only be my own chest but felt like his heart beating in tandem with mine.
I wanted to know what that “or” meant, but I couldn’t pull away from him to ask, not for a second.
My hands found his hair and clamped down, locking his head in position.
His found the small of my back, pressing there before venturing lower, fighting the tautness of my belt to slip down and brush the top of my glutes.
I turned us without stopping, the movement gentle despite the intensity of our passion, despite the grip we held on each other. Just a few steps and he was pressed against the desk. He pulled back quickly, eyeing the computer and shifting us down a few inches.
“Company issued.” He smiled against my lips. “I wouldn’t want to damage it.”