Chapter 15 #3
Any chance of talking myself out of this burns to ashes. The flame that was lit with that kiss in the ravine is now inextinguishable, so I guess the only remaining option is to soak it in lighter fluid and watch it incinerate us both.
I pull out of Ben’s clutches to turn and straddle his lap, linking my fingers at the base of his neck as he grasps my waist and settles me on his thighs.
Finally in my sights, Ben looks a little wrecked—hair damp and tousled, cheeks flushed pink, eyes molten green. No one has ever looked so good to me.
His thumbs press into my hips like he’s on the verge of losing control, and getting him there is suddenly my highest priority.
I lean in, slowly, and press my mouth to his throat, returning the delicious torture he inflicted upon me.
My hands grip the back of his neck, hard, fingernails sinking into smooth skin as my mouth works upward.
Ben’s breaths are ragged now, and when I sink my teeth into his sculpted jaw, a strangled, “Fuck, Ems,” emerges from deep in his throat.
It’s not enough though. I need more. I need Ben to want me as desperately as I want him.
I want him to fantasize about me when he’s in the shower, and in his bed every night when he can’t sleep.
I want him to be so consumed by me that he can’t focus on anything else.
I want to do more than affect him, I want to afflict him.
So I pull back and let our gazes collide, knowing there’s no way to brace for impact.
Neither of us speaks, we don’t need to.
Then we’re kissing, hard and fast and messy and urgent.
Ben’s tongue slides between my lips, and I moan his name into his mouth.
He cups my face with one hand, the other sliding up my back and underneath one strap of my swimsuit, frantically clutching whatever skin he can find.
I grip his shoulders and pull him closer, feeling as if I might combust from the pure heat of this desire but never breaking away from his kiss.
Ben tastes like my prosecco, but I think I’m inebriated off him alone.
I’m doing things I don’t normally do with men: I’m sinking my fingernails into his neck like I’m clinging to a life raft, I’m whimpering tiny little noises of pleasure into his mouth, I’m rolling my hips against him until he cups my ass in the palms of his hands and slides me over his erection.
And when I feel how hard he is against where I’m throbbing painfully for him, I think there’s a strong possibility I might actually cry.
“Ems, we need to slow down,” he rasps, but his mouth is still on mine and neither of us makes any move toward his suggestion.
Instead, I cover his hand with my own and slide it up to cup my breast.
That does it.
Ben breaks our kiss, and we both gasp for air like we’re oxygen-deprived.
His hand stays covering my right breast, though, just above the water’s surface.
Then his thumb slowly traces a circle around the hardened peak, evident through the flimsy suit.
And god, it would be so easy to slide the straps off my shoulders and be topless in this hot tub in all of two seconds.
To let the heat of his mouth replace the heat of his touch.
“I don’t want to rush this,” he says, but his eyes never leave my chest, teeth sinking into his lower lip.
Aroused to the point of pain, I suggestively whisper the first thing that springs to mind, which happens to be Jacklyn’s advice. “We’ve certainly had our share of secret nights before, Ben. What’s one more? It could be a what-happens-in-Iceland situation.”
Ben’s expression shifts in an instant, eyes widening as if he’s been drop-kicked back to reality. His hand falls away from my chest as he sits up straighter, and under the water’s surface I feel the subtle push of his other palm against my hip. “No,” he says, voice low but adamant. “Not like that.”
The heat of desire is instantly replaced with the heat of shame, which possibly burns even hotter. I slide off his lap and move to the opposite side of the hot tub as I readjust my twisted swimsuit strap.
I am humiliated.
“Ems,” he says softly, but I can’t look at him, so I stare at the bubbling water between us instead.
“I don’t get it,” I whisper, more to myself than to him. How am I finding brand-new ways to let this same man reject me? Confusion and hurt and embarrassment interweave like ivy over my heart, spreading up into my throat to try and suffocate me.
“It’s not that I don’t want to,” Ben pleads. “I want you so bad you have no idea.”
“Obviously not,” I retort. “I’m practically naked on your lap in a hot tub, throwing myself at you. If you wanted it, it was offered to you on a silver platter for your taking.”
“Because I don’t want it like that, Mona.” His voice rises to echo the same frustration laced through mine. “I can’t do a onetime physical hookup if that’s what you’re looking for. Not with you.”
“Really? That’s news to me because isn’t that exactly what you did before?”
Ben flinches, and I know I’ve gone too far, but that’s the thing about old wounds; sometimes you’ve spent so long patching them up or pretending they didn’t exist in the first place that you forget how deep they cut.
I want to take the words back, not only because of the pained look on Ben’s face, but because of the pain the words simultaneously inflict on me, ripping the scab away and leaving the wound as fresh as it was fourteen years ago.
Tears seep into my eyes, but I blink them back as I move to the steps of the hot tub, the soothing water now only serving to slow my escape.
“It wasn’t like that,” Ben protests, but I’m already emerging from the water. I don’t feel the cold air on my skin or the comfort of the plush robe as I pull it around me. I don’t feel anything beyond old hurt and new embarrassment.
Back inside my room I march straight to the bathroom and slam the door. I hover over the sink and stare at the woman in the mirror trying desperately to keep it together.
A few minutes later there’s a knock. “Ems?”
“No, Ben. Just leave me alone.”
Despite the door separating us, I hear Ben’s frustrated sigh on the other side. “Sooner or later, we’re going to have to deal with this.”
I don’t say anything back. And after a moment, the door of my hotel room clicks shut.