Chapter 22
Bennett
I step out of the washroom with a towel wrapped around my waist and freeze.
Am I dreaming?
There, on the bed, is Zoe. In the red cape she wore on Halloween. I’m pretty sure she has nothing on underneath.
It’s just like the fantasies I’ve been having at the most awkward of times. After my long flight, my mind isn’t working as well as it should, even if my dick is; my brain is probably playing a trick on me.
I climb into bed and touch the bow at her throat.
This is definitely real.
She’s lying on her side, head propped up on her hand. Her legs peek out from the red fabric, and I see a flash of dark hair between her thighs.
“What do you think?” she asks, with a look that says she knows exactly what I think. I love that she’s so confident.
Slowly, just as I did three weeks ago, I pull the end of the bow. But this time, I press a kiss to her forehead as I do it.
“You’re breathtaking,” I say.
She knows it, but that doesn’t mean she shouldn’t hear the words, too.
Her lips are parted and her breathing is heavy.
“Did you touch yourself while you were waiting for me?”
She runs her finger through a droplet of water on my chest, and that’s enough to make me hiss out a breath.
“Yes,” she says.
She pushes aside the edges of the cape, and my gaze immediately drops between her legs. She has a toy inside her. The toy has a clit massager, which is turned on. But it’s very, very quiet, so I didn’t notice until now.
“Fuck me,” I say.
“You like it?” she asks.
“Of course.”
This didn’t happen in my fantasies, but it’s a welcome addition.
She untucks the towel from my waist and tosses it aside. Then she reaches for my erection. She dips her head, but she doesn’t take me in her mouth; she just licks the bead of precum from the tip.
I roll Zoe onto her back and hold myself above her.
She breathes in sharply. “The toy…shifted when you…”
I put my hand on the toy and turn off the clit massager.
She cries out in protest.
“You’re such a dirty girl,” I murmur approvingly. “Such a dirty, dirty girl. What am I going to do with you?”
“Orgasms would be nice.”
I chuckle as I rotate the toy. Then I set my tongue to her clit and give it a firm lick.
She clutches my damp hair. I slide one finger into her channel, next to the toy, and her body easily accommodates me, so I add a second finger.
She’s so hot and wet, and it wouldn’t take much for me to finish right this second.
She squirms; I feel her twist around my fingers. I pull them out of her body and fuck her with the toy a few times.
“Is this what you used while I was gone?” I ask, but before she can answer, I slide the clit massager back into position and turn it on. At a higher setting than before.
“I…no.”
“You used your hand?”
“I have other toys.”
I want to see all of them. Not right now, but before she l—
I don’t let myself finish that thought.
God, this woman is incredible. When I turn up the clit massager, she thrashes beneath me. Her breathing hitches, and she comes apart, louder than she ever has before; I would have flown twice as far to hear that sound tonight.
Rearranging my travels? Definitely worth it.
I turn off the toy and remove it. After setting it on the bedside table, I dive back between her legs. I know she’s sensitive right now, so I lick her gently and let her ride out the waves.
“You good?” I ask.
I don’t hear a response, so I glance up. She’s nodding vigorously, like she’s still too overcome to speak. I return to licking her folds, and she puts the soles of her feet on the bed and bucks against my face.
I take that as my cue to give her clit a little attention as I slip two fingers inside her again. I circle my tongue around her nub, and she arches her back.
“Bennett, I…”
Her second orgasm seems to catch her off guard, and I slow my pace as she rides it out.
Fuck. I love getting her off.
When I reach into my bedside table for a condom, she nods eagerly again. How am I not already inside her? Why are my hands so clumsy?
She pushes me onto my back and takes over, rolling the condom on my erection before impaling herself in one smooth stroke.
She looks amazing as she rides my cock, her tits bouncing.
When she bends over, I bury my head between her breasts, wanting her body in every way I can have it.
I take a nipple into my mouth and bite lightly; her rhythm falters, and that makes me feel ridiculously powerful.
I slam my hips up as I shift my attention to the other nipple.
This one, in my experience, is slightly more sensitive, and she trembles and loses her rhythm completely.
I flip us over so I’m on top and pound into her again and again. I’m so close. I’m…
When she tilts her hips, I come completely undone. I bury my face in the pillow and stay there for several seconds before pulling out.
But it’s instantly clear that something is wrong.
The first time I had a condom break, I was eighteen.
It was only my third time using one, and in retrospect, I might have forgotten to pinch the tip.
Ginny and I freaked the fuck out. The morning-after pill wasn’t available over the counter back then.
It required a prescription— something that would change shortly thereafter.
Fortunately, she managed to get her hands on it two days later, and we didn’t have penetrative sex again until after she got her period, both too anxious despite our teenage hormones.
Now—the second time—I’m more level-headed. It must have happened right at the end. If it had been earlier, I would have noticed. I immediately go into problem-solving mode.
“I’ll go to the pharmacy first thing in the morning,” I say.
The mood in the room is very, very different from two minutes ago—and from how it usually is after we have sex. The broken condom? It feels like a sign that I shouldn’t have come back early, yet I can’t bring myself to regret it.
“It’s okay.” Zoe takes my hand, the one not holding the condom. “I don’t need Plan B. I have an IUD. But I still want to use condoms because—”
“You don’t owe me an explanation.” I’d always want to use condoms, too, outside of a serious long-term relationship—and I’ve only had one of those.
“I swear I’m telling the truth. I have a card that says when the IUD was put in. I think it’s in my purse.”
Shit. Why is she afraid that I don’t believe her? Is it because she was recently betrayed by two of the people closest to her? Or do I look more freaked out than I feel?
I’m not nearly as agitated as I was when this happened the first time. It makes sense: I’m older, and I have more resources at my disposal.
Though it’s not just that.
No, there’s some tiny part of me that likes the idea of getting her pregnant.
Jesus. What’s wrong with me? I have no idea if she even wants kids, and this clearly isn’t an ideal situation. Why am I feeling this way?
But I try not to dwell on that. Zoe’s well-being is more important.
“I believe you,” I say gently, rubbing my thumb over the back of her hand.
When she starts to relax, I throw out the failed condom and wash up. I grab a clean pair of boxer-briefs and a T-shirt before returning to bed. She’s put away the cape, and she’s now wearing her pajamas.
“I used to have so much anxiety about getting pregnant,” she says as I pull her into my arms. “My mom instilled a lot of fear in me. I think she was, more than anything, trying to discourage me from having sex as a teen. Whenever she heard a failed contraception story, she made sure she told me about it. Anytime I had something that could possibly be considered a pregnancy symptom, she asked if I was pregnant. So, I normally use two methods. I’ve only gone without condoms in a couple of long-term relationships, both when I was over twenty-five. ”
“If it would make you feel more comfortable, I can still get—”
“No. It’s fine. An IUD is quite effective.”
I nod and press kisses up her arm. “But if anything happens, I’ll support you no matter what you decide. Do you…do you want kids one day?”
“Yes, but it’s not something I imagined doing outside of marriage, and that’s clearly not happening anytime soon.”
I feel a spark of disappointment. Disappointment that she can’t see marrying me anytime soon?
It makes no sense. But I try not to let anything show on my face.
It’s usually not hard to avoid expressing my emotions—it’s habit at this point—but with her, there are moments when it’s a struggle.
She’s upset the careful balance of my life.
She smiles up at me. “I’m glad you came back early.”
And I’m glad to hear her say that. Her happiness matters more than anything, and at her words, my messy thoughts begin to recede.
“Me, too,” I say.
The room seems brighter than usual when I wake up. We’re only a month from the shortest day of the year, so there aren’t that many hours of sunlight. I’m used to waking up in the dark, but there’s definitely light filtering in through the curtains.
I look at my alarm clock. Did I really sleep in until nine?
I bolt into a sitting position.
“Hey,” Zoe says.
“How long have you been awake?” I ask.
“More than an hour.”
“You could have gotten up.”
“I didn’t want to disturb you.”
“Don’t worry about that,” I say. “I’m usually up at five fifteen.”
“I guess you’re still on Vancouver time.”
No, I was only there for two nights; I never fully adjusted to the time change. But I did go to bed late last night. Still, with how long I slept in, I must have gotten nearly eight hours of sleep, which is a rarity for me.
I slide back down, feeling unusually lazy. There’s nothing I need to do this morning, since I was supposed to be traveling home right now. I told my parents that I couldn’t see them today.
Zoe grins at me, then hooks a leg over my hips. “I’m keeping you here.”
We both know I could move her in two seconds if I wanted to, but I don’t.
However, a moment later, my phone rings, and I bolt up again. It’s the ringtone I’ve assigned to anyone in Ginny’s family. I climb out of bed as I answer. “Hello?”
Ginny’s mom calls me a few times a year, and it’s normally on weekend mornings.
I feel a touch of guilt for being in bed with Zoe, but I try to ignore it.
It’s not like Ginny’s mom expects me to stay faithful to her daughter.
In fact, five years ago, she made a point of telling me that she’d be happy if I found someone else.
But some feelings are instinctive.
I walk to another room for the rest of the call, and when I return to bed ten minutes later, Zoe is still here. She doesn’t ask who called. I think she wants to, but she’s afraid of overstepping.
I feel like I’m keeping a big secret from her, and that seems wrong. As close as we’ve gotten, she should know something of my past—especially before she meets my parents next weekend. It will help explain a few things.
I take a deep breath. “A long time ago, I had a fiancée.”