Chapter 11 - Alex #2
Ben's lips touched mine again, the kiss deep and lingering. He reached for my belt, deftly unfastening it while I pushed his shirt off his shoulders. We moved together with surprising ease, as if we'd done this a hundred times before.
He eased me back against the worn leather, his body covering mine. The sensation of skin against skin was electric and immediate.
His touch grew more insistent as his heart pounded against my chest. He planted kisses down my neck, breathing against my skin.
"Ben." His name caught in my throat as sensation overwhelmed my thoughts.
"I've got you." His voice was rough but tender. "Let go. I've got you."
He didn't rush. His lips trailed down my chest, lingering, then moving lower. When he slipped to the floor on his knees, I gasped.
He pulled my legs to the edge of the couch, spreading my thighs. When he leaned in, his breath hot against my skin, his stubble grazed my thighs, making me tense in anticipation.
He leaned forward, his tongue exploring my cock head, and his lips teasing. I'd never had a lover so utterly focused on my pleasure. He took his time, building the sensations in waves as I gripped the leather beneath me.
The pressure built. He gripped the base of my cock while his tongue worked magic. When he took me entirely into his mouth, I lost all coherent thought.
My orgasm crashed through me with an intensity that left me shaking. Ben held me steady through it, his hands anchoring me as I trembled.
As calm began to spread through my body, Ben climbed back onto the couch and kissed me deeply. I tasted myself on his lips, the intimacy of it sending an aftershock through my spent body.
I reached for him, wrapping my hand around his cock. He groaned into my mouth, his hips moving in time with my strokes. His breathing turned ragged, and he gripped my shoulders as his pleasure rose.
He broke from the kiss, eyes locked on mine. "Alex, fuck."
I moved with deliberate precision, matching the rhythm of his heartbeat. His body tensed, that moment of suspension before release, and then he came with a shudder that rippled through us both.
Afterward, we lay tangled together, heartbeats slowly returning to normal. The workshop came back into focus—the scent of wood polish, soft hum of the space heater, and the golden glow of his work lamp.
"Thank you," I said quietly.
"For what?" Ben's voice rumbled low.
"For finding me in the prop room. For not pushing. For..." I gestured vaguely at our tangled limbs. "All of it."
He laughed softly. "Trust me, this part was entirely selfish."
"I'm serious." I propped myself up to look at him. "You make it easy—being real instead of performing. I haven't had that in... maybe ever."
"That's because you don't need to perform for me. I want you. All of you—the put-together parts and the messy parts."
"Even the panic attacks in prop rooms?"
"Especially those." He pulled me down for another kiss, achingly gentle. "Because they're part of what makes you real."
We lay there as the workshop settled into night around us. Ben's hands moved in slow patterns across my back, unhurried, like he had all the time in the world.
"Alex." His voice was quiet.
"Hmm?"
A long pause. His chest rose and fell beneath my cheek.
"Last night. Your grandmother's house." He cleared his throat. "The lasagna."
I lifted my head. "What about it?"
"I meant what I said. About layers. About..." He trailed off momentarily. "I'm good with things that take time. Projects that need patience."
I saw uncertainty in his eyes. This wasn't a speech he'd prepared. He was building it as he went, the way he'd make a joint: carefully, testing each piece before committing.
"Your life's in New York. I know that." His fingers rested on my shoulder blades. "Career. People. Fifteen years of... everything."
"But?"
He took a breath. Tried again. "The way you've been here. With the show. The kids." Another pause. "With me."
I waited.
"It's like watching wood that's been painted over for years. And then you strip it back, and there's this..." He made a frustrated sound. "I'm not saying this right."
"You're saying it fine."
"I'm saying stay." The word came out rough. "Not tonight. I mean—yes, tonight, but also..." He swallowed. "Stay in Yuletide Valley. With me."
My heart fluttered.
"I know it's a lot," he added quickly. "Thousand reasons it doesn't make sense. Your sublet, your agent, your friend, and all of it. I'm not asking you to decide anything, but please think about it. What we could build. If you wanted to."
I stared at him—the man who'd sat in a dusty prop room and whittled cherry wood while I fell apart and who'd carved my face into Victorian scrollwork without meaning to.
"Three nights," I said finally.
"What?"
"There are three nights until the show. Christmas Eve.
" I shifted to face him properly, our bodies still intertwined.
"Ask me again after. When I've done this thing—really done it, not merely survived a run-through.
When I know if I can be the person these kids need, or if I'm only playing another role. "
Ben studied my face for a long moment. "That's not a no."
"It's not a yes either. It's me being honest about where I am." I touched his jaw. "Which is further than I thought I'd ever get."
He smiled. "I can work with that."
I pressed my face into his neck, breathing in sawdust, cedar, and the lingering scent of sex.
"Those hints Holly keeps dropping," I murmured against his skin. "About your family. The craftsman's marks shaped like hoofprints. The sleigh bells that ring on windless nights."
"What about them?"
"Are they true?"
A long silence. Then: "Yes."
I waited for more, but Ben only held me tighter.
"Someday," he said quietly, "when you're ready, I'll tell you everything. But right now..." He drew me closer. "Right now I want to focus on this—building this with you."
Outside the workshop windows, snow had begun to fall again—fat flakes drifting down in patterns that seemed too perfect to be random. Somewhere in the distance, I thought I heard sleigh bells.
Wrapped in Ben's arms, I let myself believe in Christmas magic. For tonight. For now.