Chapter 41
NOW
Bennett
“Busy?”
“No,” I say too quickly, stopping inside the door to the garage and turning to where Rhys is standing at the bottom of the stairs. “Why?”
“Thought we could ride to practice together,” he offers, squeezing my shoulder as he walks past me for his bag. “We haven’t gotten a lot of time together recently.”
“You’ve been busy,” I offer. Rhys winces and my stomach sinks. Never can get this right, huh?
“Right,” he says. It’s silent for a moment while we both climb into my car before he continues. “But you know that doesn’t mean I don’t have time for you, yeah? You’re my best friend. Nothing is going to change that.”
It feels so ridiculous. I want to snap at him that I’m not a kid and we’re not in high school. He doesn’t need to apologize to me for falling in love and having less time to be my crutch—because in so many ways that’s exactly what he’s been.
And that same fear rouses, rising like a tsunami in the back of my mind to crash over and terrorize every memory—that he sees me as a needy, pathetic, attached, and forced friend that he was never able to rid himself of.
I swallow it all down, though it feels like trying to swallow rocks.
“I know,” I say instead.
“Maybe we could get dinner or something, just you and me.”
Another nod is all I can manage as I navigate the icy roads toward the arena. “That would be nice, I think.”
We don’t talk for much of the rest of the ride, our anxieties warring for space in the cab. I tell him I’m going to stay in the car for a little longer, and though he seems worried, he lets it go.
I fumble with my phone, the need to call my dad warring desperately with the need to avoid speaking with him at all costs. I can’t talk to Rhys. I can’t talk to my dad. I can’t talk to anyone because everyone I try to hold closer seems to slip further from my grasp.
Just go inside. Do your usual routine and everything will be—
My hand is on the gearshift suddenly; I back up and drive out of the parking lot with no real plan. I dial the number I know by heart.
“Bennett?”
“P—” I breathe, hating that my voice sounds as shaky as I feel. “Hey, are you . . . are you busy?”
“Just got home from class,” she says. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I just—can I come see you?”
Can I come over, was what I meant to ask—like a normal person. Resisting the urge to slam my forehead into the steering wheel, I stop a little too briefly at the stop sign before turning and idling on the corner.
“Yeah,” Paloma says. I hear a door close before, “Bennett? Are you sure you’re okay?”
“I’m fine, I just don’t know where you live.” I laugh, shaking my head.
“I’ll send you the location. Just—drive safe, okay?”
She hangs up and shares her location with me, something that makes my chest feel warm. She used to do it all the time, so I could come get her wherever she was. So that I could always find her.
I march up to the front door of the pretty townhouse on shaky feet with trembling arms—like I’m running on adrenaline taken through an IV.
I knock twice before she answers, her beautiful brown eyes going wide at the sight of me in her doorway.
“Bennett,” she greets.
“Sorry.” I huff a breath, but a smile breaks through. “I didn’t want to bother you. But I just needed to see you.”
“You’re fine.” She smiles up at me. “More than fine. Come in.”
It’s warm in her home—and a thrill shoots up my spine that there’s a place I can call that for her now.
That Paloma has a home that’s warm and safe, and that she seems to want to be in.
The foyer is dark green and half-paneled with brown wood.
There’s a pretty woven carpet taking up most of the living room with a well-loved gray couch and several multicolored pillows—some that I recognize from her dorm freshman year. She has music playing softly on the TV.
And she’s there in the center of it all, so warm and beautiful. Happy, I realize with a jolt.
“Is everything okay?”
I nod. “I just . . .” My voice trails off as I rock slightly on my heels, hands tucked into the pockets of my sweatpants.
“I don’t want to be just your friend, Paloma.
” My confession is soft, quiet in the warm space as it floats over her.
She basks in it slightly, lips parting with a puff of breath.
“I never wanted to be just your friend. I love you.” A short laugh works from me as I shrug my shoulder.
“And that’s just never going to change for me. I’m always going to want you.”
“Bennett—”
I hold up my palm to stop her.
“I know,” I say, eyes straying from hers toward my feet.
“I am not trying to change your mind or force you to be with me, you know I’d never do that.
But I want to be clear. I will be your friend if that’s what you need.
But I will never want less from you; I’m always going to hope for more.
” My voice drops lower. “For you to let me have you again. Take care of you.”
“Bennett,” she breathes, and I finally look at her. Her eyes look glassy and my stomach drops at the idea I might’ve upset her. But before I can try to fix it, she continues. “I do want a fresh start with you. But I . . . I want you, always.”
“As more than friends.”
She laughs, the sound wet but genuine. “Yes.”
I nod. “Okay.”
“Okay?”
“That’s . . . that’s all I came to say.”
Her brow wrinkles as she watches me for a long moment, waiting for something. For once, I do what I want without overthinking it—stepping forward and kissing her. Hard and intense like I always crave to do.
Her hiccup of surprise melts into a moan as she latches her hands onto my shoulders. I scoop her up into my arms, heart thumping.
“Sorry,” I whisper. “I’ve been thinking about that since the bar.” Far longer, if I’m honest with myself.
“Me too,” Paloma admits quietly. “I’m glad you’re here. I . . . I missed you.”
The words feel weighted. I missed you. How long have I waited for this from her lips? I’ve yearned for them. It’s like water to my parched soul. I’m desperate for her.
“Can I see your room?” I ask with a grin. She giggles into my neck and nods, leaning back with bright eyes. This is all I want. Forever, this is all I need.
She directs me up the stairs and to her room. It’s just as warm and cozy as I thought it would be. So her in every way. I want to stretch out across her bed and swim in the scent of her.
Instead, I splay her across the half-undone bedding of her queen-sized bed. Her blond lustrous strands twinkle in the lamplight. I brush a few stray pieces from her face before kissing her mouth, sweeter this time.
“If this isn’t what you want, tell me,” I say, half-kneeling over her. Her face is flushed and beautiful. I’m so in love with her it hurts.
My hand reaches up to rub at my chest.
“I want you, always.”
I shake my head, closing my eyes and struggling with the words I’m desperate to say and terrified to admit in equal measure.
“The things I want to do to you, P . . .” My voice feels hoarse, almost raw in desperation. “I—I need you to promise you’ll tell me if you don’t like it.”
“You know my body better than I do, Bennett,” she whispers, almost shy.
“I don’t want to hurt you.”
“You never would.” She reaches to hold my face in her hands. “But you have to trust me to tell you if I want you to stop.”
“That’s the problem, P,” I whisper, hand covering hers where it still rests against my overheated cheek. “I trust you with everything.” I lean down to kiss her forehead. “But not with your limits.”
She sits up almost abruptly.
“Oh—okay. Yeah.” She scrambles to kneel, pulling me a little by the wrist so I’ll sit next to her. “Why don’t we set them, then. You . . .” Her voice drops a little, eyes darting away from me. “You can decide what I need and when.”
I feel like I should be ashamed of the way my cock hardens at the words she’s saying, the desperation for control. To have her trust like that, to take care of her.
“Yeah,” I agree. “Tell me what you don’t want, P.”
“Don’t be mean,” she whispers, and the words hit like an anvil on my heart. “I don’t want to be called names or talked down to.”
“Never,” I whisper, but hold back the words I want to say, the anger toward the demons in her past simmering in my gut. “What else, love?”
“I don’t . . . I don’t think I like pain. Like, real pain. I don’t want to be hit.”
“I’d never hurt you.”
She nods, eyes softening at the familiar words. “I know.”
“What about tying you up?” I ask, the words choked but somehow more freeing than I anticipated.
“Yes.”
“And . . . control?” I take a settling breath, because my entire body feels too tightly wound, muscles pumped like I could burst through a brick wall. “If I wanted to control when you come? Make you wait for it until you—”
“Yes,” she says, but this time it’s nearly a gasp. Her face is flushed, her chest heaving as the cutout sweatshirt dips lower off her shoulder, along her collarbone. “Please.”
“Let’s start like that, then. If you want this—”
“I do,” she cuts me off. “Please, Bennett, I—”
“Shh,” I quiet her softly, but firmly. “Take off your sweatshirt and lie back for me.”
I’ve imagined this so many times. Done ample amounts of research over the years.
Even talked to my therapist about it when I worried something was wrong with me for what I wanted—but I know this is everything right.
The anticipation of it all is almost overwhelming, but then it’s her beneath me and that changes everything.
Paloma Blake is naked from the waist up, laying across blue sheets like water. Her hair is wild, half out of a loose ponytail, her ample chest heaving with breaths as she trembles.
I reach my hand out slowly to run my knuckles across her stomach and between her breasts.
“You’re so perfect, you know that?” I whisper reverently, before dropping my tone. “Push your tits together, P.”
A noise sounds from her throat as her thighs press together tightly, desperate for pressure. I push them apart, settling my knee between her legs without touching her.
“Do you trust me to take care of you?”
She nods, eyes bright.
“Say it.”
“I trust you.”
“Good, love. You’re so good for me, yeah?” I press a kiss to her warm forehead. “You take care of me without even trying. In the hotel room? When you helped me with my injury? You took such good care of me. And I was so hard for you. Only you.”
“Mmhmm,” she agrees through a puff of breath. “Bennett, please.”
“Open for me, P.” I shuck my pants and boxers off before pulling off my shirt and crawling back to the space between her legs, looking across the curves of her body as I touch myself leisurely.
She’s so beautiful—wide hips, thick thighs, sharp curved waistline, her tits large as she pushes them together, following my direction easily.
Paloma’s always been unearthly hot—not just to me. The way people speak about her body has always filled me with rage. But it is a fact that Paloma Blake is the hottest woman I’ve ever seen.
She’s starred in every fantasy I’ve ever had—and even now I need to touch her, to make sure she’s real.
Her plump, peachy lips part as I press my cock into her mouth, inch by inch. I can’t stop the groan that pours from my own mouth as I push in farther.
“That’s it, love. Can you take me deeper?” She nods, peering up at me. I feed her another inch before her head bucks forward like she’s trying to take all of me. She gags and her brown doe eyes water.
I pull back, popping her lips off me with a gentle grip on the side of her jaw and neck.
“Not in the business of pain or discomfort, P.” My voice is tinged with a bit of anger, tone low. “I decide how much you get, understand?”
She nods. “I’m sorry,” she sputters out.
I lean down and press an almost reverent kiss to her forehead, wiping away any stray tears carefully. “Good girl, P. So good for me, yeah?”
Another quick nod.
“Open. Let me in.”
She obeys so beautifully, sweet and soft and pliant beneath my hands. It’s her trust in me, her feeling safe with me that really gets me off.
Just as my tip presses to her bottom lip, she heaves a breath.
“Are you going to fuck my mouth?” she asks, a false bravado behind her words.
I shake my head. “Not tonight. Tonight, you’re going to hold those perfect tits together for me and let me fuck them.
” A moan comes from her still open mouth, low and throaty and perfect.
“But first, you’re going to get me wet, sweet girl.
Just going to lay there and relax and be everything I need, love. ”
A half-moan, half-cry works out of her lips, her back bowing slightly at my words.
Mine, mine, mine echoes like a chant in my brain.