Chapter 29 #2
I take a step closer, so close, I should back off because I can smell the grappa heat on his breath.
"Ben, I am here because I'm fighting for us—"
"Fighting for us?" His brows pinch together and he looks at me like he can't believe I said that. "Then you're losing. Hard."
"I'm trying to do everything right, which is impossible, I know, but I didn't want to hurt Richard more after everything that happened and—"
"Didn't want to hurt Richard—?!" he snaps, scanning for something to break.
"Stop it. Please." I frown. "I didn't bring him as my date. He told me he wanted to see how you treat me and said we'd go our separate ways after this. I thought he'd let us go without any slaughter if I did that for him."
"That dick," Ben grinds out and shakes his head. His eyes pin mine as his jaw tenses. "I need to teach you how to say no. Long overdue."
I snort and cross my arms. "Fine. But you also need to learn to respond to your messages." I look at him like we're even.
He doesn't think so, because he studies me, his expression still pissed beyond measure.
He's hurt. I know he's hurt and this is his way of dealing with it, but it's not going to get us anywhere.
I soften my voice a little, but still sound desperate. "Ben, you have to know what Richard said about us trying, it's not true. We haven't—"
"That I know," he cuts me off instantly. "I've been cumming inside you for months now. More than he'd ever dream."
He holds the counter like he wants to tear it off the wall. "It's the audacity that fucker even thinks that. Thinks he could touch you—that he's trying to provoke me on my sister's wedding, knowing I can't rip his throat out in front of everyone."
He says it loudly enough that my jaw snaps open.
My head whips toward the door, then back at him and I frown. "Jesus, Ben—your mouth. I hope no one heard that."
"I don't care if anyone hears it. They should know."
I arch my brow. "Really? You want your family to know?"
He doesn't say anything. The alcohol obviously doesn't help the whole situation.
"You need to sober up. Now." I turn away, reach for a glass, and run the faucet.
A gasp escapes me when his fingertip slides into the open V of my back, dragging a deliberate line on my bare skin, along my spine, like he's erasing Richard's fingerprints with his own.
"Ben, we shouldn't..."
"You shouldn't look so damn good in a bridesmaid's dress," he rasps. "You made me think very impure thoughts in the church."
I can't help it and lean into his touch, breathing heavily. "What thoughts?"
"Mm." His tone deepens. "Bending you over the altar and taking you raw in front of God, so everyone knows you're mine."
I swallow hard, the thought instantly coiling low in my belly, and nod. "Agreed. Very, very impure thoughts. You should hit the confessional."
He snorts a short, dark laugh. "It's useless. There's no salvation for me at this point."
He leans into me, brackets me, and his hand slides over my arm toward my palm.
It's on the faucet, the water still running, spilling over the brink, and it could run forever for all I care when he's finally touching me.
He shuts it off and his hand snakes to the front of my navel before he pulls me flush against him.
I feel his grip that's not rough but claiming and breathe heavily. "You know, you never asked if I'm on a pill."
"Mmmm. Are you?" he rasps against my skin.
"Shouldn't you care?"
"Shouldn't I care?" he says, dragging his lips over the slope of my neck. "I want nothing more than to put my baby in you. To watch it grow inside you."
I let out a muffled gasp.
"Would you want that?"
"I want nothing more than to carry something of you in me," I admit.
His palm moves to the nape of my neck, holding me tightly, steering me forward, and bending me over in one unhurried motion.
"Would you want me to make you one right here?" he asks.
The second my ass grazes the thick bulge in his pants, my knees buckle.
"Tell me, Emma, how much do you want me to fuck you over the sink right now?" His voice is dark and teasing.
I blink, stunned he said that, but I don't have time to think about it, because he drags his hand down my navel and then he presses it down on my clit and rubs with a slow, controlled rhythm that feels engineered to break me.
My hands land on the sink, gripping it, and I nod headily. "I want you..."
He hums low in his chest. "I think you deserve to be punished," he says, the pressure between my thighs increasing.
"Punished?" I barely breathe, feeling my arousal and trepidation warring within me.
I arch my back as much as I can, nearly breaking my back against his hand holding me down. "How?"
"You deserve to be edged for hours, begging for my cock."
Oh... he is really, really angry...
I moan, too needy and stupid. I can hear people talking down the hall and any second someone could come here. If his parents walked in on us, it would be beyond shameful.
But common sense evaporates around Ben, so I don't even try to pull away. So does his around me, because he doesn't let me go either, doesn't take a step back.
Instead, he continues to rub me over my clothes and his other hand takes mine and presses it on the rigid outline of his erection. "I think I'm the hardest I've ever been."
I palm him against his leg. His dress pants are so stuffed they are about to rip, and my mouth drops.
Holy... I guess anger pumps the blood in all the right places... he's massive...
My body instantly clenches, imagining him moving inside me.
"If I fuck you now, they'll hear you in every room," he says with warning in his voice. "Would you want that?"
I feel my arousal running down my thighs in a warm path, heat licking my belly like wildfire. I nod frantically, my voice fast and pleading. "I want you. I need you to fuck me. I want everything to rattle. Fuck me now."
He fists a hand in my hair and pulls my head back slowly, forcing me to meet his hard gaze. "Good. Now, say please."
My eyes narrow—fire flashing in my eyes. "What?"
His brow cocks, daring me. "Say please, Emma, or I won't touch you."
I will kill him, I swear I will—my body is pulled like a bowstring, I'm begging him to do something beyond reckless, and he's still playing me?
But I want him, and that need for him overpowers my pride and defiance. So I suck in a sharp breath and try to sound steady, like I'm not unraveling.
"Please."
He gives me a brief, dark smirk, almost a smile.
One hand is fisting my hair, pulling my head closer toward his face, the other starts pressing against my center firmer, faster. My legs start to tremble and I can no longer contain my moans that resonate through the kitchen. I just hope the music drowns them on the other side of the door..
"Please or pretty please?" he asks, voice low while working me.
"Ben..." I manage, my jaw tight.
"Please or pretty please?" He moves my face closer to his and presses his thumb on my tingling clit.
"Pretty... ahhh... pretty please." The words scrape out of me just as I fumble my hands back, reaching for him.
He lets me open the button of his pants and sink my hand inside.
The second I feel his warm skin and the thick shape of him, growing even more by each second, my mouth waters, all my cells begging on their knees at this point.
He grunts low in his chest like his own restraint is wavering, but lets me drive my hand deeper to find the engorged head and stroke him until he coats my whole hand. The pressure of his palm between my thighs fastens even more, and his cock pulses as I work him hungrily.
"I don't want to come like this. I want you inside," I gasp.
I grip him tighter, about to pull him out and shove him inside me as my other hand's already hauling my skirt up.
He looks at me with hooded, fierce eyes, leans toward me, and then—in one swift motion, he seizes the glass from the sink and takes a long step back.
"No. No. No!" I scream, smacking the sink so hard my hand pulses. I whip around toward him. "BEN!"
"You're not getting anything today," he says, voice flat as steel. "You don't deserve it."
I glare daggers, my body pulled like a wire. "You can't keep doing this to me! Are you kidding me?!"
The faucet keeps dripping. Tap. Tap. Tap.
"Not one bit."
"Why are you doing this?!"
"I'm done letting you play me," he says and stuffs himself back in his pants.
"What?!" I scream, slamming both palms to his chest. "Ben, stop that! Stop being like this!"
"Like what?" He says it almost softly, letting me hit him again, and again.
"Like this—impossible!"
A string of curses spills under his breath as he catches both my wrists in his hand, the other dropping to his pants, trying to press his erection down.
"Ben... listen to me!"
I'm still scrambling for breath, for words, for anything, but he drains the glass in one swallow while still holding me, slams it down, and shoulders past me.
On the way out, he takes off the upper part of his suit and carries it in his arm to cover his crotch.
His steps echo through the corridor as I rush after him, manage to catch up and grab his arm.
"Ben, it's not fair to pin everything on me! You also need to answer your damn phone when something's wrong. All that ghosting? Unacceptable. I hate it! I hate it!"
He slows his step, but doesn't stop, so I have to rush. “You don’t know what the last four days have been. No sleep. Even picturing him brushing his teeth next to you makes me want to crack my skull open. I can’t contain the things I think.
I was this close to breaking into your house and dragging you out—” He pinches his fingers together.
“So out of my goddamn mind that I slipped while climbing on that rock. Nearly killed myself—”
"What?!"
"Yeah," he mutters, rubbing his face. "Don't even care anymore. Too tired for it."
I nearly trip over my own shoe. "I care! I care more than you know!"
His head whips to me. "Do you? Because you looked me in the eye and said nothing."