Chapter Twenty-Four
TWENTY-FOUR
Ben couldn’t believe this was happening.
He drove like a maniac, ten miles an hour over the speed limit and only coming to rolling stops. His knee jogged as he glanced over at Eleonore.
Ben had never imagined a sticky red sequined jumpsuit would be the pinnacle of erotic attire, but he suspected anything Eleonore wore would turn him on. The jumpsuit hugged her curves, and he kept envisioning the moment she’d choked Cynthia Cunnington and thrown her into the street.
Should he find her violence that arousing? Did it say something about him that Freud would have written a paper on?
Ben didn’t care. He’d kissed Eleonore’s beautiful lips and held her in his arms, and now he was going to shower with her. It didn’t even matter that both of them were leaving red stains on the seats of his SUV. Cars could be cleaned and seats reupholstered; getting to soap down a succubus was a much rarer experience.
He parked in his driveway and nearly strangled himself on the seat belt trying to get out of it. Eleonore was waiting for him outside the house before he could even get to the passenger side to open the door for her. Her use of vampire speed might limit his ability to be a gentleman, but at least it showed she was as eager to get this started as he was.
Ben backed her against the front door, kissing her again. He fumbled with his keys, trying to unlock the door without taking his lips from hers. Eleonore giggled—had there ever been a sweeter sound?—and turned in his arms to take control of the keys. There was a new red streak on his front door, but he’d been thinking about adding a pop of color anyway.
He planned to kiss her all the way to the bathroom, but Eleonore was apparently too impatient. She moved in a blur across the living room, vanishing down the hallway that led to the bedrooms and bathroom. When Ben caught up with her, she was already shimmying out of her jumpsuit.
He held out a hand, and she tossed the garment over. He absently folded it and set it on the counter without taking his eyes from Eleonore. She wore blue cotton underwear and a sexy, sturdy-looking bra—not something with underwire and forcibly overflowing cups, more akin to a sports bra that had been custom-tailored for large breasts. He didn’t know if she’d always had it or if she’d picked it up online shopping or if it had come in the same delivery as the devastating green dress.
Eleonore reached behind her back and unhooked it, then sent the bra sailing. Ben snatched it out of the air and placed it next to the jumpsuit. The fabric was warm under his fingertips. She shimmied out of the panties next and kicked them away, and then she was standing nude and unashamed before him.
Had any goddess been formed with such care? Ben stared and stared, taking her in one miracle at a time: the dramatic curve between hips and waist, the strong legs, the fiery curls between her thighs. Her breasts were heavy, with large rosy nipples that tipped up as if volunteering to be sucked. There were red marks on her skin from the bra, and he wanted to soothe them with his tongue.
His eyes reached her face, familiar by now but still breathtaking: high cheekbones, a stubborn chin with a small divot in it, wickedly smiling lips. Her long hair was tangled and matted with fake blood, though, which reminded Ben she couldn’t feel entirely comfortable. He shook himself and moved to the shower to start the water. “Eleonore,” he said as he dabbled his fingers in the stream, “you are so beautiful I’m speechless.”
“You just spoke,” she pointed out.
Ben would have laughed if his dick hadn’t been so hard he was getting light-headed. “Well, please imagine there are reams of poetry dedicated to your nude body in my head.” With the water at an ideal temperature, he swept the curtain aside to usher her in.
Eleonore hopped in, humming and wriggling as the hot water hit her. Steam began rising, and her skin flushed before his eyes until the fog began to encroach on his glasses.
“Ben.” She snapped her fingers. “Get naked.”
He blinked. “Right.” They would be showering together , and thank goodness he’d sprung for an expanded tub to fit his height. He kicked his shoes into the corner next to hers and stripped off his clothes, flinging them into a haphazard pile. He looked down at his erect dick, silently praying she would find it acceptable. Then he set his glasses on the counter and joined Eleonore in the shower.
The heat was a jolt to his system, making him suck in a breath. He cupped water in his palms and dumped it on his head and face, then shook his hair out.
Eleonore let out a startled laugh as droplets hit her. “How wolflike,” she said. She stood facing him under the spray, fake blood trickling in rivulets from her hair and tracing her curves.
“Can I wash you?” Ben asked.
Eleonore looked surprised, but then she smiled. “Be my guest,” she said, turning to face the tiled wall.
He swallowed hard as his eyes traced down her muscled back to her round ass. She was magnificent, and thank goodness his vision was decent enough to make out the details at this close distance.
Ben was a big man. He’d worried he was too big in the past. He needed custom clothing and custom tubs and a big car, and if he was walking at night and spotted someone ahead, he crossed the street to avoid alarming them. It was a strange dichotomy—a nervous brain housed in a tank of a body—and he’d often worried about being too much for a romantic partner in more ways than one.
Eleonore didn’t seem to mind his brain or his body. She was strong and sturdy, tough enough to kick his ass and blunt enough to let him know if anything he did upset her.
The knowledge unraveled something in Ben’s chest. He didn’t need to worry about anything but pleasing her.
He exhaled, then reached for the shampoo.
Eleonore hummed as he scrubbed her scalp with his fingers. “That’s nice,” she said.
Ben grunted in response, focused on washing fake blood out of her hair. The red locks darkened under the water, draping over her breasts to her waist. He washed carefully, not wanting to snag the tangles with his fingers. When the water ran clean, he traded shampoo for conditioner.
“How do you know so much about hair?” Eleonore asked as he combed the product through with a wide tooth comb.
“We always had conditioner at my house growing up,” he said, carefully untangling a snarl. “I was surprised when I got to college and realized a lot of other guys didn’t condition separately or use beard oil.” No, the majority of them had used horrifying three-in-one shampoo, conditioner, and bodywash that smelled like a diseased pine tree. He’d also learned he was an oddity for moisturizing his face and filing his nails after clipping them.
His hygiene had earned razzing from other guys, which had baffled him. Why shouldn’t he want to smell and look nice? Why shouldn’t he make his fingernails smooth in case he actually got to touch a woman?
Speaking of touching…Ben took a break from combing to run his hands over Eleonore’s curves. Her skin was so soft. He drew her hair over her shoulder and bent to press a kiss there.
She tipped her head to the side. “Mmm. Are you done washing me yet?”
“Almost.” Ben turned her around and rinsed the conditioner out of her hair, then poured bodywash onto a sponge and ran it over her skin. It wasn’t the most thorough scrubbing, but there was only so much patience a man could be expected to exhibit when the object of his desires was naked under his hands.
He cast the sponge aside and cupped her breasts, savoring the soft weight of them. They overflowed even his broad palms. He thumbed her rosy nipples, and Eleonore hummed before lacing her arms around his neck. She toyed with the ends of his hair, and the scratch of her fingernails against his scalp sent a pleasurable shiver over him.
“Are your nipples sensitive?” he asked.
“Not that sensitive,” she said. “I like to have them pinched.”
Ben could do that. He gently squeezed her nipples between thumb and forefinger. “This much pressure?”
She covered his hands with her own, pressing his fingers harder against her skin. “That much.”
Ben obeyed her direction, alternating between massaging her breasts and pinching her nipples until they were rosy and stiff. He lowered his head to suck them, and when he lightly bit at one straining tip, her head kicked back and she let out a breathy gasp. “ Good wolf.”
Oh, Ben liked that. Determined to earn more of her praise, he set himself to exploring what made her tick. Kissing her neck earned him more soft sighs, and she shivered when he traced his fingers over the delicate skin of her inner elbows. When he touched her hips with the same light touch, she made a growling sound and clapped her hands over his, encouraging him to grip more forcefully.
She explored him, too, dragging her hands in long sweeps over his chest and arms, scratching lightly at his back. They panted into each other’s mouths, tongues tangling and lips stroking in an increasingly frantic rhythm.
He learned she liked rough touches in expected places and soft touches in unexpected ones. A kiss behind her ear produced the same moan that pinching her nipples did, and when he gripped her ass and hauled her against him, she let out a guttural yes that was going to play in his memories for the rest of time. Her lush ass overflowed Ben’s grip, and he groaned into the curve of her shoulder as she nudged her hips forward, grinding against him.
She grabbed his buttocks, too, squeezing them in a covetous manner before lightly spanking one cheek. “Bon arrière-train,” she said.
Ben chuckled breathlessly. “What does that mean?”
“You have a good posterior.”
That was the oddest way anyone had ever said “nice ass,” but he was into it. “You also have a bone…error train.” When she snorted, he shook his head. “You can teach me how to say it properly later.”
There was one place he hadn’t explored yet. His fingers coasted over her hip, and then he slid his hand between their bodies, toying with the shower-wet curls before delving lower. When he parted her labia with his finger, he groaned to find her slick with more than just shower water. “Fuck, Eleonore. You’re so wet.”
“Yes,” she gasped. She gripped his cock with her usual directness, and he let out a choked sound at the feel of her fingers curving around him. “And you are deliciously hard,” she said, stroking up and down the shaft.
Ben wasn’t circumcised, and the skin moved under her grip in an exquisite slide. He wasn’t going to last long with her touching him, and he refused to orgasm first, so he bit down on his inner cheek and focused on learning her contours. He played with her labia, circled the stiffened nub of her clit, gently pressed the tip of one finger inside her. Shower water wasn’t the best lubricant, but she was so wet she accepted him easily. Still, he went slowly, sinking his finger into her a bit at a time. He crooked it when he dragged back out, massaging her inner wall, and Eleonore made a filthy hot noise and squeezed his dick in response.
Ben buried his face in her neck. “How do you like being touched?” he asked against her skin.
“Two fingers,” she told him. “I like the stretch.”
Ben closed his eyes as he obeyed her order. Don’t come , he told himself. Don’t come . Because now he couldn’t help but imagine her spreading her legs for his cock, moaning about the stretch as he thrust into her.
He nudged her clit with his thumb, and she issued another hissed yes that made his hips jerk.
“Direct touch?” he asked, barely able to string together words.
“Oui,” she breathed.
Thankfully, if there was one word Ben knew in French, it was that one. Encouraged, he focused on rubbing her clit, keeping his fingers sunk inside her and flexing them rather than thrusting in and out. Giving her both the stretch and the direct clitoral stimulation she craved.
Eleonore was panting now. When he pulled his head back to study her face, he saw her biting her lower lip, fangs indenting the plush surface. Her eyes were hazed with desire, and her skin was pink from heat and passion.
“Ne t’arrête pas,” she said.
“Is that—”
“Don’t stop,” she ordered. “Don’t you dare stop.” She jerked him faster and more aggressively, occasionally swirling her thumb around the exposed tip of his cock, and her other hand came into play, cupping his balls.
Ben wouldn’t stop. He anchored her against him with his free hand, fingers digging into the plush skin of her ass, while he continued rubbing and rubbing and rubbing her clit. Soon Eleonore was gasping and twitching, and then she let out a long, broken moan as her pussy squeezed his fingers rhythmically.
Thank fuck. Ben lowered his head to bite the side of her neck as the pressure building in his cock released all at once. His cum spurted over her lower belly and coated both of their hands, but she didn’t stop tugging until he groaned and gently nudged her fingers away from his too-sensitive dick.
He sagged back against the tile, head spinning. Eleonore popped one of her fingers into her mouth to suck it clean, and he nearly fainted dead away at the sight. “Woman,” he said in a ragged voice, “you might kill me.”
“I would never wish to kill my wolf,” she said solemnly. Then her naughty smile peeped out. “Unless it is la petite mort.”
He chuckled. He knew that phrase, too: the little death. Thankfully, that was the sort of death that allowed for resurrection, even if his refractory period wasn’t what it had been in college. He looked down at his softening cock, wondering how soon he would be able to orgasm again.
Then Eleonore yawned, and he revised his plans. The water was lukewarm now and getting colder, so he quickly washed the remnants of passion away and turned off the shower. He wrapped Eleonore in a towel before grabbing his own. To his delighted surprise, she plopped a hand towel on his head and scrubbed vigorously, helping dry his hair. He returned the favor, then detoured to the bedroom to grab pajamas for both of them.
Within five minutes they were cuddled together under his blankets. Ben spooned her, enjoying the feel of her pressed against him. “How was it?” he asked.
“The shower?” She turned her head to look at him over her shoulder. “Very thorough.”
The sparkle in her eyes said she was teasing. Ben lightly tapped her nose. “You know what I mean.”
“The conditioner?” she asked, blinking innocently. “It smells very nice.”
He groaned around a laugh. “You’re going to make me beg for this compliment, aren’t you?” Then, not wanting her to feel pressured if, in fact, it hadn’t been up to her standards, he hurried to clarify. “You don’t have to compliment me, of course. And if there are any areas I can improve in, I’d love to hear it. I can practice, make sure I’m doing exactly what you like—”
“Hush.” She kissed his fingertip. “The orgasm was delightful.”
He exhaled in relief. “Whew. Okay. Good. But I’m always open to feedback.”
“Noted.” She nuzzled into the pillow. “I have no criticisms whatsoever. But it’s just like sword fighting. We should both make sure to practice frequently to keep our skills sharp, don’t you think?”
He grinned. “Eleonore Bettencourt-Devereux, are you propositioning me?”
“Yes.”
He laughed at her bluntness. “Then I accept. We can practice whenever you want.”
He drifted to sleep soon after that, still smiling.