by AC Netzel
He smiles against my neck and kisses it. Loosening his hold on me, he leans down and kisses me. His tongue twined with mine, dancing… slowly, deeply, softly. I moan into his mouth. He tastes so good. My favorite flavor… Ben. He follows our kiss with several feather-light kisses trailing up from the side of my mouth to the tip of my nose. This man turns me into jello.
I’m a tingling mess. I don’t have to look down at my dress to know that my nipples are standing at attention. All the muscles below my waist clench and despite the apartment’s central air-conditioning, it’s suddenly sweltering.
“Better?” he asks, leaning his forehead against mine.
“Much.” I unlace my fingers, twist my wrist around and peek at my watch. “It’s 6:04. You’re two minutes late. You should have your pants off by now.”
He chuckles, shaking his head with a smirk. “You’ve got it bad, don’t you?”
“You have no idea,” I say. I rest my hands on his chest, tracing the contours of the rock-hard muscles beneath his T-shirt. His body is my kryptonite. My lust for every solitary inch of him is beyond my control.
God, I want him.
“You’re going to have to wait. Dinner’s just about ready.”
“Seriously? You’re making me wait? As I recall, your text this morning made specific promises. It’s past 6:02. This girl has needs only you can provide. I have a lot of pent-up frustration courtesy of your unreasonable request.”
I wouldn’t be nearly as desperate if I didn’t agree to and honor his no vibrator demand. That’s the last time I’m making a promise as stupid as that.
He shrugs then smiles. “I hate to break a promise, but dinner is almost done. It’s something special for you. I’ll make it up to you… after we eat. Besides, the anticipation will make it better. Think about how good it’s going to be… the waiting, the wanting… until we finally give in.” He kisses my cheek, grabs the bakery box off the table, and walks toward the kitchen.
“Or we could say screw the anticipation and screw each other,” I call out to him.
He laughs as he continues to walk toward the kitchen waving his hand dismissively.
“Hey, I wasn’t kidding. I’m suffering from babe balls, pink balls—oh, I don’t know what the hell you call them. I have female blue balls, and it’s your fault. You need to rectify this.”
He stops and turns to me. “Female blue balls? Julia, if you think you have balls, we need to talk,” he teases.
“Shut up. Having no outlet has rendered me horny and stupid for days. See what you’ve done to me… you’ve dumbed me down.”
“All this talk about you having balls isn’t exactly turning me on.”
“You think man balls are a turn-on to women? Trust me, they’re not attractive but I still have sex with you. Come on, don’t be stingy. Give up the goods. I’ll even take a quickie.”
He shakes his head and walks into the kitchen, ignoring my sex pleas. How the hell can he be so blasé? I’m ready to pounce him, and he’s putting me off.
That smug bastard better not have been spanking the monkey while I was stuck home alone, staring at my nightstand, praying BOB would magically fly out of the drawer and land on my crotch.
My erect nipples and I follow him to the kitchen. The aroma of dinner wafting in the air is lessening my frustration as I realize how hungry I am. It smells good in here, an intriguing blend of Benessence and food.
“Why don’t you grab two beers out of the fridge? They’ll pair better with dinner. Relax in the other room. I’ll be a few minutes.”
“Something pairs with beer? What are you making?”
“Surprise. Go… or I’ll hold out longer.” He lifts a brow and leans back against the counter, crossing his arms in front of his chest, his muscles bulging from his biceps.
Damn, he’s brought out the guns. I’m doomed. Might as well wave the white flag, fall to my knees, and service him now. It’s time for me to counter his sexy with some of my own. I casually saunter over to him, pressing my body against his.
“It’s been four days, Ben. That’s a long, long time not to have any kind of… release.” I rub my crotch against his leg. I hope he finds that sexy and doesn’t think I’m scratching a yeast infection. “It’s a scientific fact that men are ruled by their dicks. We both know you’ll crumble,” I whisper seductively, gliding the back of my hand against his cheek.
Okay, this was a slight error in judgment, there’s something about the coarseness of his stubble that turns me on.
He inhales deeply. Good, my seduction scheme is working.
“Scientific fact? We’ll just have to see about that, won’t we? You know I love a challenge,” he says with a playful grin.
“Game on,” I purr, as I not-so-innocently rub my breasts against his chest. I catch him peeking down my dress. I know he’s checking out my cleavage. I lean back a little to allow him a clearer view. I straighten myself out and take a quick glance at his groin to see if his arousal has presented itself. I think I see a little movement. Yes, I’m pretty certain there was some dick twitching.
I’m not entirely confident, but I’m going to give myself that small victory. I’ll make him crumble yet. I grab two beers and make my way to the living room.
“Dining room or coffee table?” he calls out from the kitchen.
“Coffee table,” I answer back. If we’re sitting on the floor while we eat, I can pull him on top of me. We can speed things along and screw right here.
Time management techniques for the sexually frustrated—I should write a book.
I place the two beers down on two coasters. God forbid I don’t use a coaster at Ben’s place. While I wait for him to finish with dinner, I might as well make the best of this downtime.
“I’ll be right back,” I yell over to the kitchen. Ben thinks I’m using his bathroom. The truth is whenever I can; I sneak into his Coin Shrine, the room where he keeps his nerdy coin collection. Recently, he started using this room to write in as well. When I get the opportunity, I snoop through his laptop files to read what he’s currently writing.
I know this is intrusive, and I shouldn’t do this… blah, blah, blah… But as his editor I have to establish that he’s moving in the right direction. If I can subtly make suggestions to guide him, without giving myself up, all the less work for me later when he actually forwards his work to Wisteria. There’s less chance of a disagreement between us that will send Ben off brooding.
Quietly, I sneak into the coin room and lift the cover to his laptop sitting on his desk. He really should password protect his documents to prevent nosey people like me from accessing his work at will. But hey, I’m not complaining.
I like to think of this as Ben subconsciously extending an invitation to snoop, and my RSVP is a resounding “Hell, yeah. One meddling girlfriend, no guests”.
He’s working on chapter five of his work in progress… a book about baseball stadiums, old and new. I’ve convinced him to include a chapter on stadium food because it’s food, and everybody loves food, especially stadium hot dogs.
After skimming through the first few paragraphs, I notice some of his writing seems a little stiff. It’s too factual. He has to liven this up a little bit. There are a few sentences that need some tightening too. Vivian is never going to accept this. This is probably his first draft. First drafts are notoriously crap.
I continue to skim through the rest of the text quickly. Dammit, ‘pastime’ is misspelled—there’s an extra “t”. Doesn’t he see the little red line under it? The damn computer is telling him to fix it. How the hell can he just ignore that? My index finger hovers over the delete button. Will he know if I corrected it? The jig will be up if he figures it out. I don’t want to get caught snooping… but this extra “t” is driving me crazy.
I close my eyes and hit the delete button then save it. That’s better.
I better get my snooping ass out of here before I’m caught with my hand in the cookie jar. Anyway, I want to get back to my
personal favorite pastime, Ben. Carefully, I close the laptop, tiptoe out of the coin room and walk back into the living room, sitting on the floor behind the coffee table. I lean back against the leather couch, take off my watch and throw it on the table, and wait for dinner.
Ben walks in with two plates and places them on the table. I look down and laugh.
“Hot dogs?”
“Not just any hot dogs. These are stadium hot dogs; from two different ballparks. I had them flown up from two of the parks I visited in Florida.”
I shake my head and laugh. “How did you manage this?”
“A lot of coordination and a little bit of magic.”
“Let me guess; you convinced some adoring woman who saw your dimples and fell under the Ben Martin lust spell to help you out.”
“There was a very nice young woman who helped me out in Miami… but it was a man who got the ball rolling in Tampa Bay.”
“Was he gay?”
He shrugs a shoulder. “He did give me his private cell phone number.”
“Figures.” I roll my eyes then direct my attention back to our dinner. “You know, most boyfriends bring a little trinket back to their girlfriends when they go away: jewelry or some touristy crap from the airport’s duty-free shop. I should have known you’d go a different route.”
“I know food is the key to your heart. I want to make sure I keep it.”
“You,” I poke his chest with my index finger, “are the key to my heart. I love that you went to all this trouble for me.”
“It’s not trouble if it makes you happy.”
I inhale deeply. The smoky scent of the hot dogs mixed with a combination of I’m not sure what’s cooked with it is floating in the air. “Mmm, it smells so good.”
“Most girls would prefer a fancy dinner out, but it’s hot dogs and beer for my Julia.”
My Julia… I love when he says that. I’m such a sap.
“So what do we have here?” I ask.
He points to a hot dog at the end of the plate. “This is the Magnum. All beef foot-long wrapped in bacon with pickles, tomato, onion, and sauerkraut.”
“You had me at bacon.”
He laughs. “I thought I might. The hot dog next to it is the Italian. That’s from Miami. It’s topped with onions, grilled peppers, and fried potatoes in pizza dough.”
“You keep talking food and foot-longs, and I’m going to orgasm right here, right now. It all looks so good. I can’t believe you did this. You’re so good to me.”
“You deserve it.” He takes my hand and kisses the back.
I look at the plate of hot dogs, uncomplicated yet complex, but so us. I know he’s downplaying how difficult it must have been to coordinate these… two pairs of hot dogs from two stadiums in two different cities, flown to New York and served hot.
We sit down on the floor, our legs occasionally brushing against each other. Naturally, I grab the Magnum first. The bacon is calling my name.
I have to keep my mind off his body… his incredibly muscular hard body. I need to concentrate on other things or I’m going to jump him.
“Have you spoken with your grandmother lately?” I ask while picking the fried potatoes off the other hot dog and popping them in my mouth.
“I called her from my hotel last night. She sounded tired. I suppose that’s to be expected with her age.”
“Maybe you caught her at a bad time.” One of the many reasons I love Ben is because of the way he cares for his grandmother. I can live without the rest of the Martins; they’re nothing but self-centered idiots. I’ve visited his grandmother with him a few times. She’s always been very sweet to me. I know her declining health is tearing him apart inside. He never wants to talk about it. So I let it go.
“Yeah, maybe.” He shrugs a shoulder. “I spoke to my father the other day.”
Crap, this rarely ends well and usually puts Ben in a bad mood. I’m glad I wasn’t there for the fireworks. His father is a colossal asshole.
“Oh, what for?”
“He had some questions about my grandmother’s caretaker. Since I made the original arrangements, I had the answers.”
“So, how did your conversation go?”
“Same as usual. Civil until he brought up how I’m wasting my life writing for a living.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine. I’m used to it. He can say whatever the fuck he wants. I don’t give a shit.”
He’s lying. I know it bothers him. I don’t think he’s seeking his father’s approval, but he does expect respect for his decisions. I know he earned it. Too bad his father has blinders on to anything that’s not in his plan.
Asswipe.
It’s time to change the subject. Ben has a lot on his plate. Between the pressures of deadlines on his book, his grandmother’s health and his father’s finger wagging every time he sees him; it’s taking its toll on him. He closes up, even to me. I’ve accepted that this is part of Ben’s personality. Maybe that’s why he never committed to anyone in the past, so he could keep these things bottled up. He’s great at sharing the good stuff… but he’s broody and distant when he looks deep within himself. It’s probably a defense mechanism, so he never gets hurt. I don’t know. I’ll leave that up to his shrink to figure out.
Sex cures everything. That’s what Allie says, anyway. I plan on testing her theory and see if I can readjust Ben’s mind-space.
Casually, I push the uneaten end of my hot dog until a few inches are hanging out past the bun, then turn it around so it’s facing my mouth. Bringing it to my lips, I swirl my tongue around the tip of the exposed hot dog.
“Mmm,” I groan. “This is delicious.”
Ben shifts uncomfortably; takes a big swig of beer then clears his throat. “It looks like you’re really enjoying that.”
“So good. I want to make sure I get every juicy drop.” I tip the hot dog end in my mouth and slide it in and out.
“That’s one way of doing it. Most people would just bite it.”
“Is that what you want, Ben? You want me to bite it?” I ask seductively.
He shakes his head and grins. “Are we still talking about the hot dog?”
“What else could we possibly be talking about?” I bat my eyelashes, feigning innocence.
Admittedly, this is a pretty pathetic act of desperation. Deep-throating a hot dog to turn on my boyfriend has to be a new all-time low. At least it’s getting his wheels turning… I think.
He leans back against the couch, grabs his beer and takes a quick swig. The beer is a diversion. He’s trying to calm himself down. The sinful way he’s watching my mouth tells me I’m getting to him.
“Should I leave?” he asks.
“Hmm?”
“You and that hot dog look like you’re getting pretty intimate.”
“I don’t mind if you watch. You like to watch… don’t you, Ben?” I ask coyly, licking the tip of the hot dog again.
My God, I’ve turned myself into a Hot Dog Harlot.
He shifts again. If I’m playing this game right… and I think I am… it must be getting pretty tight in his pants right about now.
“You’re wicked,” he says, his voice low.
“I’m hungry.” And horny. Mostly horny.
“Your dinner is right in front of you.”
“That’s not what I’m hungry for. Do you have anything else in your apartment I could…” I pause, running my tongue across my top lip, “wrap my mouth around?”
“I’m sure I could find something to keep your mouth busy,” he says, placing his beer down on the coaster in front of him. He takes the hot dog out of my hand and puts it on the plate in front of me. He glides his fingertip lightly across my mouth. “You have beautiful lips. As I recall from your texts this morning, I get to decide where they touch.”
“Yes, well, unlike you, ‘Mr. No-Sex-Until-After-Dinner’, I keep my promises. Where would you like them to touch?” I lick my lips, ready to go to town on him.
&n
bsp; “Here.” He taps a finger to his cheek.
I lean toward him and give him a quick peck. He grabs my arm and pulls me hard toward him, pulling me down, until we’re both lying on the floor. He kicks the table legs to move the table enough to give us a little more space to stretch out. Luckily the beer bottles didn’t fall.
Twisting me until my back is to the floor, he lies on top of me, holding my arms over my head. Looking down at me, he grins wickedly. His grin suggests sex… and the sparkle in his eyes guarantee it.
“I know what you’re doing,” he says menacingly.
“What am I doing?” I ask innocently.
“Trying to turn me on.”
“Trying?” I ask, raising a brow.
“Turning me on,” he corrects himself.
“That’s better.”
“You can’t even wait until after dinner. You’re weak.”
“You made me this way.” The weight of his body on mine leaves me aching for him, desperate for that connection; the intense, passionate, fiery bond we share when we make love.
“I want you,” he murmurs, burying his face in the nook of my neck then nibbling my earlobe.
“I want you more,” I whisper. I wrap my legs around him, pulling him closer to me.
“Fuck dinner. Let’s go to the bedroom.”
“No, make love to me here.” I’m pure sensation, every nerve ending begging for his touch.
“I need a condom,” he murmurs, his lips grazing my ear.
“No, you don’t. Take me now.”
“Julia…,” he warns, shaking his head. If there’s one thing Ben takes seriously, it’s birth control.
“I’m on the pill.”
He jerks his head back slightly and gazes at me. “Since when?”
“Last month. I wanted to surprise you.”
He stares at me with wonder in his eyes. “Why?” he asks.
“I want all of you. I don’t want anything between us. Ever. That’s okay, isn’t it?”
He sighs and smiles warmly. His expression changes from lust to bewilderment to love. I see the change happening in his eyes, like a window into this beautiful man’s soul. It’s showing me how much he loves me and it’s going to make me cry.
“Yes,” he says softly. “That’s okay.” Leaning on one elbow, he caresses my cheek with the back of his hand.