Chapter 25 #2
“Marnie…” he murmurs. It sounds like a plea, like he knows we should stop, but I honestly can’t think why.
This is all I’ve wanted for weeks. I could even outline every single moment I’ve thought about it, tell him how I’ve weighed all the pros and cons, but this isn’t the time for a Marnie diatribe.
So I deepen the kiss, rake my hands through his hair, and let him know that whatever he needs to say, it can wait. Right now, I just want him.
He groans, sending a heady mix of adrenaline and warmth running to my core.
Relief and excitement and want meld together as my arms wrap around his shoulders, trying to get him closer, to feel his body against mine.
But I can barely coordinate my movements.
Each limb is vibrating on its own frequency, operating independently, so all I can do is give myself over to it as my fingers pull at his shirt.
The last thread of his restraint seems to snap as his hands grab my hips, holding me in a vise grip.
Then he’s lifting me up and I’m vaguely aware that I’m on the kitchen countertop now.
I can feel the cold Formica through my pajama pants, but that’s secondary to his mouth, how he nips and licks down my neck, holding my legs apart so he can position himself right there between them.
My head falls back against the cabinet with a thud as I close my eyes. Every worry and stress seems to have disappeared under the wet slide of his tongue. My brain has given up on trying to think anything other than the demand more, more, more. I want more of him. I need it.
I open my eyes when I feel his hand tugging at my sweatshirt. He pulls it up, then lets out a frustrated groan when he sees a T-shirt underneath.
“Why do you have so many layers on?” he admonishes as he comes back in for another kiss.
I let out a breathy laugh against his lips. “Why aren’t you faster at getting them off?”
His low chuckle vibrates through my body. Then he ducks his head down and begins nipping and sucking at my breast through the cotton fabric. I lean into it, so fervently that I wobble on the edge of the counter. But then his hands are there, bracketing my hips, steadying me.
“I’ve got you,” he murmurs.
And he does. Every single part of me, even the bits I don’t remember. Ben has me and it’s the only thing that’s felt right in ages.
I try to say this, to respond with words, but it’s just a mumble. I’m too lost in the feel of him, how his one hand is still gripping my hips, while the other is slowly working its way up my leg, closer and closer and…
His fingers graze the apex of my thighs through my pajama pants. Once. Twice. Then his fingers press ever so delicately on that perfect little spot.
My hands tangle in his hair as I gasp, but he leans in to swallow it up with a kiss. Then his lips travel down my neck, his stubble rough even as his tongue feels soft and delicate, while his fingers keep a steady pressure between my legs, thrumming in time with my pulse.
Oh God. I’m already close. So close…
Ding.
My phone is sitting right next to me on the counter, so the sound of the text message echoes around us.
“Ignore it,” I whisper.
The phone dings again.
“Are you sure?” he murmurs.
Before I can tell him to throw the phone in the trash and focus, it dings again and Ben glances down at its small screen. Then he stills.
I pull back enough to look at him. “What?”
“It’s Matt,” he replies.
“I know,” I say, reaching out to pull his weight against me. “He just wants to know if he should pick me up for dinner tomorrow night or if we’re meeting at the restaurant.”
Ben’s eyebrows draw together, and I think I actually see the burning embers there suddenly cool.
“You’re having dinner with Matt tomorrow night?” he asks.
I pause, trying to read his expression, to understand how this has changed the entire evening in just a few seconds. “Yes, along with Sara and Garrett. They’re flying in for the weekend. I thought I told you.”
“You did. I just… I didn’t connect the dots,” he replies, his tone so flat that my heart trips.
“It’s not a date, Ben.”
“But Sara set you two up, right?” he replies plainly.
“Yes, but that doesn’t mean anything now.” It’s not a lie, but I hate how it’s not exactly the truth, either. “The four of us have always been close. She just misses that.”
“And what about Matt?” he asks, his expression unreadable. “Does he miss that, too?”
It feels ridiculous to be having this conversation while I’m sitting on the kitchen counter with my sweatshirt halfway off and a huge wet spot over my breast, but then, his reaction feels a bit ridiculous, too.
“That’s not fair, Ben,” I say. “After my grandmother died, Sara, Garrett, and Matt were the only family I had left. And even though I’m glad Matt and I aren’t together anymore, our breakup affected all of us.
That’s half the reason I’ve spent so much time chasing these clues all over the city.
If one of these mementos is from my relationship with Matt, then it might remind me why we broke up.
Then maybe I could start to understand everything else. ”
Something shifts in Ben’s expression. He’s usually so in control of his emotions, but right now it seems like he’s battling to keep them at bay while not revealing a single one to me. Still, something bleeds through the cracks. A bit of hurt and surprise.
“Mementos from your relationship with Matt,” he repeats, almost to himself. Then he shakes his head. “We were revisiting things you thought you did with your ex.”
“I don’t even know if that’s what they are,” I say quickly.
“My doctor just told me to revisit places I might remember, and I thought… I kept these things for a reason, Ben. It doesn’t matter if they mean something to me now, they meant something to me then.
So if I could go to those places, see if anything looked familiar, I could… maybe I would…”
“I get it, Marnie,” he says, his voice low. “I get it.”
It’s silent for a long moment, and for the first time since I’ve met him, it feels awkward, like there’s more to say but I have no idea what. Then another text message arrives on my phone with a loud ding. This time, neither of us looks down at the screen.
“I should go,” he finally says, taking a step back.
I slide off the counter, fresh panic blossoming in my chest. “Ben, stop. I didn’t mean—”
“You didn’t do anything wrong, Marnie.”
“Then why are you leaving?”
The heavy line of his brow adds a new sadness to his eyes, shadows over the small explosions of yellows and browns. “Because you deserve to figure out what you need without weighing it against what everyone else wants. Especially me.”
But that’s what you do when you love someone, I want to say.
Then I remember that night at the bar, my conversation with Lauren. This is what she had warned me about, isn’t it? The reason why Ben doesn’t do relationships. He’d rather be alone than have his heart broken. Or break anyone else’s.
He doesn’t realize he’s about to break mine anyway.
Hurt and embarrassment and shame heat my cheeks as he turns toward the door but stops, looking back to meet my eyes. “Good night, Marnie.”
And then he’s gone, leaving me staring at the empty space he had filled so perfectly only a minute before.