23. Aida
I haveno idea what time we finally went to bed, but it was late. It was after the shots and the fireworks and the sparklers, the beer pong game and way too many chips and dip and the water we decided to chug, so we didn’t have a hangover.
Turns out it didn’t work.
I hear Ben groan and not in the good way he did so many times when we were hooking up. It’s in that way that says he drank way too much, and I feel that in my soul. My head throbs and I close my eyes, Ben’s moans almost too loud for my ears.
“I thought you said drinking water would make it so we didn’t feel this way,” Ben mutters, burying his head in the pillow as the light shines through the unclosed blinds. Guess that was a step we forgot last night or was it this morning? I don’t even know.
“I was wrong,” I whisper back, my own words so loud they make my head pulse with pain. It feels like my entire body spent the last two days sleeping on rocks. I might as well have with how drunk I was. I don’t think it would have made a difference.
I feel around on the nightstand, not wanting to open my eyes to the blinding light and searing pain that will come when I do.
Eventually I find the water bottle, twisting off the cap, I let it fall to the ground as I sip gingerly. I have no idea if this will help, but at this point, it can’t hurt.
“Pass that over,” Ben says, grabbing aimlessly at the air. With one eye open, I put the bottle in his hand, letting him drink, before I take it back and basically chug the rest of it.
“I’m going back to sleep,” I mutter, cuddling into Ben’s bare chest, the warmth of his body soothing. He smells like the ocean, and I take it in. I imagine I smell like a college frat house mixed with an overused bar bathroom.
“You can’t,” Ben wails, his hands falling over his face as he rubs his eyes. Like that’s somehow going to rub away this awful hangover.
“What? Why?”
“My grandma is going to be here soon,” Ben tells me, and I feel myself shoot up in bed, the whole room spinning as I do.
“Miriam? Why? She can’t come here and see us like this,” I whine, thinking about how pissed my grandma would be to find me this hungover. She’d make it a point to be extra loud in the hopes of teaching me a lesson. Isn’t the damn hangover its own lesson?
Ben laughs, shaking his head, he has his eyes closed, a loose smile on his lips. “Come here,” he says, reaching for me.
I go to him, my body curving around his, my leg slung over his legs. I feel his lips brush against my forehead in the sweetest of gestures.
“You know my grandma, right?” Ben asks softly. “Do you really think she cares that we’re hungover? That’s the reason she’s coming over. She makes this huge breakfast with the most amazing eggs you will ever eat in your life.”
“She came to my party last night with Ed and he made us martinis,” I admit, my cheeks turning warm with embarrassment. They were literally the only ones who showed up and I don’t think it’s because Ben told them not to come. They weren’t going to come anyway. Not when the party next door was as epic as it was. I didn’t even want to be at my own party.
“Awww, that’s really sweet, but that’s how she is when she likes someone. How were Ed’s martinis?” Ben now asks.
I open my eyes to look at him. “You’ve never had one of Ed’s martinis? They feel like something of a specialty.”
“They are,” Ben tells me. “And my grandma only shares them with the people she really likes.”
“You’re full of shit,” I scoff, rolling my eyes at his comment.
“I’m not. I’ve had Ed’s martinis, and they are excellent, but the list of people who have, is very short. She likes to keep her gin for herself.”
“So who’s on this list?” I question, feeling a little more important than I did just a little while ago, and even more so when I think back on mine and Miriam’s conversation about Ben’s ex. The one Miriam called a twit. Guessing she never shared a martini with Miriam.
“Let’s see. Me,” Ben says, putting a hand on his chest, a smirk on his face. “You, my mom, but not my dad and well, that’s it.”
“Come on. Now you’re just being a shithead. There’s no way Miriam has only shared martinis with three people.”
“You’re right, she has drunk martinis with lots of other people, but she only has Ed make his specialty martini for the people she likes,” Ben says, matter-of-factly, dropping a sweet kiss on the tip of my nose.
“How the hell did I get on that list?” I ask, not fishing for compliments, but more because it makes me nervous. Ben and I aren’t even a thing. Not a couple. Not in a relationship. We literally just slept together yesterday, and I have been trying to remind myself that’s all this is, is a fun summer hook up.
Now I’ve got Miriam making me special martinis, the kind she only reserves for the people she really likes. She’s going to hate me if this thing with Ben ends up as nothing more than a summer fling. I’m going to be on the list with his twit ex-girlfriend, the cheater. I wonder what she’ll call me, what nickname I’ll get.
“You seem nervous,” Ben says, as I realize I’m picking at my cuticles, my teeth anxiously nibbling on my bottom lip.
“Yeah, well, I mean, I don’t know,” I mutter, it all coming out very much the mess I expect it to.
“Settle down, Aida. She’s not going to hate you if this doesn’t turn into…” Ben trails off, not wanting to say it either.
Thank fuck he doesn’t think this is something more either. I’m leaving in a few weeks and heading back to New York to start law school. I don’t have time for a relationship, let alone a newly established one. Even if Ben says he’s from New York, I can’t see him going back there and leaving all of this behind. He told me he plans to head back to New York at the end of the summer, but it just doesn’t seem like he’s ready for that just yet.
“A relationship?”
“Yeah that,” Ben says, but his tone is still so casual, not at all nervous about it. I hope Miriam feels the same way. It seems like she made it her goal for the summer to get Ben and me together, and I don’t think she meant for him to just get laid.
“What do you plan to do with your architecture degree if you don’t plan on working in that field?” I now ask, changing the subject. I’m genuinely curious, as Ben seems so carefree, and I can’t even imagine him sitting behind a desk all day.
“I like design, just not architecture like my dad,” he replies. “I have no interest in it. I did it to appease my dad, and now I’m stuck with it. It’s not like I can do anything else with the degree besides design buildings and shit.” Ben closes his eyes and shakes his head, regret written all over his face. But it doesn’t feel like this is the full truth.
“Why did you try to appease your dad then?” I ask, recalling what Miriam said about Ben’s dad and how he’s a bit of a hardass.
“He’s a lot, Aida and I don’t really want to get into it,” Ben tells me, letting out a hard sigh.
“Yeah, I get that. So what happens when you get back to New York?” I now ask, and it suddenly feels like I’m prying. This isn’t a thing between us. It’s a summer fling and here I am asking him about his future and pressing him to talk about something that is clearly a sore subject.
“I don’t know,” he replies tersely. He swallows hard, I feel his throat move, and his chest rises with the hard breath he takes in. “Sorry,” he now says. “That was rude.”
“No, it wasn’t. You don’t want to talk about it and that’s okay. It’s not my place to ask anyway.” He doesn’t need to apologize. I’m not hurt by his response, and I shouldn’t be. We have a fun friendship and I pushed things a little too far by asking a serious question.
“I do have plans for after the summer. No one knows,” Ben now admits to me, and I prop myself up on my elbow, watching him and listening.
“Even Miriam?”
“Even my grandma,” he counters. “I took a graphic design job in New York, but I don’t start till the end of August.”
“That’s awesome, Ben. Where?” I try not to sound too excited about the prospect of us being in the same city together, not wanting him to think I’m a stalker or anything.
“It’s with this small athletic shoe company. They’re about ten years old, and they’ve hired me to design shoes, but also to be their in-house signage designer.”
“Holy shit, Ben. That’s super cool. Congratulations.” I plant a kiss on his lips, his mouth curling up in a smile when I do.
“Thanks.”
“You should be excited about it, but I get that you’re not because you have to deal with your dad. But we can celebrate,” I say, trying not to move too quickly, my head throbbing as I sit up. “We should go have the all you can eat shrimp tonight.”
“Woman, are you trying to make me puke?” Ben calls out, laughing as he pulls me down on top of him. “But you know how else we can celebrate?” Ben winks at me, his hand sliding down my back to grope my ass.
Ben’s voice turns deep and husky, sending my heart rattling in my chest, and I know exactly what he’s getting at. I’ve been dreaming about it since he first put his hands on me yesterday. Despite the hangover, I can’t get enough of Ben Kincaid and his impressive dick.
Letting my fingers trail down his chest, I slowly make my way lower, wrapping my hand around him. My thighs clench, trying to dull the ache between my legs when I feel how hard he is.
I close my eyes, my hand moving slowly, painfully slow as Ben begins to let out soft, low moans, pleasure coursing through me.
My stomach flutters at the idea of having him inside me again, at the idea of having him fill me to the point that he’s all I can think about.
Throwing back the sheets, exposing our naked bodies to the cool air and the sunlit room, I can’t stop myself from watching my hand jerk him off.
Ben looks so fucking hot with his head back against the pillows, his eyes closed, his mouth falling open with each uncontrolled, desperate groan.
I let my thumb roll over the sensitive ridge underneath the head of his dick and his hips buck up into my hand. All it does is turn me on even more, and my other hand slides between my legs, feeling the wetness.
And when I open my eyes, Ben is watching me, my heart thrumming hard, beating a loud pulse of desperation in my ears.
“Fuck, Aida,” Ben rasps, his words controlled but barely. “You have no idea how good this feels and how fucking badly…” His words are cut short as I straddle his thighs, my hand still wrapped around his dick.
Propping himself up on his elbows, his praise encouraging me on as I rub myself and jerk him off at the same time. Settling back, my ass against his thighs, bare skin against bare skin, I give him a better view.
I can’t stop myself, needing to end the want, my body curling with heat and desire as it all pools between my legs.
Ben reaches up, cupping both my breasts with his rough, tanned hands, his fingers toying with my hard, sensitive nipples, and I moan out loud.
“Ben, please,” I beg, sounding like I’m in the middle of making a porno, and holy shit, it’s the best porno I’ve ever seen. My body feels alive and overstimulated and ready to explode in the best possible way. There’s never been a guy who can turn me on the way Ben can. His body was made for me, his hands made to grope me, his impressive dick made to make me come.
“As much as I want to watch you get yourself off,” Ben growls, his words said with a harshness that sets my nerves on fire, “I need to be inside you.”
“Yes,” I call out, as Ben reaches for the condoms on the nightstand, tearing the packet open with his teeth, I watch as he slides it over his hard length.
And without waiting, I lift my hips, shifting so he’s buried fully inside me, stretching me, filling me with everything I’ve been begging for.
“Yes, yes!” I cry out, riding him hard and deep, our bodies slick with sweat, the muscles of his chest and stomach rippling with every movement we make together.
“Aida,” Ben moans, “Ride me, baby. Make yourself come.”
“Benji?” a loud voice rings out, silencing both of us in an instant and we freeze.