Chapter 9
Somewhere between picking out flowers with Heather and the sight of Ben kneeling at my feet, I lost my mind. Ben showing back up in my life, reminding me of the pact, being there at every fucking turn… I made a rash decision. Something I almost never do.
And now, he’s kissing me. With his lips. His extremely luscious lips. Because I said I don’t want kids.
I. Am. So. Confused.
Also, turned on.
I’m confused and turned on. And confused about being turned on by Benoit Bardot. Someone who has been firmly planted in the “nemesis” portion of my brain for over half of my life. I knew that moving him to the “fuck buddy” portion of my brain would be difficult, but he’s doing it all wrong.
We aren’t supposed to be kissing.
Control. I need to take back control.
Ben’s hands start roaming up my naked thigh, underneath my skirt, with firm touches—exactly how I fucking like it—and my control slips even further out of my grasp.
No.
No!
I will not allow this man to take over. Wrenching myself away, I smack Ben’s hand off my thigh. His lips are kiss stung, his eyes hazy. When I tell him to give me his hands, he complies. I knot his wrists together, leaning in to whisper, “Remember the safe word?”
I watch as his Adam’s apple bobs up and down with his gulp. “Yes.”
“Good.” Taking a step back, I unzip my skirt, allowing it to pool at my feet.
Ben’s eyes bounce down to the matching lace panties I just revealed to him.
“You have a choice, Benjamin. I liked seeing you on your knees for me earlier, but I would be open to riding your face if that’s what you prefer. ”
The heated gaze that was tracing my body snaps back up to meet my eyes. His reply is instant. “Ride my face. Please,” he adds.
“Needy, needy.” I tsk. “Lie back. Hands above your head.”
He awkwardly—desperately—scoots himself across the bed so his lean body can stretch out. He easily overtakes most of my king bed, and I admire his erection, visibly tenting his boxers. And there’s a lot to admire.
Moving to the foot of the bed, I bare myself completely to Benoit Bardot. What a bizarre world I’m living in. Obviously the matrix has glitched. Good thing this means absolutely nothing. It’s just sex. A carnal need—an itch to be scratched.
Climbing onto all fours, I slowly make my way up Ben’s body to a chorus of “Fuck, fuck, holy hell, Colette.” He continues his incoherent mumbling, even attempting to take my nipple in his mouth when my breast is eye level with him.
When I move just out of his reach, this grown-ass man gives me an honest-to-God pout.
“I’m in charge, Benjamin. Be a good boy and I might let you come.”
Ben swallows, his head hitting the pillow in defeat. “Last chance to back out, Ben,” I continue, making eye contact with him so he can see that I truly want him to make the choice.
“Hands on the headboard, Colette.”
I allow him this one opportunity to tell me what to do. Moving further up until my thighs bracket his face, I steady myself on the headboard, Ben moaning underneath me. He turns his head enough to nip at my inner thigh, sending a shiver up my spine and heat exploding low in my belly.
“Reach up and tap me if you can’t breathe,” I tell him as I lower myself.
“Don’t need to breathe,” he murmurs. “Sit.” When I don’t immediately do as he said, he adds, “Please.”
“Much bet—oh!” I temporarily lose all coherent thought as Ben gives me one long lick from my core to my clit. I cant my hips, rolling them in time with the stroke of Ben’s very capable tongue. “Fuck,” I whisper, because of course he’s good at this.
He expertly swirls and flicks, working me into a tizzy. Not like that would have been too difficult after how hot and bothered I’ve been lately. But Ben… I should have known this would be world-tiltingly good.
Not only do we both have experience, I’m assuming, but Ben and I have always had a connection. Albeit, not a positive one. Apparently that doesn’t matter to my traitorous body. A connection is a connection and something that it yearns for.
Ben’s hips buck involuntarily behind me. “Enjoying yourself?” I ask.
He can’t answer me, but his nod is enthusiastic and partnered with a guttural moan that vibrates through me. He hasn’t been at it too long, but already I can feel the telltale signs that my body is going to tip over the edge. Something I haven’t done with a partner in… quite a while.
“Yes, Ben,” I encourage. “Right there!”
He doubles down, continuing to flick in that exact spot until my legs clamp around his head like a vise. It’s an effort to keep myself up, my grip on the headboard the only thing stopping me from crumpling in satisfaction.
My hips continue to rock, riding out the waves of pleasure that crash and crash and crash. Somewhere the hazy realization that I’m literally and figuratively fucked passes through my brain.
When I’m able to somewhat compose myself, I turn around, leaving my cunt in Ben’s face and bending forward toward his boxer-clad dick.
My turn.
I allow my tongue to brush lazily across his dick, over the fabric. I wonder how long I can tease him like this before he’s begging for me to strip him bare and take his cock in my mouth…
Turns out it’s not long because after a few strokes, I can feel him whimper, his abs tightening underneath my tits.
“Colette, Cole… I—” My hand wraps around his length, cutting off his words. “I’m— wait, I—”
And then the mother fucker comes in his pants.
“Fuck, fuck. No, shit, Cole.” His string of curses fill the room, and I can’t help the surprised laugh that pops out.
Maneuvering my body off of his, I find a towel in the linen closet, wetting it with warm water before bringing it back to the bedroom. Ben is looking like a man who had his cake and ate it too—not even slightly bashful. “I cannot believe you just came. I barely touched you!”
He just shrugs. A small smile dancing across his lips. “That was the hottest thing I’ve ever done. I was barely hanging by a thread when you turned around, as it was.”
I hum in response, not truly believing that was the hottest thing Ben Bardot has ever done. “I’m taking a bath. You can let yourself out once you’ve cleaned up.”
“Wha—wait.” He scrambles off the bed, not without difficulty since his hands are still bound together. “Can’t we… I don’t know, hang out?”
Now he has the audacity to look bashful.
Carefully, I untie his hands, only replying with, “No,” when he’s free.
“No?” Is he… sad?
“No. We aren’t going to be friends, remember? You agreed to that.” I pull my green silk robe off the hook, wrapping it snugly around my exposed body.
“But… but I just made you come! I know it was good, don’t try to tell me it wasn’t.”
I pat him a few times on his stupidly chiseled pec. “Yes, it was very good. Thank you for that orgasm. If you are still in my apartment when I get out of the bathtub, it will never happen again.” I give him a condescending grin and he sticks his tongue out at me.
“Fine,” he concedes, taking his dirty boxers off and wiping himself down with the washcloth. There’s a small tattoo on his hip, something I hadn’t previously noticed, but he turns away before I’m able to get a good look. “But this discussion isn’t over, Colette.”
It is, but I’ll let him believe that.
“Whatever you say, Bardot. See you around.” With that, I step into the bathroom, shutting the door in his beautiful, barely tolerable face.