Chapter 16 #2
He exhales and presses into me harder. "I missed you so fucking much, it's ripping me apart even though you're here now."
I can't believe he said that.
The words make me go feral, so I nip his lower lip roughly and prowl my tongue over his teeth.
He sucks my tongue into his mouth and lets out a sound that says permission granted to go full force.
And then he takes—takes until my toes curl, until I fist his shirt and claw at his chest, until the music pounds in sync with my pulse. He draws me deeper, snatching my breaths, the red lanterns above his head blurring, and I'm dizzy, high on him, but mad enough to not let go.
His hands slide down, thumbs digging into the soft bare space between my ribs, like he wants to carve a way inside.
Fabric rustles as he wrenches my top down and my breasts spill into his big hands, filling them completely.
He pauses, his mouth opening on a stunned breath. He's never seen me naked, not even during that one night we spent together because I didn't want to edge us on.
"Gorgeous. My hands were made for you." He runs his finger along the contours and kneads them like he owns every curve. Then rolls my nipple in between his fingers, firm enough that I whimper. "And you were made for me."
Ben leans closer, dragging his scruff over the swell of my breast, then right along my hardened nipple. The sensation makes me arch into the fire.
He clamps his mouth on me and starts sucking—gently first, then harder, relentless like he wants to milk my pulse out.
I'm just about to faint from the pleasure, my eyes rolling back when he stops. He prowls up, licking a hot path between my breasts, and up my throat. I shiver as he sucks on the delicate skin of my neck.
The things Ben can do with his mouth are criminal. I always had a feeling I'd go haywire if he touched me, body and mind stripped raw, and he's devouring me like he wants me like that—he wants the Emma under the mask.
So fuck it, a kiss won't cut it. My hand's already moving with one reckless thought: find him.
I do. He's rock solid, pulsing in my hand like he wants my full attention. I stroke him and he throbs even more alive under my touch as Ben grunts.
"Emma, don't do that," he growls, his jaw tight. "Or I won't be a gentleman."
God, he's gorgeous. But I want to see him break.
I grip him tighter and yank him closer until his whole body bows toward mine.
He shudders, rasps a broken breath against my neck, and his eyes flash on me like I've just pulled the detonator of his self-control. Like I'm one stroke away from his sanity snapping in two.
Yeah, I'm testing him. But for the record, my boldness is pretty ignorant. I could count my lovers on one hand and still have fingers left, and even my inexperienced brain can tell that Ben is monumental, way bigger than any man I've had. The kind of big that should make me waver.
Thank god my lustful body isn't thinking.
My knees splay wide into the bed, too ready, like they've waited years for this moment. Because they have.
His eyes flick down there and he instantly gets the cue. Heat spears up my spine as his hand fists my ass, dragging me into the grind of his hips against me, so ruthless I'm half sure he'll tear through the layers between us and shove himself inside me in one perfect, brutal thrust.
A loud moan escapes me and I lock my thighs around him, trapping him close.
"Ben. I want more. Take me. However you want," I say fast.
Chest heaving, he pulls his head away and his gaze sears into mine. A vein throbs in his neck and his jaw clenches, like he's already imagining it.
"Take you however I want?" he echoes, brow arched in warning.
I don't back off. I meet that look head-on.
"Emma, if it's up to me, I'll tear that thirst-trap dress into confetti and make sure every inch of you remembers me," he says, voice dark. Then a sinful grin spreads across his face. "How much do you like it?"
Not as much as I like you.
"Rip it. Ruin it. Ruin me," I say, throwing my arms to the side for his access. "I need you inside me."
One brow arches—a final check—before his eyes go pitch-dark. His hand clamps at my throat and I squirm, liking the idea he’s in control of my breathing more than I should. He doesn't tighten his grip, just holds it firm to let me know he's claiming me.
His mouth is back on my breast as his teeth sink in, and he sucks—hard. Hard enough to make my skin thrum, to turn my gasp into a loud cry, and for me to fist the sheets.
When he pulls back, his tongue soothes the sting—gently, lovingly. I look down at the bright red mark staring back at me.
Shhhoooot... I shouldn't like that, right? Pretty sure I wouldn't like it from anyone else, but this is Ben—Ben who I know wouldn't hurt me, Ben who turns pain into pleasure because... he's my Ben.
He continues to lick my nipples, bite my skin, and plant bruising kisses, red hickeys blooming across my neck and breasts. Each one a proof that he meant every word tonight—he doesn't care who I go home to, and these marks are a silent message to the world. A vow:
MINE.
MINE.
MINE.
And the truth is I want it. I want his name tattooed in bruises, want every place his mouth has been to ache tomorrow and every day after, so I can remember that for one night this man was utterly mine.
I watch his big hands slide to the low V of my jumpsuit, about to tear it apart, when—
RUMBLE.
My stomach lets out a gurgle so loud it could've been a scream and I freeze.
No. No. No. What the hell is going on?
Worse—he must have heard it too.
Worst—something is coming up.
"Oh god." I manage to shove him away, hand pressed over my mouth. "I think I'm about to throw up."
Ben sits up instantly, frowning at me for context.
"I think...the drink Mara gave me," I mutter, swallowing bile and regret.
Why haven't I listened to him? Why did I drink that? This might be the most humiliating moment of my life.
I scan the room for anything to drop my head into, in case I don't make it outside.
Ben blinks, and I say nothing more before he's moving fast. Wolf's gone. Doctor Bellini activated. He's already rifling through a bag that shouldn't legally hold that many pharmaceutical items.
When he returns, he stands above me and tucks my breasts back into my clothes.
I blink at him, trying to process what just happened.
"Okay, take these," he commands, water bottle in one hand, pills, electrolytes, and gum in the other. "Then lie down on your left side. Don't drink the electrolytes yet. Only if you vomit—"
"Let's NOT say the word vomit, please," I pant.
My stomach somersaults in protest, or maybe it's just trying to eject itself into Mars. I hope I can come with it.
"I'll go get you ice chips," he says calmly, and gestures at the massive tent in his pants. "After he calms the hell down."
"No," I say fast. "Stay. Or I might die before you come back."
"Is this a good moment to tell you I told you so?" He shakes his head, then sits next to me to fold me into his arms.
He drags in a long breath, then another, like the first one didn't do the job.
For a while we sit here silently while I breathe through the last bits of nausea and brace for awkwardness—for him to shift away, or pull back.
I swallow hard, cheeks hot with shame, and murmur, "Are you angry with me?"
He pauses, brows knotted, face giving away that he's angry now that I asked him.
"Are you serious?"
I bite my lip, cross my arms. "Yeah?"
He snorts flatly. "I didn't bring you here to have my way with you."
"No?" It slips out, stupidly.
"No," he says, clipped and annoyed.
He shifts me aside, hands pulling the blanket down and fluffing the pillows. Remote in hand, he clicks the lanterns off one by one, leaving only the red stars on the ceiling.
Their light is soft, almost magical, but all I can think about is that we never got to finish what we started—because of me, again—and I nearly sigh, but my chest feels too heavy for it.
Ben strips his shirt off, and it takes flight across the room, landing straight in his bag with perfect aim.
My eyes widen when I catch his chest, bearing red scratches I must have left in my own heat. So much for subtlety. We really got carried away.
"Come here," he says, lying in the middle of the bed, and pulling me onto him. His hand nudges my jaw gently like I'm breakable. "Tilt your head like this. It'll help."
I do as he says, my hand on his chest hair, chin on his shoulder, and my breathing slows.
I get lost in his fingers tracing the same path through my hair, slow and rhythmic.
The world narrows to his warmth, his sweet breath in my ear like something borrowed from another life.
It shouldn't feel so safe, but it does. I fall asleep and have the best sleep I've had in years despite getting only a few hours of it.
When I wake up, I'm momentarily disoriented.
The first thing I catch is the red lights, much lighter in the daylight, the pointy roof that doesn't look anything like my tent, and then Ben's raven hair on my chest, tickling my jaw.
His huge arm is draped across my waist like he wants to make sure I don't sneak away while he sleeps.
He breathes steadily, his lips parted, peaceful, innocent.
If I didn't know better.
Shit. We kissed.
No—what happened last night wasn't a kiss, but a manifesto written all over my skin, and he's sleeping on his signature.
The marks have turned dark red during those few hours, and I start counting them. One, two, three... six. Plus more he sleeps on, I'm sure.
We didn't have sex but I don't deserve a gold star because I wanted to, and I have no idea how I'm going to cover all this.
Reality hits hard, all at once, guilt knotting in my stomach.
My hands go clammy when Richard's face appears in my mind, his blue eyes smiling at me.
My husband who, despite our cracks, let me come here alone, trusting me, and I broke every vow I gave him. For one night—even if it felt like a lifetime.
What now?
"Your heart's racing," Ben mumbles against my ribcage, voice husky with sleep. "You okay?"
"Yeah," I manage, stiff as the poles holding up the tent. "Fine."
"Bullshit." His eyes peel open and he props himself up on one elbow, finding me. "I know what regret looks like on you, Emma. Talk to me."
I swallow hard, eyes on my fidgeting hands, and mutter, "What have I done?"
He pauses. Then his jaw tightens as irritation hardens his voice. "You seemed pretty lucid by the time we got to the tent."
"That's not what I meant," I snap, drag myself upright and he sits up too.
I clutch the blanket over my body like it's not the same body he held hours ago, and gesture at the bed, at him, at me. "What does this mean?"
His face hardens, a cold front incoming. He stares at me for a beat before he says, "What do you think it means?"
I don't know, it just happened, and I'm shook and can't believe it did, and as intoxicating as it was, we live separate lives.
So I say the only thing that I should: "Like I said, it was just one kiss. Just friends doing a stupid thing, right?"
He blinks like I slapped him. Then pulls away, physically and emotionally, in one move. "Right."
The bed groans as he gets up and stands by the edge.
"We're both married," I push, reminding myself more than him.
"Don't." His voice cracks, raw enough to make me pause.
I frown. "Don't what?"
"Make it a lesson," he snaps. "Don't talk like you hated it."
"I'm not saying that, but one of us should feel bad."
"I don't need your redemption arc."
I flinch and stand up too, angry now, and cross my arms. "You sound like you don't even feel—"
"Feel?" he echoes, eyes blazing, letting me know I've gone too far. "Are you serious?"
He crosses the tent and rips open his duffel, almost breaking the zipper.
"Feel," he hisses again, under his breath, half to himself now.
I watch him pull out random things—toothbrush, towel, solar bank—probably not even sure what he's looking for.
"I've no problem telling Lisa—"
"No!" My hands fly up, panic bursting through my chest. "No one can know. Don't, please, don't tell anyone."
He stops cold.
Then everything he pulled out slams back in the duffel like a punch. "What? You think I'm sending Richard a fucking memo?"
I freeze at how ruffled he is, my mouth slack. I've seen him angry many times before, even at the beach, but not like this.
"We said it was—"
"Casual? A hook up?" He yanks a fresh shirt over his head and paces forward. "It wasn't. Not for me. Not for you. Pretending won't save you."
"Ben, calm down, please."
He's already halfway to opening the tent flap when he turns around, face fierce. "You don't get it, do you? I'd blow up my whole life for one more chance with you, but you..." He shakes his head, his jaw tight. "You can't even admit how goddamn miserable you feel in that marriage."
The flap swings, and he's gone.
I stand in the ruins before I do the thing I always do. Run.