Wicked Angel

by Sawyer Bennett

  I can’t do that anymore.

  I can’t be that type of person.

  And as long as I can have Elena on my terms, there’s no reason I can’t explore outside the walls I’ve erected, at least a little bit.

  “Why are we here instead of the club?” Elena asks.

  I’m caught completely off guard not only by her question, but also by the distrustful tone in her voice.

  “Because I wanted to show you this place,” I say truthfully. “And I thought we could perhaps continue what we have outside The Wicked Horse sometimes.”

  Her brows draw inward, knitting in consternation. “But this doesn’t mean anything’s changed between us, right? It’s still just sex?”

  “And dinner,” I say with a quirk to my lips. “I mean… I’m pretty hungry and figured you are, too.”

  She just stares, and I don’t know whether to be amused or offended. It’s so strange for the woman to be the one suspicious of motivation. Moreover, for the woman to be so averse to a relationship. It’s clearly why she’s a little off-kilter tonight.

  I reach out to take her hand, trying to reassure her. “Elena… I enjoy the hell out of fucking you. I’ve never been more compatible with a woman before—not like the way I am with you. You and I are so much alike in our desires to keep this casual, right?”

  She nods slowly.

  “So if you want, we’ll only fuck at the club. But we can certainly fuck here, too, or even at your place sometimes. Just as long as we’re clear on the boundaries, right?”

  She nods again before taking another sip of wine. When she sets the glass down, her gaze hardens minutely. “But let’s clarify a few things.”

  “Okay,” I drawl hesitantly.

  “I get this is just sex, and I’m fine with that. You’re right… it’s the only thing we’re both interested in. But are we monogamous?”

  “Yes,” I answer firmly. I sure as fuck know a great thing when I see it—or rather, feel it—and I don’t have interest in anyone else. In fact, I couldn’t care less if we ever return to the club.

  “Then I need you to explain something to me.” Her voice dropped an octave, and I can tell this is important.

  “What’s that?”

  “If sex is all this is, and all it will ever be, why did you break things off last time?” she asks. The hardnosed question causes my gut to pinch, because it means admitting a terrible vulnerability as well as divulging she’s done a number on my head already.

  I decide to tell her most of the truth. “I had not realized Father’s Day was coming up. I’d overheard some people talking about it, and it caught me totally off guard. Frankly… I sort of spiraled down.”

  “That was the night you stood me up?”

  I nod. “Stood you up. Canceled a surgery and sort of went off the grid for a few days. Drank a lot of alcohol.”

  “I’m sorry, Benjamin,” she says. Her voice is so gentle, yet it’s filled with hurt on my behalf. It makes my chest ache. “I hate that for you, and I can’t even imagine what that was like.”

  My throat clogs with emotion, and I can’t respond.

  She squeezes my hand. “If you ever need a break again, I’ll understand.”

  Fuck… the urge to cry from her understanding of my pain hits me hard. I can do nothing but give her a short squeeze back and a false smile, and I rise from my chair.

  Giving her my back, I turn toward the fridge again to make our dinner. “I’m starved,” I say lamely, grabbing the spring salad mix, tomatoes, cucumber, and an onion from the vegetable drawer. I move to the counter, keeping my back to her as I start to prattle on about my last surgery.

  I let my hands work on our dinner while I use inane conversation to lead me away from the emotion that was starting to overwhelm me. Yet, I can’t quite forget how much her empathy touched me.

  Way too fucking deep.

  I start to slice the cucumber when I feel her hand at my bicep. It slides down my arm, and I freeze into place. She takes the knife from me, sets it aside, and then curls her fingers around my bicep again whereby she gives a tug for me to face her.

  I resist, terrified she’ll want to talk things out with me or want to psychoanalyze my pain. I don’t want to talk about it. Not with her. Not with the one person who has woken up the feeling within me in over a year.

  “Benjamin,” she calls gently.

  Hesitantly, I turn to face her. When my eyes land on her, they widen in shock.

  Elena is completely naked, and she has a playful smile on her face. All thoughts fly out of my head, and my cock responds accordingly.

  And I can see by the expression on her face, it’s exactly what she was aiming for. Elena was pulling me away from the emotion of the candid moment we shared, putting things back onto the only plane of existence that feels comfortable to me.

  “We can eat later,” she says.

  I put my hands on her waist, and easily lift her to the counter that separates the kitchen and living room and is currently without vegetables and knives. Her legs spread and I step in between them, bringing my hands to her face so I can kiss the ever-loving fuck out of her. She puts her hands on my belt. While she works to free my cock, I thank my lucky stars I found a woman such as this.

  One who knows my limitations and is fine working within them.

  CHAPTER 22

  Elena

  I slowly awaken. The grayish light tells me that it’s early morning, and I let a long, luxurious stretch overtake my body. My arms extend over my head, hands locking, and I reach out to touch the headboard—not the railing from my wrought-iron bed—and I realize I am not where I normally wake up on a Sunday morning.

  My entire body locks tight. Slowly, I turn to the right and see I am all alone.

  In Benjamin’s bed.

  I’m not sure whether to be disappointed or relieved. Disappointment would mean I remember the benefits of snuggling up to a man in the early morning hours after a long night of passionate lovemaking. There is something so comforting about pressing against a warm naked body, knowing it had cherished you the night before. But on the flipside, I should be relieved because Benjamin is most definitely not a snuggler and being rebuffed would be a cold slap in the face.

  I decide I’m glad he’s not a cuddler because it will be easier to keep him at arm’s length.

  I don’t even recall falling asleep last night. We had some fast, amazing sex right on his kitchen counter. My goal had been to distract him from anything too serious, and sex had been the best way to do it. It hadn’t been a hardship since I love everything about having sex with Benjamin. If I had to list my top three favorite hobbies, fucking Benjamin would currently be number one.

  After that, we ate dinner at his little kitchen table. It was simple and delicious, and we’d paired it with a bottle of exceptional wine. Conversation had flowed without any real work on our part. That was probably because we skirted anything too deeply personal.

  For example, we’d talked about career paths. I was incredibly curious as to what led him to become a doctor, and even more so a neurosurgeon. He’d wanted to know why I’d decided to be a business owner rather than work for someone else. That our careers and levels of income are so incredibly disparate hadn’t entered the conversation, and it had pleasantly surprised me. It seems Benjamin doesn’t care about the fact we’re in different educational and socioeconomic classes. Then again, that might only be because there is nothing between us but sex. It’s not like he has to take me to the country club or a high-powered medical conference where I would be forced to interact with people who are just not like me.

  I never had any real belief the date would be over after dinner, even though we’d already had sex. We usually went at it at least two times in an evening, sometimes three. As expected, Benjamin took control, which is what I love the most about him. He’d brought me into his bedroom, which he’d recently furnished with heavy masculine furniture, and we’d done an excellent job of breaking in his new mattress. />
  And there was nothing vanilla about it. We might not have been at The Wicked Horse, putting on a show for others, or using the abundance of implements and toys available, but we got dirty all the same. For the first time since we’d started sleeping together, Benjamin had claimed my ass. He’d done it after making effective use of a few of his silk ties. He’d tied one arm behind my back, then looped another tie around my head and mouth in a makeshift gag. After some incredible foreplay, which included him giving me two orgasms with his mouth, he put me on my knees, pressed my torso and cheek into the mattress, used his fingers and copious amounts of lube to prepare me, then took my darkest, tightest spot. When his broad cock had filled and stretched me, it had felt both incredible and painful at the same time. I’d loved every second of it.

  I shiver, thinking about how he’d taunted me with dirty words. Mostly, he’d been asserting his claim on me. And now he owned every piece of me. He told me he’d wished he had taken my ass for the first time the night Cage and August were watching him, so they’d know exactly what they were missing.

  I’d been pinned down by a strong hand in the middle of my back while he’d plundered my ass, yet I’d never felt so wanted, adored, and cared for in my entire life.

  Afterward, I’d been wrecked. I remember him taking the ties off. After I flopped onto my stomach, Benjamin disappeared. He’d reappeared moments later with a warm soapy cloth and a towel. His gentleness as he’d cleaned me up had surprised me. When he’d left the second time, I must have fallen asleep.

  I’m awake now, though, and the knowledge I’d breached one of the boundaries we’d set by spending the night in his bed rolls over me.

  I scan the place Benjamin presumably slept. The covers are messed up, but that doesn’t mean he spent the entire night beside me.

  The pressure on my bladder urges me to put those thoughts aside, so I crawl out of bed. After using the bathroom just off the master bedroom, I slip my clothes on, grab my heels, and head into the kitchen.

  I find Benjamin sitting at the little table, drinking a cup of coffee. Glancing at the clock on the wall, I note it’s almost seven thirty. When my gaze lands on Benjamin again, I can’t help musing over how incredibly beautiful and yummy he is in a pair of jeans and a white T-shirt, his feet bare. He’s bent over his phone reading something, his other hand wrapped around a steaming mug of coffee. I study the fingers that have plundered parts of my body no one has ever touched, marveling at the fact they also perform delicate surgery on spines and brains. Capable in so many ways.

  Even though I barely made a sound as I padded through his condo, he lifts his head as I approach. His smile is warm, which is reassuring. He could have greeted me with awkward tenseness over the fact we’re forced to do the morning-after routine.

  “Coffee?” he asks.

  “Sure,” I reply, scanning his kitchen. “I’ll be glad to—”

  Benjamin pushes up from the table, then points to the other chair. “Sit. I’ll make it for you.”

  I take a seat as Benjamin moves over to a fancy-looking machine that appears to make coffee, espressos, and lattes.

  “What’s your poison in the morning?”

  It’s funny how I’ve submitted fully, given him my body, and entrusted him not to hurt me, but he has no clue what type of coffee I drink.

  “Just a regular with a little bit of cream,” I say.

  He glances over his shoulder to give me a sheepish grin. “Sorry… No cream. Is black okay?”

  “Of course,” I reply, although I grimace on the inside. I hate black coffee, but I need caffeine.

  Benjamin works the machine, which freshly grinds the beans, then brews a frothy cup. He returns, lowers into his own chair, then sets the cup on the table and nudges it toward me. “I’ll pick up some cream for you at the grocery store today.”

  I hate that my heart flutters over such a simple offer. Again, it doesn’t jive with the nature of the relationship we have set for ourselves. I want to hate myself for being charmed, but I also can’t be overly surprised. Even though I’m okay with our emotionless, sex only relationship, I have to acknowledge how much I like this man and how I would potentially be open to more if he wanted it.

  Picking up the cup, I blow on it slightly before taking a sip. It’s surprisingly good, and I have to assume it’s because he has a fancy coffee maker and expensive beans. Setting the cup back down on the table, I find him watching me.

  I offer an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry I overstayed my welcome last night. You should have woken me up and pushed me out the door.”

  The expression on Benjamin’s face doesn’t give away anything, but I’m surprised when he says, “You didn’t overstay your welcome. In fact, I’m glad you did. That way, I didn’t worry about you driving all the way back to Henderson at night.”

  I don’t even know what to say to that. Again, he seems to be pushing at the edges of the boundaries we had set.

  “Breakfast?” he asks. “I can whip us up some eggs.”

  It would be entirely appropriate for me to raise an eyebrow and ask, “Who are you and what have you done with Benjamin?”

  Because it appears somebody new has inhabited his body this morning.

  Instead, I shake my head with true regret. “I can’t. I have to get going to meet my parents for church.”

  I am aware from our conversation at his house that Benjamin doesn’t have much respect for the divine. Still, his tone is neutral when he asks, “Do you go every week?”

  “I try to.”

  “Can I ask why?” He seems genuinely curious, but he can’t hide the slight bit of derisiveness in his tone.

  I pick my words carefully, keeping them truthful but light. “Lots of reasons. It reaffirms my faith, and it gives me comfort. I love the tradition and ceremony of the Catholic Church. I go with my family so we can spend time together and bond.”

  He stares, clearly considering my words.

  And I can’t help myself. “Have you ever been a churchgoer?”

  It’s the first question I have asked about his past that might cause some friction in our conversation. I have no clue why I’d decided to go there, but maybe it’s because Benjamin has been pushing the boundaries we’d previously set. Perhaps I feel entitled.

  To my surprise, he answers without any hesitation. “Growing up, I was. I would periodically go with April after we got married. But there always seemed to be too much to do on Sundays, particularly after we had Cassidy, that we sort of fell off. It was just never really important to me.”

  I’m absolutely stunned he offered the information up, even more so he would mention his late wife and daughter. If he were any other man, I’d engage in a friendly debate with him. Push him on his beliefs. But I remember all too clearly his disdain for God because Benjamin felt God was wrong to let that accident happen. While I would love to have enough of a bond with Benjamin to gently pursue this, it absolutely spells disaster. And I am not ready for him to cut me off again.

  So I take a larger sip of coffee, set my cup back down, and then stand. “I really do need to get going. By the time I drive back to Henderson and get ready, I’ll have to run out the door to make church.”

  Benjamin looks up from the table, then blinks a moment before standing as well. He looks a little bit lost as to what to do.

  So I step into him, putting my hands on his waist and rising onto my tiptoes to give him a kiss. “I had a wonderful time last night. Thank you.”

  This seems to knock him out of his indecisive stupor, and he reacts immediately. His arms come around me, and Benjamin gives me a kiss that is anything but a goodbye. It feels very much like an invitation to stay, and that delights me more than I care to admit.

  But I can’t since I really do need to get going. When I pull away and he releases me, his expression is reluctant. I know mine matches.

  “Tonight?” he asks simply. “Wicked Horse? Or would you like to come back here?”

  Tilting my head, I give
him another apologetic smile, this one more regretful than the last. “Actually, I would love to do either with you, but I can’t. I actually have plans I can’t back out of.”

  It’s vague, I know—the explanation of my prior commitment. But we are not in the type of relationship that requires me to explain myself. Not that I have anything to hide, but well… I don’t want to move too far out of the box we’d put around ourselves. It’s risky to say the least.

  “Oh,” Benjamin says, and I can tell he’s slightly put off. Not in a mad or angry way, but I can tell it never occurred I might not want to spend every night with him. He gives me an understanding smile, though. “Sure, I understand. Another night when it’s convenient.”

  I find myself not wanting him to have any doubts about my desires, and I don’t want him feeling rejected. Risk be damned, I decide to explain.

  “Please know if I could get out of these plans, I would. I would much rather spend the evening with you. But Walsh is up for some businessman-of-the-year award, and Jorie asked me to attend it several weeks ago. I promised her, and I can’t back out. Why I agreed is beyond me because I hate these things. I won’t know anyone there. Even though Jorie wants me there, she’ll have to stick by Walsh’s side most of the evening. So I’m sure you can understand this is not going to be pleasant for me.”

  I’m completely blown away by Benjamin’s next words. “Would you like me to go with you? I’m assuming you can bring a plus one.”

  I blink at him stupidly. An array of emotions flutters through me. Thrilled he would offer. Worried at the same time. I would love to be able to do normal things with Benjamin, but I can’t help but wonder if he’s moving us toward failure. Can he really be ready for more?

  Am I?

  “I mean,” he continues as if he needs to reassure me. “You did me a solid when you went with me to that charity gala. The least I can do is return the favor to you.”

  “I wouldn’t want to impose,” I rush to say, offering him a way to back out gracefully.