Chapter 32 #2
“You realize,” I add softly, looking up at him, “that now I feel partly responsible for whatever explanation you give him when you go home.”
“I’m sure I’ll come up with something,” he says. “You don’t live with four teenagers and learn to tell the truth all the time.”
“Surely, that’s setting a bad example.”
My arms snake around his neck, pulling him downward. He bends with no hesitation.
“Are you complaining, Ms. Cole?” He dips, his lips brushing mine. “Or do you want to debate my parenting choices some more?”
I shake my head. “No debate needed. I’m sure you have your hands full with four kids.”
“I’m more interested in what I’ve got my hands full with currently,” he murmurs. “Now, where was I?”
He grabs the hem of my sweater, pushing it upward. I lift my shoulders off the bed, and it slips over my head easily. I forgot I didn’t wear a bra. My breasts suddenly free. It’s unlike me. Usually, everything is contained. This is almost as if I planned it.
“Are you trying to kill me?” he groans. “Looking like that, you’re a heart attack on legs.”
I laugh again. Sheer happiness, something I’ve not felt in my bedroom for years. The solitude replaced with impending sex. And I want it, so damn bad.
On his knees between my legs, Ben’s warm lips brush the side of my neck, starting at my ear, down my jawbone. A light flutter of kisses, not hot, not hard, but sweet. Endearing.
He finishes at my chin, carrying on down my neck until he comes to my collarbone, taking his time. There’s no rush. So he says. My hands claw at his back, wanting more.
“Hands above your head,” he whispers, tone sharp. “We’ll move at my pace, and you’ll lie back and enjoy it.”
I do as he says. Now, our only connection is his lips on my skin. My flesh tingles, more intense this time, every part of me heating. He goes lower, lips meeting the waistband of my sweats. His fingers trail behind, curling into the band, then tugging.
I lift my hips, and he drags them down, taking my thong with them.
Naked, I watch as he stands, unfastening his belt. The leather pulls smoothly through the loops of his jeans, cracking as it’s discarded on the floor.
“Let me,” I mumble, pushing myself upward, reaching for his crotch. He grabs my fingers, lowering me back onto the bed, then drops to his knees.
“You first.” It’s not a request but an order. Strong hands take my thighs, spreading them wide. His face disappears between them, so all I see is the top of his head.
But what I feel. Fuck. It takes my breath away.
My clit becomes his focus, my legs held wide. His tongue circles the spot. My back arches, my thighs screaming to close. He holds me in place, keeping rhythm, no mercy. Lapping again and again. His tongue examines every millimeter of me.
My pussy clenches hard. Another swirl. Another flick of the sweet spot.
I moan. He moves faster. My orgasm builds until I’m on the edge. That point between pain and release. My thighs ache, fighting his grip. Sharpness pricks my skin, his nails sinking deeper.
“Hold still,” he whispers, his gaze flicking upwards for a second. “You’re almost there.”
“I know. I need…”
He pauses then, lips withdrawing. He crawls up my body until he’s holding himself above me. “What do you need, Antonia?”
His waist drops, cock grinding against my crotch.
“That,” I choke out. “I need that.”
Impatient fingers scramble to his jeans, grabbing at the buttons. Each one snaps open on command. As I’m pushing his jeans over his ass, his boxers slide with them.
He lets me. Just holds himself and allows me to undress him. My feet push the fabric away.
“Impatience suits you,” he whispers. “You’re always so…”
I still then, bracing for impact, for negativity I don’t want to hear. One hand comes to my face, cupping my cheek, his thumb running over my bottom lip. He doesn’t respond, just leans in and kisses the edge of my right eye.
I exhale slowly, steadying myself.
“So what?” I arch an eyebrow, raising my chest upward.
He bends, teeth grazing my nipple. The bite is deliciously good, awakening parts of me from their years of slumber.
Heightening my need for him, for this, even more.
“So what…?” I repeat when he doesn’t answer, needing to know what he thinks of me.
His mouth drops over mine. Close, but not touching. Tempting and teasing. He makes me wait. Usually, I’m never made to wait for someone else. It’s maddening but alluring, and only drives me to want more.
“So… controlled,” he says finally, with a dark smile.
“To hell with control.” The hand on my face moves lower, trailing down my stomach. “Lower, touch me.”
It’s not enough. I want more. His fingers move insanely slow over my groin until hesitating between my legs. One thick finger teases my lips, pushing inside an inch. My eyes close as the long-forgotten sensation of a man touching me takes hold.
I flex my hips, both in invitation and demand. He pushes deeper.
“Hell, you’re so damn wet, but I want you ready,” he whispers, lips returning to my neck. He pumps—once, twice, three times. And everything shifts. He adds another, my pussy stretching for him easier than I expected. No pain, just pleasure being here, and he’s taking the lead.
His fingers slide away, leaving me empty. The void’s too great. I wrap my legs around his waist, and he dips. His cock hangs heavy and solid between us, the tip teasing my entrance.
I wonder if I’ll take him easily or if my body will let me down. Will I reject him after years of refusing to allow anyone in? My chest aches, a final spark of uncertainty, but I do it anyway. Squeezing my legs tight around him, signaling I want this as much as him.
He resists, but only for a beat, then pushes in. Slow at first, steady until my body gives way. His cock goes deeper than I expect. Too much, but not enough. I cling to him, needing security as everything changes from what could be to what is between us.
“Fuck,” he murmurs, nose disappearing into my neck. “You feel…”
“Anything less than incredible, and you’re pulling out,” I pant, breath uneven.
He laughs, hips rocking, deliberate, harder. I rise to meet him, stroke for stroke. Sweat beads on his brow within minutes.
“Incredible,” he agrees. “And out of practice, but so am I.”
It’s my turn to giggle, but he thrusts again, silencing me. The tip of his cock, deep inside, hits my G-spot, finding a place that pulls a moan I can’t stop. Loud and uncivilized. Not caring if the neighbors hear.
“Do that again.” He pulls back, almost all the way, before taking me again. Hard and fast, his thrusts more urgent each time. The moan becomes a scream as my orgasm builds, until my pussy contracts around him so hard, I have nowhere else to go but come.
“Ben… I’m going to…” I orgasm, my body releasing every tension he’s built inside. The walls clamp hard around him, begging for more with every inch. It’s not just the physical, it’s him. I need him, not just sex. I haven’t felt like this in years, and it hits harder than it should.
“Ben…” Begging, I don’t do for anyone else, but tonight, I’ll do it for him. To feel like this just for a few seconds more with him inside.
He buries his head in my neck and fucks me like a man needing this as much as I do. And I let him. I let him pound my body until he peaks, coming hard, deep inside. Cock jerking. A primal groan against my slick flesh.
“Yes,” he murmurs, eyes closed, buried deep inside me. “You wanted something.”
“I got it.”
After, we lie side by side, my head on his chest, eyes closed. He’s breathing heavily, chest rising and falling. I enjoy the rhythm and the quiet.
“That was epic,” he says.
I laugh out loud. “Epic? You’re describing me as epic in bed?”
“If that’s round one,” he says, “I can’t wait to get to round two.”
I rise on my elbow, stare down at him, then softly brush his lips with mine. “You have no idea what you’ve got yourself in for.”
I glance around the room at the twisted duvet and scattered pillows. My bedroom has never looked less perfect, and strangely, I don’t mind.
His hand drifts lazily up my back, fingertips brushing my spine.
“You don’t look nearly as intimidating now,” he says.
“Careful,” I reply softly. “That could change very quickly.”
For a moment, neither of us speaks. The room is quiet except for his breathing. A calm that hasn’t sat in my home for years. A calm I didn’t realize I missed. I don’t feel like I’m holding everything together on my own.
“I didn’t plan any of this,” I admit.
“Good,” he says. “Neither did I.”
“Still think you’re ready for round two?” I ask.
His laugh is low and warm. “I’m starting to realize,” he says slowly, “that I may have seriously underestimated you.”
I smile. “Good.”
Because tonight, for once, I’m not in a hurry to put the world back in order.