CHAPTER 19
BEN
Of all the possible responses, that wasn’t one I’d planned for. “Huh?”
Holly brushes past me and starts pacing the length of the cabin. She mutters as she walks, and I’m not sure if she’s talking to me or herself.
“Right now is all about surgery prep. Then, during the holidays, it’s the surgery. Then, next semester is our recovery period. After that, you’d let me know if you still wanted to be friends. And then I’d ask you on a date. In the spring.” She stops abruptly, staring at me from the other side of the room. Finally directly addressing me, her voice comes out desperate. “That makes sense. This does not. If it made any sense, then I would’ve done it already.”
I think I’m following along. “You were planning on asking me out in the spring?”
“Well, I was before you did that!” She waves toward the sink, her hands fluttering and frantic like her words.
Cautiously, I approach her. This moment seems tenuous and important. Still, I can’t help grinning like an idiot. “Sorry. Next time, you’ll have to let me know about the schedule.”
She rolls her eyes. I empathize with her juicy bottom lip, pinched hard between her worried teeth. We stand, only a foot apart, silently staring at each other until I can’t take it anymore.
“What are you thinking?”
She huffs out a breath and drops her gaze to her feet, which are covered in a pair of fluffy green socks. “I like you, but I’m worried about the exchange. For us, there’s more than a friendship at risk.”
My heart clenches. “Holly, do you think, if things don’t work out between us, that I’d tell Fred not to give Marcus his kidney?”
Her grimace is telling. “When you say it out loud, it sounds cruel. But people can be cruel sometimes. A lot of times.”
I reach out, brushing my fingers under her chin until she raises her head. “Do you think I’m cruel like that?”
Concentration furrows her brows and puckers her lips. Someone else might have wanted an immediate denial. But that would have rung false from Holly. Clearly, she’s considering my question, so I know her answer will matter more.
“No. That just doesn’t fit you.” She gives me a tentative smile.
I beat back the excitement that threatens to spill over. She still hasn’t agreed.
“Okay, so we don’t have to worry about that. Anything else?”
A flash of some emotion flits across her face, there and gone too fast for me to identify it. Instead of answering my question, she leans closer, lifting her hand. Just at the point where I can feel the warmth of her skin, Holly pauses, watching me.
“So, more means, I can touch you?” she whispers, filling the heavy air between us with her hushed words.
My swallow is audible. If I open my mouth, I know I’ll beg her to, so I keep to a silent nod.
With that permission, she rests her palm against my cheek. My face heats under the contact, and like a plant seeking the sun, I lean into her. I watch a light spark in her eyes as she runs her nails down my jawline, scratching the beginning growth of my beard, and then moves back up to finger-comb my hair.
A low humming sounds in her throat, and her eyelids sink until I can only make out half of her dilated pupils. Still, her hand moves. After finishing with my hair, she gently drags her thumb across my bottom lip.
I can’t help myself. With a quick flick, I taste her skin with my tongue as it passes.
Holly gasps, pulling away. Then, she giggles, the sound setting off an explosion of exhilaration in my rib cage.
This is what I’ve been craving all these weeks. Playfulness between us that could lead to something more. Nothing other than this has to happen tonight, but just the promise of a future makes me grin so hard that my cheeks ache.
Still, I need to be sure. I run my palms over her sweater-covered arms. Then, I cup her neck and delve my fingers into her hair, the way she did with mine. The silky strands tease my skin.
“So, that’s a yes? You’re okay with more?”
“Yeah.” She nods. “More sounds good to me.”
I wonder if he’ll grab my face and start kissing me. I’m actually looking forward to it.
Instead, Ben lets his hands fall away from my neck and laces our fingers together. He tugs me over to the shelf of movies and then moves to stand behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist and resting his head on top of mine.
“Pick one.”
“Is this a test?”
His chuckle vibrates against my spine, and now, I’m sure I’m smiling as big as him.
“All of these movies are awesome, so you can’t really go wrong.”
I love it when Ben laughs, so I scan the titles for a comedy.
“This one.”
“Tommy Boy? You a Chris Farley fan?” He reaches around me to slide my choice off the shelf.
It’s odd how, one minute, we’re trying to figure out our relationship, and the next, he’s asking me about my favorite comedians. But I guess everything to do with us is a little weird.
“When Marcus went to Pops’s on the weekends, they’d stay up late to watch Saturday Night Live. Monday night, he would tell me about the skits. I would be so bummed that I couldn’t watch with them. Apparently, he told Pops because, one year, for Christmas, he got me the DVDs of the best of some of the cast members. Chris Farley’s was my favorite.”
I still have them. Whenever I need to smile, I pull one out.
“I knew you had good taste.” Ben moves away from me to put the movie in, and I settle on the couch.
Once it starts playing, he turns but doesn’t immediately sit down. The corner of his mouth curves up as his gaze traces over me. It’s only then I realize I’ve brought my knees up into my chest and wrapped my arms around them like I’m a hedgehog curling in on itself.
I let go of my legs and try to sit like a normal person, but I don’t think I’m doing it right. My back is stiff, and my legs cross and then uncross while my hands struggle to find where to go.
How do normal people sit again?
Ignoring my awkward movements, Ben plops down next to me. Then, without warning, he hooks me under the arms, and he half-lifts and half-shifts me until he’s reclined on the couch while I’m sprawled across his chest. I appreciate his high-handedness because, suddenly, I’m extremely comfortable.
There’s no quilt wrapped around us, but this feels more intimate than last night. Because, now, this is more.
The movie plays, and we chuckle at every classic joke thrown out by Chris Farley and David Spade. Ben’s chest bounces me as he guffaws, making me laugh even harder.
Being together, like this, feels right. Letting go of the security of my timeline made me sweat at first, but for some reason, being around Ben eases my panic.
Even with the excitement of the night and the movement of his chest, I eventually drift off. Consequences of a long hike and a stomach full of good food.
When I wake up, it’s because Ben is lifting me off the couch.
“Wha-what’s happening?”
“I’m taking you to bed.” He moves toward the bedroom, but there’s a pressure in my bladder demanding attention.
“No, wait.” I shake my head.
He looks down at me, befuddled, and then seems to come to some understanding. “No, no. Not like that, Holly. I mean, I’m going to put you in your bed. Then, I’ll go to mine.”
I roll my eyes and give his side a little pinch but not too hard. Don’t want him dropping me on my butt. “Yeah. Got that. Appreciate it. But I need to use the bathroom.”
“Oh. Yeah, sure.”
Then, to my delight, I realize Ben is actually blushing.
When he sets me down, I stand on my tiptoes to plant a kiss on one of those rapidly warming cheeks, leaving him standing there with a goofy smile on his face.
The chill of the bathroom floor creeps through the wool of my socks. This spurs me on, and I finish peeing, brushing my teeth, and washing my face in rapid time. When I exit, Ben slips past me to take his own turn.
In my borrowed bedroom, I take stock of my appearance. Helping me pack, Terra said I’d want clothes for cold weather and being outside. In an effort to maintain friendship-like feelings toward Ben, I brought my most formless clothes. Luckily, they also happened to be my warmest—bulky sweaters, fleece-lined long underwear, thick socks. Now though, I want something that doesn’t make me look like I’m preparing to be thrown out in a snowstorm. The best I’ve got is a worn pair of flannel pajama pants and a tank top I planned to use as the first of many layers. The ensemble still sits firmly in the category of comfy rather than sexy. But at least it’s not frumpy.
There’s a light knock on my door. When I open it, Ben leans against the doorframe, and I watch his body visibly relax when I smile up at him.
“Worried I was hiding from you?”
His arm flexes as he reaches back to scratch his neck while sporting a rueful smile. Then, I notice he’s wearing short sleeves. The red T-shirt fits him snugly, the edge inching up as he raises his arm. I rack my brain but can’t think of a time I’ve seen Ben in anything other than long sleeves. And I definitely would have remembered because, now, I can see more tattoos peeking out from under the fabric. But on his left forearm, there’s a wide black armband covering the bump of his fistula.
So, he still isn’t completely uncovered to me.
The effect is intense curiosity on my part. I want to pull the shirt off, so I can admire every piece of the artwork. Ben is such a calm, put-together, albeit snarky person for the most part. But, under that well-dressed armor, there’s this hidden side. His passionate side. The concealed artist. I suddenly need to see that part of him even if I only get a glimpse tonight.
“I just wanted to say good night.” He leans forward, like maybe he’ll give me a chaste kiss on my forehead.
Brace yourself, buddy. I’m no delicate rose.
Stepping backward, I grab a fistful of his shirt and drag him with me. Off-balance, Ben stumbles forward.
My finger points to the bed. “You’re sleeping here tonight. With me.”
Quickly, I lean around him to push the door shut. Having told him the way of things, I walk to the bed and slip under the covers. Then, I hold up the blanket for him to join me. Ben stands in the middle of the room, eyes wide, mouth slack.
“Hurry. I’m getting cold.” But the shiver that runs through my body isn’t from the chilly air. The idea of having him pressed up against me all night is the source of the quivering.
Either way, it gets his feet moving. He sets his glasses on the table, and the bed dips slightly as he settles down next to me.
We lie, facing each other, not touching. Yet.
“Can you see me without those?”
We’re less than a foot apart, and his green eyes seem like they’re focused on my face.
Ben grins. “Nope. You’re just a blurry mass. You could be Jasper or a grizzly bear for all I know.”
“I’d hope my blurry mass is slightly smaller than a bear’s.” Then, I stick my tongue out at him and watch his eyes fall to my mouth, growing hot. I gasp in mock outrage. “You liar! You can totally see me!”
“No! I definitely can’t!” He shakes his head, grinning all the while. “Is that you, Holly?” His hand comes out from under the covers and lands on my face.
I snort as he plays. Then, I grab his rough palm and place a firm kiss right in the middle of it. At the affectionate gesture, Ben goes still, watching me. The intense scrutiny makes me bite my lip. His playful expression turns serious with a wrinkle above his eyebrows that I want to smooth out.
“We don’t have to do this, Holly.”
I roll my eyes but smile at his reassuring words. “I know. I want to. Do you?”
“Do I want to do what exactly?”
“Hmm. Parameters. Good idea.” Organization has always been my strong suit. I like clearly laid-out rules and plans. Why wouldn’t I appreciate that in a relationship, too? “Tonight is just the exploratory phase.”
“Exploratory phase?” He sounds confused, even as he grins at me.
“That’s right. Exploration. For example”—I prop myself up on an elbow, hovering over him—“I want to explore your mouth.”
Ben parts his lips as he stares up at me. Then, his eyelids grow heavy as my knuckles brush over the couple of days of scruff on his chin.
Even though I’m tempted to dive right in, I wait for his response.
Realizing this, his throat contracting, he swallows and nods.
That’s all I need.
Our kiss starts out slow, just a gentle brush of my mouth against his. When I’m this close to him, the scent of mint and pine fills my nose, sending shivers of delight skittering over my skin.
His upper lip is just as soft as I imagined it.
The moment I peek my tongue out to swipe along the juicy treat, Ben bursts into movement. One arm wraps around my waist, the other hand tangles in my hair, and both pull me flush against his solid, hot body.
Ben is a good … no, that’s not right.
Ben is an Olympic champion of a kisser. He belongs on a podium with a gold medal dangling around his neck in the sport of worshipping my mouth.
His passion doesn’t reveal itself in a hard, brutal claiming, but instead, he holds me firm against him for a slow, languid perusal. Some guys approach kissing like they’re shotgunning a beer, only chasing the intoxication that comes afterward. Ben kisses me like I’m a top-shelf whiskey, and he loves the taste.
Only I’m the one who gets drunk on our kissing. My muscles liquefy, and I sink into him.
The hand he has in my hair remains where it is, but the other explores, traveling across my body. Through the kissing haze, I feel him stop in certain places. The tips of his fingers run over my shoulder blades before pressing each vertebrate on my spine, playing me like a piano. He circles his arm around my waist again, clutching me close for a moment and groaning low in his throat. He releases that hold, only to slide his hand to my backside. Through the thin soft flannel, his long fingers spread over one of my cheeks before giving me a firm squeeze. A gasp escapes my mouth, and he locks our lips together, as if he wants to swallow the sound.
His hard arousal presses against my stomach. There’s a slight regret, knowing we’re just exploring tonight, which means sex probably shouldn’t happen. But, if Ben approaches sex the way he kisses, I’m worried he’s in line to ruin me for all other men.
But would that really be so bad?
Her sweet mouth and sexy tongue put my fantasies to shame. I could spend the whole night in this exploratory phase, as she described it.
If exploring is what she wants, exploring is what I’ll do. My hand has a mind of its own, touching every part of her I can reach. Then, there’s the little happy sound she lets out when I give her ass a squeeze, which has me wondering what noises I’ll get when I spread her legs and lick her.
Will she moan when I finally slide into her wet heat? Maybe she’ll gasp my name.
Whatever happens, I know it’ll drive me fucking crazy.
My fingers settle on the waistband of her pants, and I consider pushing past that barrier, exploring the smooth skin of her backside and then possibly dipping lower.
With herculean effort, I hold back. We haven’t even gone on an official date yet. I’m not about to ruin this by going too far on the first night. Besides, I’m happy here, holding her against me, tasting her mouth, my brain going fuzzy with pleasure as I get high on her sweet, flowery scent.
Holly retreats from my lips, only to slowly kiss her way along my jaw, down my neck, and then to my collarbone where she gives me a playful nip.
I relax the hand I have wrapped in her hair, letting her head go wherever she wants it. My eyes close as I concentrate on the soothing effect of her soft mouth against my skin.
She works her way back up, but instead of returning to my mouth, her lips trail to my ear. A shiver racks my body when she gently bites the lobe and then runs her tongue along the outer edge.
“Ben?” Something—I’d like to think my kissing—has made her voice go deep and husky.
The sound of my name in that tone is like a stroke up my dick.
“Mmhmm?” Talking would require more brainpower than I currently have with all my blood rushing south.
“Can I take your shirt off?”
Some warmth leaves my chest, and when I open my eyes, I realize it’s because Holly is sitting up straight, straddling my hips.
This view of her, the same one I’d have if she decided to take me for a ride, is all I need to get completely hard. An involuntary groan escapes my mouth, and she frowns.
“Am I hurting you?” She shifts, and the friction only brings more pleasure.
I grab her hips to keep her still, afraid I’ll come in my pants like I’m a sixteen-year-old virgin again.
“No! No. You’re fine.” My words come out choked. I clear my throat. “You want to take my shirt off?”
She nods. “I want to see your tattoos. You keep teasing me with a glimpse or two. I want to see them all.”
Fuck. Me.
No way will she be seeing all of them tonight because that would mean all my clothes would have to come off.
I’m trying to figure out if I can have her eyes all over my chest, touching me there, without me busting in my pants when she says exactly what she needs to in order to get me to give in.
“Please?”
Damn. She’s got me.
“Okay. Just a second.” I use my grip on her hips to shift her off me, and I can practically hear my dick cursing at me for getting rid of her lovely body against mine.
At first, she gives me an adorable pout, but it quickly transforms into a happy smile when I sit up and reach for the bottom of my shirt. In fact, she claps her hands together like she’s about to see a fancy magician’s trick. Not wanting to disappoint, I remove my shirt with a flourish.
“Ta-da!” It’s corny, and we both laugh as toss it to the floor.
Then, her eyes go sharp, and she leans in closer, bottom lip once again pinched between her teeth. I sit still.
The weight of her gaze is heavy, and I’m suddenly self-conscious. These tattoos were always for me. They’re a part of me as much as any of my limbs. And the same way I hope she finds my face attractive, I want Holly to like this piece of me as well.
“Can I guess?” She looks at me through her lashes, and my breath comes and goes a bit ragged.
“Guess?”
“You said they’re all based on books. Can I guess which ones?”
Mute, I nod.
“The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe.” She points to the lamppost in front of a snowy tree on the underside of my bicep.
I nod again, smiling at her triumphant grin.
Now, it turns into a sort of game. I lean back on my arms, so she has a better view.
“Hmm.” She runs her hands over my skin, tracing some of my illustrations. And, hell, if this isn’t one of the most erotic things she could do to me.
I want her to use her mouth.
“Darn. Your sexy chest is making me feel like I’ve barely read any books.” She pauses at my hip. “Wait. Is this … is it Snow White? Is that technically a book?”
The tattoo she’s pointing to is an apple that’s half-red, half-gray. “That’s actually The Giver.”
“Oh! I read that one. Where the whole world is gray at first? I get it now.”
Her fingers continue over my stomach, which tenses under her touch.
“Fahrenheit 451?” She’s at my other hip where I have an open book spilling out flames.
“You got it.”
Another happy smile on her part. She removes her hand, only to cup my shoulder and give me a gentle tug. I lean forward, so she can review my back. After a moment, her finger taps a spot.
“Are these Winnie-the-Pooh characters? They look kind of like them but not as cartoony.”
“Those are the originals. My mom read that version to me when I was younger.” Those were some happy memories.
“That’s sweet. Has she seen this?”
My gut tightens, and I shake my head. “My parents don’t really understand my … hobby.”
Truth is, the images meant so much to me, that their dismissive attitudes ended up hurting worse than the needles.
“Well, I think it’s sweet. And I think your artwork is amazing.”
I know exactly where each and every tattoo is on my body, so when Holly presses her lips against my back, I can envision her kiss landing directly in the middle of the Hundred Acre Woods. My blood heats up, and arousal pushes at every inch of my skin. Time to settle down.
Reaching forward, I click off the bedside lamp.
“Enough exploring for tonight.” I turn too quickly for Holly to react, wrapping my arms around her and gripping her wrists to her chest, so her adventurous hands can’t continue with their torture. Pressed together, I slide us into the position I want, us spooning with her back against my front.
“No fair. I was just getting started.” I can hear her smiling.
She squirms in my hold, pretending to get comfortable when, really, she’s just pushing her tight butt into my very lonely groin.
I groan and bite her neck, just a playful nip. She gasps in response.
“Holly.” Denied lust makes my warning sound more serious than I meant, but she just gives a big gust of a sigh in response.
“Okay. I’ll be good.”
I wait a moment and then release her hands. She keeps ahold of one, interlacing her fingers with mine, and plants a kiss in the center of my palm like earlier. It’s such a sweet thing to do, and my chest tightens with some intense feelings I’m not sure I’m ready to explore.
“Night, Ben.”
After brushing my lips over her shoulder, I whisper back, “Good night, Holly.”
Whenever I’ve spent the night with a girl, I’ve always found a way to separate myself from them after sex, wanting my own space. Maybe I can blame the chill of the night, but here, in this bed, the idea of releasing Holly seems so ridiculous that I actually chuckle to myself.
“What’re you laughing about?” Her whisper slurs with sleepiness, and I regret disturbing her.
“Nothing important. Go to sleep.” I breathe in deep, getting drowsy, surrounded by the smell of her honeysuckle shampoo.
“You go to sleep,” she mutters the command.
My lips curl at the edges, and for the first time in years, I fall asleep in Grandpa Ben’s cabin with a smile on my face.
The door looms tall before me.
I reach up, turn the knob, and push. The hinges squeak as it swings wide, revealing the dark room beyond. My feet move forward on their own.
I’m in Grams’s room. She should be asleep in the large bed I’m walking toward.
Someone is under the covers, but when I pull the sheet back, it’s not my grandmother.
It’s Ben.
He lies still, eyes closed, like he’s sleeping, but his chest doesn’t rise. I put my hand on his shoulder and find him ice-cold.
The darkness around me shifts and moves, closing in on us. Ben begins to sink into the bed, as if the mattress were quicksand. He’s disappearing from my sight, and he doesn’t respond when I scream his name.
There’s a pressure at my back, pushing me toward the sinkhole in the bed where Ben has vanished. Terror crashes over me in waves.
I turn away, searching for the door. It stands there, closed again.
With fear clawing its way down my spine, I run. The darkness slows my legs, pulling me back, but I push my way through. My fingers clasp the doorknob, wrenching with a mighty tug.
I’m awake.
Something heavy is holding me down, and I cry out, flinging it off me. It’s not until I’ve tumbled out of the bed, which sits a foot higher than the one in my apartment, that I realize I’m not at home. When I see Ben staring down at me in half-awake confusion, I remember where I am.
I’m in Ben’s grandfather’s cabin. We were sleeping in a bed together. That was his arm holding, not restraining, me. There’s no terrible, creeping darkness.
“Holly? What’s wrong?” He slides out of the bed and crouches in front of me on the floor.
Seeing him here, awake and moving, helps push back the panic of moments before. On pure instinct, I lean forward, clutching his face in both my hands just to make sure he’s solid. When his scruff scratches my palms, I let out a sigh of relief.
“Nightmare. Just a nightmare,” my voice sounds ragged when I whisper the reassurance, and I wonder if I was crying out in my sleep.
Remembering then all the effects of my nightmares, I glance down to see that I’ve sweated through my pajamas.
Gross.
At least I don’t wet the bed anymore.
I drop my hands from his face and stiffly stand, moving over to my bag to search for something else to sleep in.
“That must have been a pretty nasty nightmare.” He doesn’t outright ask, but I can tell Ben wants to know what I dreamed about.
Usually, I only discuss it with Marcus. But my brain has never replaced my brother with someone else before.
What does that even mean?
All I have left in my bag are the clothes I planned to wear in the car tomorrow, which I really don’t want to sleep in.
Maybe there are other benefits to more.
“I’ll tell you about it if you lend me a shirt to sleep in. I have the unfortunate habit of sweating a bit when I have nightmares.”
Ben doesn’t hesitate to head over to his bedroom. I check the clock and find the glowing numbers read 2:23 a.m. Second night in a row I’ve woken him up for no good reason.
When he returns with a soft white T-shirt, I tamp down my urge to kiss him. I want to change out of my sticky clothes first.
“Turn around.” In the faint glow of the digital clock, I see him smile before he complies.
I peel off the tank top and pajama pants, tossing them in a corner to be dealt with in the morning, and then slip the clean cotton on. Much better.
“I’m decent.”
The moment he turns back to me, I wrap my arms around his waist, still needing some more reassurance. Ben leads me back to the bed, tucking us both under the covers. He brushes my hair behind my ear and stares down at me. Waiting.
“Sometimes—not every night, only sometimes—I dream about the night my grams died. She had a heart attack when it was just her, Marcus, and me in the house. We found her when it was too late to do anything. She was just gone.” I breathe in deep and slowly let the air back out. “I dream about that night, walking into her bedroom. Only, in my nightmare, I don’t find her in the bed. I find my brother.” Or at least, I usually do.
I shiver, and Ben pulls me closer, planting a kiss on my forehead.
“I know it’s just a dream, but it guts me every time. Usually, I call Marcus, just so I can hear his voice. Know that he’s okay.”
“Do you want to call him now? I can grab your phone.” He moves to get up, but I tug him back.
There’s no need, seeing as how Marcus wasn’t the one I left sinking into that hole of terror this time.
“I’m okay.”
“Is there anything you need?”
I shake my head. “You got me a shirt. I’m good.”
In the muted light from the clock, Ben’s worried frown carves shadows into his cheeks. I use one of my fingers to push at the corner of his mouth until he gives me a reluctant smile.
“Seriously, Ben, I’m good now.”
He sighs before tucking me in close under his chin. “Okay. Go back to sleep. And, if you have another nightmare, I have plenty more shirts.”