Page 67

The question fades off into nothing,

“You can do whatever you want to me, P.”

I have to stifle the sound that attempts to climb from my throat, working up the bravery to place my hands along the solid muscle of his thigh. I push down, focusing my eyes away from the swell between his legs visible through the athletic shorts he’s wearing.

He grimaces, and I pull my hands back with apologies spilling from my lips.

“You’re fine,” he says with a lazy grin. “I don’t mind a little pain if it’s from your hands.”

It’s my turn to grimace with the weight of it. The sentiment would be flirty, but it feels deeper.

Still, he takes my hands in his again, spreading his legs farther until his injured thigh is flush with mine. He sets our joined hands on his upper thigh, moving his shorts up almost obscenely to continue. It’s quiet, only the lull of a familiar playlist off his phone—Ben Howard and Bon Iver, the strum of guitars romantic and painful all at once.

A groan leaves his throat as he sinks farther into the mattress. My cheeks flush, but I follow him, using more of my body to work his upper thigh.

As breaths saw out of both of us, I realize I’m halfway on top of him, hovering, my messy ponytail nearly fully loose and hair hanging everywhere as I look at him. He’s watching me, too, his hand reaching up to tuck a few stray hairs back around my ear—lingering there. I know he wants to touch it again, the slight obsession he’s always had with my hair.

I should move away. I should take my hands off his body and excuse myself to a cold shower and restless sleep.

Instead, I rest my hand on his chest instead of the bed, drawing my other arm up. My hand bumps against the hardness of him we’re both ignoring between us.

“P,” he breathes out, eyes half-lidded and voice soft. “Please.”

My heart is thundering, racing off to a place I know I can’t go, no matter how deeply I want to.

Before I can second guess it, my hand grasps the length of him over the fabric of his shorts. Breath saws out of him faster, his stomach clenching and eyes closing tight.

“Is this . . . okay?” I whisper, afraid to break the moment. He nods, his face half pressed into the side of my neck as I curl closer and closer to his body.

My hand slowly rolls beneath his athletic shorts, no underwear impeding me from grasping the thick, heavy weight of him in my fingers. His skin is soft and warm, but hard as steel as I grip tighter, paying attention to his every breath—though arguably I know his body better than my own. I always have.

His hands roam my waist, curling around me like a protective shield.

“I want you,” he breathes, breath shuddering against my skin. A faint kiss just beneath my ear, a longer moan. “Please, please let me have you.”

“You do,” I reply, almost a whimper as I squeeze my thighs together, shifting slightly like it might relieve the ache. He pulls his pants down, stretching them across the massive span of his thighs. I can see the reddened skin where he iced and I massaged.

He licks his hand before wrapping it half around himself, half around me—moving both our palms up and over the wettened veiny skin. My thigh slides over his hip and I rock slightly into his body, eyes rolling back.

“Are you aching, love?” he whispers. “Tell me you need me again, P.”

The heady mix of vulnerability and dominance is too much, and my forehead slants against his temple as I nod. “Please.”

“Come here,” he coos, pulling me all the way atop him to straddle his left thigh as he continues to touch himself with both of our hands. “Use me, Paloma.”

The command is easy, because he’s said it before, in this exact way, letting my body move like it does in water, rocking and swaying delightfully against the solid muscle of his thigh. I’m on a hair trigger when it comes to Bennett Reiner; I’m close before I can even breathe in a full gulp of his warm, woodsy, showered scent.

My face lulls into his neck as I release a clenched cry. A near growl comes from his throat, his legs becoming more restless, jerking my body even more with their movement.

“Watch,” Bennett grinds out, a hand reaching up and wrapping into my ponytail. He grips it so that it doesn’t pull on my hair, only tightens, and holds that feeling of control over me.

My eyes lock onto the apex of his thighs, moaning as the sight and sounds of his orgasm trigger mine, both of us crying out almost too loudly.

In the aftermath, I feel the embarrassing sting of tears as I return back to reality. My body heaves. I try to hold it in, but it’s impossible when Bennett tucks my body somehow closer, one of his hands combing through my hair as he quietly soothes me.

“Shhh, it’s all right, Paloma. I’ve got you.”

Tears leave my eyes easily, but I manage to keep back the sobs lodged in my throat, fingers straining as I hold him tighter.