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"It's not an irrational fear. I fell and hit my head off the built-in soap holder when I was a kid. Needed stitches and everything." I lift my hair and show him the spot at myhairline.
He traces it gently with a finger. "I promise I won't let you get a concussion. But I'm still going to fuck you, because I need it. Turnaround.”
I put my hands on the sleek tile and Ben presses me against it. I’m rewarded by his fingers between my thighs, his other palm on myass.
"Tell me when you first knew you wanted me,” hesays.
I lower my forehead to the tile. “A long time ago,” Imurmur.
His length slides between my cheeks and I suck in a shaky breath. The slow stroke of him against my skin istorturous.
"Howlong?"
I twist my head around to meet his gaze. The way he asks it is commanding, but the longing that edges in tells me just how much he wants theanswer.
"The trip we took with our friends to Mexico spring break senior year. Hunter broke his leg on a ridiculous dare. We only had five days and you gave up two of them for him. You got him medical attention, calling around before to make sure you found the best option and staying with him the entire time, spending hours on the phone with his travel insurance, rebooking his accommodation to get him a more accessible hotel and arranging overnight rental for a wheelchair so he didn’t have to miss the rest of the fun. Then his painkillers didn’t work and he was howling, and you tracked down a doctor to get him somethingbetter.”
Ben stills behind me, cupping my face. “You remember allthat?”
I nod. “At the end of the second day, everyone was passed out—Hunter from painkillers, everyone else from drinking, but you’d stayed sober to take care of Hunter and I’d stayed sober because you were.” I shove a chunk of wet hair out of his face, my touch lingering on his cheek. “We were at this little bar, and you were exhausted but the bartender came over and started talking to you about tequila. It was his passion and his family’s legacy, and you listened to him for twenty minutes, before ordering his best bottle. The whole time we were drinking it, I wanted to go upstairs with you. With or without thetequila.”
The memory warms me in a way the shower can’t. Ben might be controlling and impatient, but he’s also kind. He doesn’t let many people in his life, but those he does, he’d go to the wallfor.
His nostrils flare, his gaze moving between my eyes and my mouth. “Shit, D. We should've done this a long fucking timeago."
Ben's whisper has me aching even as guilt swells in mystomach.
I can't admit we did do this a long fucking time ago, not with him looking at me like I’meverything.
But it wasn’t like this, I remind myself.It was nothing likethis.
Last night was special, and I’m still learning to trust that he wants and cares about me. That whatever he felt for my sister once doesn’t matter to our evolvingrelationship.
Because it’s new, but I have seriously highhopes.
He palms my ass, squeezing in a way that makes me arch into histouch.
“Ben?”
“Hmm.”
“I want your cocknow.”
“I see. And why isthat?”
“It’snice.”
His hand comes down on my ass, hard enough I gasp, but his other hand holds my hip tightly so I don't jump or fall. That firm mouth is at my ear the next second, his skin rubbingmine.
“You can call it whatever you want, but notnice.”
The knot in my chest eases. I like Ben like this, wickedly playful. “Pleasant?”
His hand comes down again, this time on the other side. “I’m holding you up—I could drop you on your ass as fast. And I’d rather make you sore otherways.”
I run a hand through his wet hair while he cages me in,hungry.
God, I adore him. Crave him. Need him. It’s scary howmuch.
