Chapter 18-Benji
The taste of Esme’s orgasm is still on my tongue when she joins me on the tiled floor of the shower.
She crushes her mouth to mine, licking into me once and twice before she lowers her head and sucks on my cock.
“Fuck,” I groan and force myself not to thrust.
I pull gently on her face, and she lifts her eyes, her heated gaze goes wide when she realizes what I want.
With a sexy little grin, my girl gets into position.
Arms tucked tight, lifting those big, gorgeous tits and squeezing them together for me.
And yes, it is for me.
She licks her lips and groans—waiting patiently, and I am so there for this.
For her.
I am so fucked in the head for this woman.
How does she not know how obsessed I am?
And not just with her body.
With all of her.
“Do it, Benji, please,” she begs, and I’ve got no intention of refusing her.
“Easy. Stay just like that, Sweetheart,” I grunt as I move closer, my hands flat against the shower wall as I slide my cock between her tits.
The water is colder now, but my skin is on fire.
It feels so fucking good.
Her skin is so soft, the water and my precum make my way slick and smooth.
Christ, she feels like heaven.
Wet. Warm.
Mine.
I thrust my hips again and again, fucking her tits and groaning when I see her head bend so she can suck on my tip with every pass.
“That’s it. Fuck, I’m gonna come, Ezzy,” I groan as I move faster, harder, warning her before I spill.
But she doesn’t move out of the way.
Not my girl.
Ezzy just opens her mouth and sucks the head of my dick inside, and I go off like a motherfucking rocket.
Pure bliss rushes through my veins as I pump my hips, filling her mouth with thick ropes of hot cum until it’s dribbling down her throat.
And that sight? It’s so fuckin hot. So sexy.
So mine.
And when I finally stop coming, she sits back on her heels, wipes her chin, and she smiles.
Jesus fucking Christ.
That smile?
It wrecks me.
Not the sex.
Not the heat.
Not even the way she just came apart in my hands like she still belongs there.
No.
It’s that smile.
Soft. A little dazed.
Open in a way she hasn’t been with me since before everything went to hell.
Like she forgot for a second.
Like she let herself.
And that?
That hits harder than anything else.
My hand comes up without thinking, curling around the back of her neck, fingers tightening just enough to pull her into me.
I need her closer.
Need to feel her.
Need to make sure she’s real and not something my fucked-up brain conjured up to torture me.
I kiss her.
Not slow.
Not careful.
It’s deep and claiming and a little desperate—because I don’t know how to do this halfway when it comes to her.
Never have.
And she lets me.
God, she lets me.
Melts right into it like she always used to, like we didn’t spend three years apart pretending we weren’t everything to each other.
My chest tightens.
Because that right there?
That’s hope.
Dangerous, fragile, too-fucking-precious hope.
Then the water turns ice cold.
She squeals, jerking against me, and just like that the moment cracks.
We both laugh—real, unfiltered, a little breathless—and it feels normal.
Better than normal.
It feels perfect.
Like we slipped into some version of us that never broke.
I reach behind the curtain, grabbing the thin towels, shaking one out before wrapping it around her shoulders, then another.
“Here,” I murmur, my hands lingering a second too long as I tuck it around her. “Warm enough?”
“There’re only two,” she says, already fussing. “You take one.”
I shake my head, stepping back just enough to give her space.
“I’m good, Sweetheart.”
“Benji,” she scolds softly.
And before I can argue, she’s tugging one off her shoulders and wrapping it around my waist, her fingers brushing my skin like it’s nothing.
Like she hasn’t just undone me in ten different ways.
I let her.
I don’t fight it.
Don’t stop her.
Because I like it.
More than I should.
More than I’m willing to admit out loud.
I like her taking care of me.
Like knowing she still wants to.
That she still looks at me like I’m worth something.
My throat tightens as I watch her—hair damp, cheeks flushed, eyes still a little glassy—and something shifts in my chest.
Hope.
Yeah. There it is. That dangerous, stubborn thing again.
Maybe I didn’t fuck this up beyond repair.
Maybe I didn’t lose her completely.
Because if she was really done with me?
If she really hated me?
She wouldn’t be here.
Wouldn’t be touching me.
Wouldn’t be looking at me like that.
I step closer again, slower this time.
Careful.
Like I’m approaching something fragile instead of the wildfire I know she can be.
My hand finds her hip, grounding myself as much as her.
“You okay?” I ask, voice lower now.
Rougher. Less controlled.
She nods.
And that nod?
It settles something in me.
Not everything.
Not even close.
But enough.
Enough to believe this might not be over.
That we might not be done.
That maybe—just maybe—she still loves me the way I never stopped loving her.
Please, God.
And if that’s true?
I’ll burn the whole damn world down before I let it slip through my fingers again.