Chapter 22
He's late, which makes me furious because I've spent the last hour talking myself out of this.
I pace the long corridor on the top floor, checking my phone every thirty seconds, and each time the thought sneaks in more—it's not just my time he doesn't value; it's me. I'm only a convenient distraction.
My mother's voice loops in my head: "What are his intentions?" She knows the stupidity that's always defined me. The kind that tempts you now and punishes you later.
Like when I was six and stuck my finger straight into the blue part of the birthday candle flame because I wanted to know how something so soft-looking could burn, how it felt.
Only this time I'm twenty-seven and the thing that's burning is my marriage.
Finally, the elevator opens with a ding, and there he is, leaning against the frame like trouble, hoodie half-zipped.
I open my mouth to snap at him with some half-formed complaint, maybe a "Where the hell have you been?!" but I don't even get the first word out.
He rushes toward me and my back hits the wall so fast that I get a little startled.
His hands are everywhere, under my skirt, roaming my thighs, gripping my butt. Then his teeth catch my cheek with a half-gentle tug that makes me gasp.
"Jesus, what are you—"
"Starving," he rumbles against my mouth, hands fisting in my hair like he's unmaking me on purpose. "Been craving you all day."
I can't even catch a full breath because he eats it away.
"Didn't you—Ahhh—Didn't you take the edge off at lunch?"
"You think my hand could ever replace you?" His hips slam into mine and he grinds against my clothes, making me feel how ready he is. "That was just the warm-up."
There goes my ponytail.
There goes my logic.
There goes everything.
I manage to push him back, feeble but desperate. "Ben, this is insane. What if someone sees us? I can't do this anymore."
"I know," he says and laces his fingers with mine. Then, without saying anything else, he reels me through the corridor.
I expect him to swipe the card on the pool door and be under him in less than two minutes, but he passes it, turns to check whether I noticed—I did—and bites his bottom lip, eyes gleaming with anticipation.
We stop at the corner unit, the only door that looks like someone might live behind it.
The metal 42 on it catches the corridor's blue light.
"Try not to jump me before we even cross the threshold." Ben tugs a key from his pocket and fits it into the lock.
The door swings open. Warm, dry air hits me first, laced with lemon polish and some earthy scent coming from the perfume sticks by the door. The whole unit smells untouched.
"What's this?" I ask, stepping inside and the door clicks shut behind me.
"Our new apartment," he announces.
I whip around. "What?"
"You didn't really think I was dragging you to the pool every night, did you?" he says.
The key lands in my palm and he folds my fingers over it with his thumb, sealing it. "Everything behind this door is ours. No witnesses. No interruptions."
I uncurl my fingers, gaping at the key. "What? I mean—how?"
"André tipped me off," Ben says, already moving through the space, fingers drumming the edge of a black granite island across from the door. "It took some strings and about ten phone calls, but I got everything sorted. We got a three-month lease."
I blink. Three months. A whole season.
And here I was, thinking he'd bail next week, after realizing dating me is a different beast.
I take the apartment in.
The left side of the unit opens into a dining area with a long table and a huge horse candle on top. Then there's a sunken living room with a soft blue sectional facing a wall-mounted screen the size of a drive-in.
"Oh my god. We can see the Bay Bridge?" I run to the window to get a better look at the cargo ships crawling across the water. "I always wanted a view!"
"Yeah, I saw you were missing it in your apartment," he says behind me, and I hear the smile in his voice. "Here you'll have it, baby."
I turn to him, unable to contain the excitement on my face. He got me a view.
"Ben! This is perfect." I don't even think, just run.
He catches me midair, my laughter breaking between us as his hands lock under my thighs, spinning me once around the island.
He takes off his sneakers by the heel and crouches to scoop them up, then drops them neatly in the rack next to the door.
Then he slips my shoes off while I hang on him, my legs wrapped around his torso, and he does the same, lining them in perfect symmetry.
“No shoes in our house. Ever. It’s unhygienic,” he says in that boss-doctor voice that probably gets surgical teams obeying before they even think.
"Our house," I echo, glassy-eyed. "Any other commandments?"
"Yeah. We never leave the house arguing. Always wash our hands when we come in. And your dress code is always naked, ready for me. Non-negotiable."
I let out a thrilled laugh and take another look. "Is this real? You don't do these kinds of things."
"Told you I've changed." His voice softens, insistent but tender. "Seeing you lit up like this? Hell, I should get another apartment just to see that look again."
"No. This place is top floor, renovated, probably stupid expensive. What is it?"
"One bedroom, two baths," he says, walking with me toward the door that separates the open space from the bedroom. He stops there, crooked smirk in place. "Bed's solid enough for what I do to you. And I got a soft mattress for you, you whiny little thing."
I grin so hard my cheeks ache, and my eyes fall on the writing desk by the window. "The golden hour here? I declare this my writing corner."
"Then I'll come here to watch you."
I grimace like that's not exactly what I wanted him to say. "You'd get bored in ten minutes."
He shakes his head, the city flickering behind him. "Never," he says with certainty. Then something sinful flickers behind his eyes. "Besides, I'd give you a better ending."
I tilt my head, feigning thoughtfulness. "Mmm. I could use a tip."
He looks at me like he knows I'm baiting him and his grip turns territorial now. "I want to give you more than a tip. If you can take it."
I blink at him. No way. He's joking. He has to be joking.
"Wait, you mean... I haven't even finished the job?"
He huffs a laugh, tongue pressing to his upper lip. Shakes his head. "Close, but not really. We'll get here. I just have to remind your body it's made for me."
My mouth parts, stunned. If that's true I'm not sure my body's made for him. Ben isn't built like any man I've had before.
I purse my lips. "So you've been holding back just to tease me?"
He rolls his eyes. "No. I hold back because I care too damn much. My brain's wired to protect you, even from my cock."
That should sound preposterous, but doesn't. It makes me ache in ways that feel right.
I smile. "That's sweet, but I told you—I want all of you. Even your monsters."
He huffs an amused laugh. "Monsters, huh? Thought you called him a thing."
"Eh-eh." I shake my head, my smirk shy and wicked. "Too alive to be a thing. Definitely dangerous. Should I be scared of him?"
Ben goes still as his eyes go serious, giving away he's battling whether to be honest.
"Come on," I say, coaxing. "Tell me. What is it?"
"Alright," he says firmly before looking me in the eyes with sudden intensity. "Sometimes I think about being so deep inside you, you'll beg me to stop and I wouldn't be able to. Because I wouldn't even hear you, still trying to get closer."
I blink at him too hard while he doesn't look away and doesn't say anything else.
"Okay..." I manage then, breathy. "You're a little unhinged, aren't you?"
"For you? Yeah. You have no idea. You fuck up my mind like no one else."
He sets me on the counter, his palm sliding up my back, gentling at the base of my head.
"You're chaos. I'm chaos. But... I'd never hurt you, you know that.
" He presses his forehead on mine, eyes steady.
"I also see you in white sheets, in the morning light, kissing your gorgeous body everywhere. I want both."
Really, what does a woman do when she finds herself a man this unholy-perfect?
She's about to drop to her knees and blow his mind.
I slide down in front of him and take off his tee. Then trail my lips down his chest, over the taut plane of his lower belly, breathing him in—my cedar, my bergamot, my god kissed in Roman sun. Just the scent of him is my aphrodisiac.
"You wore these in the store that day..." I say, tugging at the knot of his waistband. "And all I could think about was tasting you right between the aisles."
He hums thickly, eyes locked on my hands. "Guess I knew why I should stock the kitchen. Consider that an invitation."
I give him a playful smirk just as the knot gives and his pants pool by his feet, exposing him in his white boxers, already straining the fabric. There's a big, wet spot on it from his arousal.
I sink to the floor, the cold tiles hard beneath my knees, but I don't care. All I care about is finally tasting him. I wanted to do this since our first night, but it's not something I'd do publicly.
The second I kneel in front of him, he crouches for my access since he is so tall. His finger dips into the hollow of my upper lip, and his eyes hood with that molten heat.
"You've no idea how much I dreamed about those lips on me—that philtrum."
"That philtrum," I echo, smirking. It still does the job.
I drag my tongue along the thick line of him through the boxers, then slide them down.
The moment he's out, he drops heavily against my lips—hard, hot, and beautifully engorged.
He's gorgeous, veins like lines and ridges carved with obscene precision. No wonder he's so cocky all the time.
I flatten my tongue and look up at him just as I run it slowly from the base to the tip, tasting his skin, then licking the bead coating the head.
I love the taste of him... I could eat him all day.
He takes in a sharp breath, watching me intently as I give him a tight stroke, drawing more slick. Then I close my lips around the head and suck deep enough that a blissed gasp tears out of him.
His hand tangles in my hair and he starts feeding himself to me, guiding me inch by inch, testing how much of him my mouth can take.
I know I won’t be able to take all of him; he’s not even halfway in and my throat is already tightening around the thick length, forcing its way deeper.
I’m shocked my gag reflex hasn’t kicked in, but my body’s just as turned on as I am, judging by the aching heat already pooling between my thighs.
He starts with shallow thrusts, then deeper, but I’m too greedy. I work my mouth along him, licking, sucking until my jaw aches, drawing out those needy, rough moans Ben makes when he's on edge.
I need it recorded, put it on a loop...
"Don't break your jaw, baby," he rasps, thumb stroking my cheek. "I want to kiss it later."
That smug-ass. I glare up, mouth full of him, and when he notices my expression, hunger quickly sharpens into obsession.
"Don't even think about stopping," he rasps, his grip in my hair cinching tighter.
He begins to drive into my mouth in more claiming strokes, pushing me against the kitchen counter as he starts losing control.
And I want more. His breath breaks every time I hollow my cheeks around him while I try to catch my breath.
My hand slips between my thighs, working myself in frantic circles, my orgasm building like a storm.
Let's see who breaks first.
I gather all that slick on my fingers and sweep it across his jaw in a firm arc, snapping his head to the side.
Not expecting it, he twitches against my tongue, his breath hitching. For a beat he's frozen.
"There you go, baby." My teeth graze him as I look up through my lashes, making him twitch again. "Shut up and take me."
His brows lift and for a beat I wonder what he'll do. I didn't smack him—it was playful. But he looks at me like he's weighing my punishment.
He drags a hand over his jaw, lifts the smear to the light, then to his mouth, and the second he tastes it, his eyes flare.
A dark laugh rolls out of his chest.
"You vixen... You really want me to lose it, don't you?"
Before I can move, he catches my wrist, drags my fingers into his mouth, and sucks on them so hard that I whimper. I try to pull back, but he doesn’t let me.
"You’re not giving me nirvana and then getting away," he growls around my knuckles.
It hurts, but something about it makes me snap too. I move my head around him in feverish rhythm and rake my nails down the back of his thighs, leaving marks. I push him further, until he slides deep in my throat and my eyes blur with tears, holding him there as I close my throat around him.
He curses—stumbles—as his elbows slam the counter and his thighs shake.
"Urgggh..." He spills into me in hot, relentless pulses, straight into my throat, while he groans like a man undone. I pull away slightly so I can taste him on my tongue.
He tastes like salt and sugar, and... my Ben. And I swallow everything, to the last drop, wishing he had more.
When he releases me, I gasp for air, feeling my lips throb, and stare at my swollen fingers to make sure I still have any left.
Then I look up and realize Ben is wrecked too.
He's heaving, shaking his head at me like he's seeing me for the first time.
I lick him clean, purring around him without breaking eye contact, then smirk. "Thought I was a prude?"
Before I can blink, his arms are on me. One second, I'm playful, the next he's hauling me up, turning me around, and bending me over the kitchen island.
"Aren't we done?" I say just as he forces my leg up and thrusts inside me.
The force of it punches a cry from me that ricochets off the walls and my head falls on the granite.
My body stretches around him in that familiar, delicious agony, always reminding me of our first night—and always wanting him anyway.
I can't wrap my head around how Ben can go again and again, relentlessly. He might not be human after all.
He gives me a brief moment to adjust to his size before he crashes into me, the sound of his body smacking against mine.
"We're done when I'm dripping down your thighs," he rasps, holding my knee as he pounds me in a fast rhythm, the kitchen counter digging into my elbows and hips.
When his other hand rolls my nipple with torturing precision, my orgasm slips out without my permission, and I cry out.
He drives in sharply and folds over my back, hips jerking back and forth as he throbs, having me take all of him.
When the waves of release taper off, he smiles against my skin and kisses a path up my spine, slow as if he’s soothing my body after he just destroyed it.
I give it about a minute before he moves again.