Chapter 25
Benji disappears into the bathroom with a lazy, over-the-shoulder grin, leaving the door cracked just enough for the hum of the overhead light to drift out. I take that as my cue to unpack.
Which I do with intention.
Every item comes out of my suitcase in a precise sequence. Shirts laid flat, then folded. Pants hung. Socks paired, rolled, and lined in a neat row. Belts uncoiled, smoothed, and looped so each one matches a specific outfit. Shoes set heel to heel beneath the rack.
Order settles me. It always has.
The bathroom light clicks off, making the room feel notably smaller and intimate, and I make the mistake of looking up at exactly the wrong moment.
Benji steps out barefoot, wearing nothing but dangerously skimpy black underwear. No shirt. No socks. Just smooth skin, lean muscle, and confidence stitched into every inch of him. He smells faintly of soap and something citrusy and expensive.
He catches my stare immediately and smirks. My internal functioning freezes.
I glance down at my socks, T-shirt, and boxers, and feel almost aggressively modest while Benji looks like the physical embodiment of bad decisions.
His gaze sweeps over me slowly, deliberately, then flicks back up to my face.
"You look…" He tilts his head, lips twitching. "Warm."
A snort bubbles out of my mouth before I can stop it. "You look… underdressed."
"That’s one word for it." He climbs onto the bed and settles against the pillows, entirely too comfortable for someone currently dismantling my self-control molecule by molecule. "I sleep hot."
I turn back to my suitcase before my brain short-circuits entirely. Unpacking gives me something to focus on. Behind me, the mattress shifts.
"You know I’m watching you, right?"
Benji is stretched across the bed, propped on one elbow, looking entirely too entertained by my existence.
"Good. Then you’ll appreciate the system."
He hums. "Carter, sweetheart. You have severe OCD and a deeply personal relationship with control."
"Untrue."
"Does that translate to the bedroom?" he asks innocently.
I still, slowly turning. "Excuse me?"
"All that control is… delicious." He draws the word out as if seducing me with it. "Do my socks and underwear need to be color coordinated?"
"Are they?"
He grins. "Obviously. But that’s not OCD. That’s just good taste."
Something in my chest loosens at that. The teasing isn’t sharp. It’s affectionate. Curious. Like he’s cataloging me instead of diagnosing me.
Most people make my habits sound like a flaw.
Benji makes it sound like a feature.
I shake my head and return to my suitcase. "You’re ridiculous."
"Correct. But you’re arranging belts by thickness, so let’s not pretend either of us is psychologically well-adjusted."
That earns a reluctant huff of laughter.
When I finish unpacking, the room feels settled somehow. Balanced. Like we've already been sharing it longer than a few hours.
I straighten and rest my hands on my hips. "All right. Done."
Benji sits up, gaze dragging slowly over my fully clothed body, then back down to his own half-naked—er… mostly naked—one.
"You sure you don’t want to loosen up? This is a safe space."
"I am loose."
His brow lifts.
I sigh and tug off my socks. "There. Wild."
He beams. "I feel so honored."
As I continue to move about the room, I feel his gaze on me. When I finally slide beneath the covers, I keep my shirt and boxers on. He settles beside me as if this is perfectly normal. As if sharing a bed is something we do every night. His bare thigh brushes mine.
"So," he murmurs, turning onto his side, propping his head in his hand. "First night. Same bed. No witnesses. How’re you holding up, Reed?"
"Fine."
"Your jaw says otherwise."
I stare at the ceiling. "Stop analyzing me."
"Can’t. I’ve never been with someone like you. You’re a puzzle. This is foreplay."
"It is not."
His smile softens just a little. "Relax. I’m not going to bite. Unless requested."
I swallow. The loaded silence stretches heavily.
His foot nudges mine beneath the blankets. "Carter."
"Hm?"
"Kiss me."
My heart immediately attempts to leave my body. There’s no demand in it. No pressure. Just invitation. An invitation I can’t resist.
I roll on my side, telling him yes with my eyes. His hand comes up, light at my jaw, thumb brushing my cheek. His nose bumps mine, and then our mouths meet.
The kiss is slow. Careful. Testing.
And then it isn’t.
It deepens, warm and unhurried, a slide and press and sigh that feels like months of tension finally exhaling. He tastes faintly of mint and margarita and something purely Benji. His fingers curl into my shirt, not pulling, just holding, as though he’s anchoring us both.
When we finally part, our noses brush. His uneven breaths puff across my parted lips. We’re both wearing matching smiles.
"Well," he murmurs. "That seems… promising."
I huff a shaky laugh. "You’re impossible."
"Correct. Isn’t that why you wanted to kiss me so badly?"
I shift closer without thinking. The bed dips. The world narrows to just the two of us. To our shared breaths, the static charge in the air, and my unrelenting hard on.
I need him. I need Benji Stewart as I’ve never needed any man before.
The realization is sobering, but also not terrifying. Just a quiet acceptance that I swallow when our lips touch again. In seconds, I’m lost in him, in the feel and heat of his mouth, his taste, and the tiny moans coming from him when I pull him impossibly closer and suckle his tongue.
"Let’s get you as naked as I am."
Benji wrestles my shirt up and over my head. His warm, solid weight settles over me, his smile softening as his hands skim my chest in a way that feels reverent rather than possessive.
"It’s a shame you keep all this hidden. If I looked like this, I’d never bother with buttons."
"You don’t. Ever."
"Exactly." His mouth curves.
I don’t let him keep talking. I shift forward, catching his lips with mine, silencing him the only way I know how.
The kiss turns slower, deeper, less about teasing and more about connection.
His answering sigh vibrates against my mouth, his fingers curling into my hair as if he’s anchoring himself there.
"Less talking, more kissing," I murmur against his lips.
Benji seems totally on board with that plan. He works my body over with his mouth, sucking my nipples and bathing them with his tongue. Peppering kisses over my chest and stomach. When he reaches the waistband of my boxers, he glances up with a wicked grin before tugging them down my hips.
A relieved sigh gusts out of him. "Oh sweet Jesus. Thank God your balls aren’t saggy."
"Excuse me?"
"Never mind."
Over his head, I can see his perfect ass wiggling, wrapped enticingly in that dark, sexy underwear. I can’t wait to strip him bare and worship him with my mouth.
His tongue licks over my sac, pulling my attention back to his face.
His eyes are closed as if he’s savoring the feel of my balls in his mouth.
The sight of him between my legs makes my dick kick in his hand.
Benji opens his eyes and locks his gaze with mine.
He smiles and gives my shaft a teasing lick.
The swipe of his soft pink tongue along my dick makes it hard as steel.
Or maybe it’s that knowing smirk teasing his wet lips.
Benji loves the power he has over me right now. Loves the way my breath stutters when he leans in, the way my hands tighten on his shoulders, how the world seems to narrow until there’s nothing left but the space between us. And I fully believe I’m about to experience the ride of my life.
He dips his head, brushing a slow kiss along my skin, down the inside of my thigh, not rushing, not claiming—just exploring. Every careful touch feels deliberate, as if he’s mapping something he intends to remember.
I close my eyes.
This is dangerous. Not because of what we’re doing, but because of how easily it feels right.
"Hey," he murmurs softly, pulling back just enough to meet my eyes. The teasing fades, replaced by something quieter. Something sincere. "You still okay?"
I nod, my thumb tracing idle circles along his collarbone. "Yeah, it’s… been a while."
His smirk is instant. Wicked. Delighted. "Oh, honey. I promise I will not let you forget how to have fun."
"That’s not reassuring."
"Good." His gaze drops to my mouth, then back up. "I want to be the only guy in your head."
You already are. For months. I don’t say it. I don’t need to. The way his breath catches tells me he feels it anyway.
"Cocky."
"Accurate," he counters, shifting closer. The heat between us ramps up in a way that feels inevitable. "Also generous."
I snort. "You’re incorrigible."
Benji winks, cheeky and unapologetic. "I prefer incredible. Let me show you why."
He closes his lips around my cock and proceeds to suck me off as if he’s auditioning for a starring role in a porn flick. Every clever remark, every ounce of restraint evaporates under his sheer focus. My fingers curl into the sheets. His mouth is stealing my ability to think right out of my head.
The man is infuriatingly talented, and I refuse to examine what that says about his past.
"Benji—" I manage, but it comes out more like a warning than a name.
He hums softly in response, clearly pleased with himself, and the vibration sends a shock straight through me. The world narrows to sensation and breath and the relentless awareness of him.
God. This man. Does he have to excel at everything?
I thread my fingers through his wavy hair to ground my senses because I need something solid, something real.
For a moment, he pauses, lifting his head just enough to meet my eyes. The teasing glint is still there, but beneath it is something warmer.
"You okay?"
"More than."
His smile turns slow and satisfied. "Good."
And then he’s back at it, determined to prove every wicked promise he’s made. It takes him less than two minutes to undo me completely. Showoff.
I sag back against the pillows, breath wrecked, pulse loud in my ears. Benji settles beside me with smug satisfaction, warm and solid and entirely too pleased with himself.
"Well," he murmurs, pressing a lazy kiss to my shoulder. "That was efficient."
I huff a laugh, still catching my breath. "You’re insufferable."
He shifts closer as he drapes an arm across my chest like we’re a couple. "And you look very relaxed."
"Don’t get a big head," I mutter.
"Too late."
We lie there for a moment, breathing each other in, the intensity ebbing just enough to feel human again. Benji’s fingers trace slow, absentminded patterns over my chest. His touch is grounding, comforting.
"This okay?"
"Yeah," I say quietly. "Feels nice."
His smile softens just for a heartbeat before mischief creeps back in. I recognize that look now. It’s the one that means I’m about to regret my life choices.
"Good, because I’m not done with you yet."
My breath stutters.
He shifts, rolling closer, his knee sliding between mine, heat blooming where he presses in. His mouth finds the corner of my jaw, then my ear, his voice low and wicked.
"You’ve spent months pretending you weren’t thinking about me," he whispers. "I feel like I’m owed some thorough attention."
"Is that so?"
"Mm-hmm." His lips brush my skin, unhurried, unrelenting. "Call it… emotional damages."
I huff a breathless laugh. "You’re unbelievable."
He kisses me again, his lips lingering, devastating, and the quiet intimacy we’d built snaps back into something sharper, hotter, charged with intent.
Something in me shifts. Enough waiting. Enough reacting.
I slide my hands over his shoulders, down his arms, guiding him onto his back. He goes willingly, eyes dark, mouth curved in that wicked little smile that tells me he’s more than happy to see where this goes.
"Well. Someone’s feeling brave."
"Don’t ruin the moment."
His laugh is soft, breathless. "Impossible."
I lean in for a kiss, deeper this time, slower, letting him feel the change. Letting him feel that I’m not just keeping up anymore. That I’m choosing this. Him. His breath catches. That alone is worth it.
My mouth trails along his jaw, down his neck, my hands learning the lines of his body, the way he arches into my touch, the quiet sounds he tries and fails to swallow. Every reaction feels like a victory. Every soft inhale, every shiver.
Benji grips the sheets, eyes squeezed shut, a broken laugh leaving him. "Carter—"
"Quiet," I murmur, not unkindly. "Your turn."
The power in that, in making him lose composure, sends a rush through me that’s almost dizzying.
I take my time, exploring, discovering, enjoying the way his confidence fractures into breathless want beneath my hands.
He opens his eyes to look at me, vulnerability, heat, and trust all tangled together.
And for the first time since we started this ridiculous dance, I realize Benji isn’t the only one capable of wrecking someone.
I’ve got this.
I may not suck like a Hoover, but give me ten minutes and I can make him cum in my mouth.
I take my time, letting anticipation do most of the work, mapping every reaction, every sharp inhale. The confidence drains out of him, replaced by surrender.
"Carter," he whispers, half laugh, half plea.
And God, the sound of my name on his lips like that does something irreversible to me.
My tongue teases the head of his swollen cock, dipping into his slit to taste him. A shiver runs through him. Then I take him deep in my mouth and swallow around his girth, and Benji squeaks.
His fingers clutch at the sheets, then release, then clutch again, his control unraveling thread by careful thread.
He locks his legs tight around my head, squeezing me in place with his thighs, and I slurp his dick for all I’m worth, bobbing and sucking until my jaw aches and my lips go numb.
When he finally breaks, he clutches at me, laughter shaking through him, breath wrecked, eyes glazed and stunned.
He’s stunningly beautiful like this, enough to make my breath catch.
"Well, I stand corrected."
I huff a quiet laugh, pressing my forehead to his. "Good."
"Remind me never to underestimate you again."
I kiss the corner of his mouth, lingering there for just a second. "Trust me. You won’t."
We stay like that for a moment—tangled, breath syncing, the room hushed around us—letting the heat fade into closeness instead of distance.
And somehow, impossibly, that feels even better.