17. Carlisle
17
Carlisle
O ver the past few days, I’ve been splitting my time between my apartment and staying with Ben. But now that Harper has gone home for Thanksgiving, I’ve stayed the last two nights at Ben’s.
Staying at Ben’s house is akin to a vacation at a five-star resort. He has a private chef who comes by every few days to stock his fridge with delicious meals. His house features a well-equipped personal gym, movie room, walk-in wine cellar, and a sauna. And don't get me started on his backyard. It could best be described as an outdoor oasis, complete with an Olympic-sized pool, hot tub, waterfall features, swim-up bar, and a full-sized tennis court.
To keep myself busy when Ben is working, I’ve been cooking up a storm and posting new content on social media. While I haven’t told Ben about my social media accounts, he knows that I enjoy cooking as a hobby. Joanna pops into the kitchen occasionally to chitchat and keep me company when Ben’s gone.
And… I’ve also started watching all of his movies while I cook. It’s surreal to reconcile the guy I know with the actor I’m watching on the television.
Ben and I leave tomorrow for Austin, but we’re going out on a date tonight. A real date! While we've been spending lots of time together, we haven 't ventured out into public yet. I'm apprehensive about it, especially since he's told me stories about getting harassed by fans and paparazzi when he goes out in public. But he seems resolute about wanting to take me out. He's assured me that he has a plan to keep us out of the spotlight and emphasized that he wants to surprise me.
And surprise me he does when he strolls into the living room after his latest studio meeting.
“You look hilarious!” I sputter.
He’s wearing a ridiculous seventies-style mustache, thick-framed glasses, and a hairpiece that makes his hair look longer and darker.
“Ah, but do I look like the movie star Ben Sutton? That’s the important question,” he says, as he sweeps me in for a hug, molding my body into his.
Holding me tightly, I can’t assess him well enough to answer his question. But I don’t mind. There’s no place I’d rather be than in his arms.
When he releases me, I step back to judge his disguise. “You still look like you… but different enough that I’m not sure I’d recognize you if I saw you on the street.”
“Perfect, I knew this would be good enough. The costume designer suggested that I wear a fat pack to look heavier and a mouthpiece to give me an overbite. But I was too vain to go for the fat pack and I didn’t want the overbite because then I couldn’t kiss you properly.”
“We can’t have that, can we?” I reply, my voice sounding a little breathy.
“We absolutely cannot.”
Ben runs his hands through my hair until he cups the nape of my neck. His touch lights a fire within me, a searing warmth which spreads through my chest and down my core as he gazes at me. Without speaking a word, his eyes convey so much emotion. He nuzzles my cheek with his nose before pressing his lips to mine, claiming them. A soft sigh escapes me when Ben prolongs our kiss, his tongue sweeping into my mouth. As our kissing continues, a growing ache pulses between my thighs.
Since meeting in person, Ben and I have taken things slowly. Lots of kissing and some over the clothes touching. On one hand, I appreciate Ben's willingness not to rush me into a physical relationship, but on the other hand, I'm going to bed each night sexually frustrated and horny as hell. If Ben isn't going to instigate taking things to the next level, then I will.
“Get a room!”
We jump apart, flustered by the abrupt interruption. Joanna stands in the doorway, arms crossed and with a wicked smirk plastered across her face.
“I swear to God, JoJo,” Ben grumbles. “I own the whole fucking house. I don’t need to get a room. You need to knock.”
Ben’s wrath doesn’t seem to bother Joanna in the slightest. She replies in a saccharine tone, “Sorry to disturb you, but your driver has arrived.”
Snuggled into his side in the backseat of the black Lincoln Town Car, Ben asks the driver to drop us off about a block from the restaurant, on one of the smaller side streets and away from the prying eyes of any onlookers.
As we walk down the deserted street, I can’t help but stare at Ben. Even with his ridiculous costume, Ben still manages to look handsome. Feeling my eyes on him, he warns, “Don’t look at me like that, Carlisle, or we’ll never make it to dinner.”
Arching a brow, I murmur, “That doesn’t sound like a terrible idea. ”
“I guess we do have a few minutes before our reservation at Le Bistro.”
Ben circles his arms around my waist and my hands creep up his muscled chest to rest at the back of his neck. He drops gentle kisses along my hairline, and I tilt my face upwards, wanting to feel his lips on mine again, even if his fake mustache does tickle.
His kiss starts off slow and soft, and I revel in the feeling of his lips. With a needy whimper, I run my hands through his hair, holding his face to mine and slanting my head as Ben’s tongue swirls around mine.
Placing his hands on my hips, Ben pushes me backwards several steps until my back hits the brick building behind me. Pinned against the wall, I feel every inch of Ben’s hard body pressing into me. Shamelessly, I wrap my legs around his waist. His hands move down my hips, drifting to my ass to hold me in place. The feel and friction of his hardening length moving against my core feels exquisite.
Breathing heavily, he rips his mouth away from mine, kissing across my cheek and nibbling the outer shell of my ear.
“Yeah, the mouthguard thing would have been a major mistake,” I pant.
“Fuck me,” he groans, the sexual tension hanging heavily between us.
“I’d like to,” I flirt. The offer to skip our dinner reservation is sounding better and better.
“I’m really trying to do the right thing with you, Carlisle. To take things slowly, but you make it so fucking hard to resist you,” he whispers, pressing his forehead to mine, lust simmering in the depth of his expressive eyes.
“That’s not the only thing that’s hard."
Ben barks out a laugh and releases his grip on my legs, dropping them to the pavement. Then he steps back, adjusting himself in his pants. The sides of his mouth tilt up as he shakes his head slowly. “Come on, my little sex kitten,” he says, holding out his hand towards me. “If we don’t stop now, one, or both, of us will get arrested for indecent exposure.”
When we enter the sophisticated French eatery a few minutes later, it's bustling with patrons and staff, but Ben's costume appears to work because no one pays us any attention. Following the hostess, we weave our way through the dining area as she leads us to a small table in the back, far removed from the crowded front of the house seating. It’s perfect for the privacy that Ben craves.
Glancing around, I spy a few other celebrities eating and drinking at other tables, and I make note to tell Harper about them since she’s into that kind of thing.
We dine on moules mariniere, boeuf bourguignon, coq au vin, and tarte tatin. Growing up in Mississippi, I haven’t had a lot of exposure to traditional French cuisine, so we stick with the basics, but they are anything but basic. The food is rich and delicious, and I cannot wait to try making some of the recipes at home.
After we finish dessert, we don’t stick around for after dinner drinks. I’m excited to get home and finish what we started earlier. Enough of this taking it slow stuff.
Ben holds open the restaurant's heavy dark wood and brass front door and I slip outside. "Do we need to wait on the side street?" I inquire, wanting to do whatever makes Ben feel the most comfortable.
"Nah, it's after dark. We should be fine to get picked up here." Ben taps out a quick text to his driver and then returns his attention to me. Ben wraps his arms around me, with my back pressed to his front, as he nuzzles my neck .
While there are people roaming about, the streets are fairly quiet, and everyone is minding their own business. Though we aren’t alone, it feels like we are.
I feel happy. Tonight's date was perfect. Good food, great conversation, and lots of flirting.
Turning in Ben’s arms, I cup his cheek, enjoying the feel of his five o’clock shadow against the softness of my hand and I place a heated kiss on his lips.
He groans as he pulls my body into his, like two pieces of a puzzle snapping in place. His hands flirt briefly with the bottom hem of my top before slipping underneath it to massage my skin. His thumbs scrap the underside of my breasts, and I ache for more.
The peaceful atmosphere is suddenly disrupted when the exterior doors of Le Bistro fly open, and a large, raucous group stumbles out, spilling onto the street, and yelling loudly to their friends. They’re obviously intoxicated and making spectacles of themselves. Amongst the throng of people are two Hollywood starlets from a popular television show.
Within seconds, the once quiet street turns into a chaotic scene as fans recognize the stars. Soon, people lift their cell phones to take videos and photos. Across the street, I notice a man loitering behind a tall planter, and in his hands, I spy a camera outfitted with some sort of fancy, long-range lens attachment. He starts yelling, calling the actresses by name to get their attention. The flash bulbs from his camera resemble strobe lights in the night, and I jump in surprise with each burst of light.
“Damnit,” Ben mutters, quickly bending his body around mine, shielding me from the onslaught of cameras .
Grabbing my hand, he pulls me away from the restaurant and hustles me down the same side street that we walked down earlier. He runs his hand down his face, shaking his head.
While our dinner date seemed like languorous foreplay, the episode with the paparazzo dissipated the sexual tension between like a popped balloon.