by Anne Calhoun
She didn’t bother to deny it. “My goodness, you’re charming when you’ve been drinking.”
“Rachel,” Seth said evenly, “if you want me to make this individual leave the premises, it would be my pleasure.”
Ben’s smile flashed in her peripheral vision. “He’s a Galveston police officer,” Rachel said.
“I don’t give a fuck,” Seth said, his smile not all that different from Ben’s.
Just like that she was drowning in testosterone. “Thanks for the offer, but we have some things to talk about,” Rachel said. “Enjoy your evening.”
Ben’s fingers encircled her wrist in an unbreakable grip. He towed her through the crowd, but she dug in her heels and jerked away from him. “What’s the matter?” Rachel said, not liking the mocking tone in her voice. “You told me to pick up a stranger. You said you wanted to watch.”
He put his hands on his hips, claiming space from everyone around them. “I didn’t think you’d do it.”
“Ben, have I given you the impression that I don’t do what I say I’m going to do?” she shouted over the insane noise. His gaze never left her face. “I was leaving, but not with him. But eventually, I will. I will choose another man the way I chose you, and I will sleep with him. You don’t have any right to have a problem with that.”
“I do,” he said so low she thought she’d imagined the words. She wasn’t sure if he meant he had a right, or that he had a problem with her going home with another man, and she suspected he didn’t know, either. “I do. You have to do this sometime, but God help me, I don’t want it to be tonight.”
“Then it won’t be. You’re like a stranger to me anyway,” she pointed out.
Emotion flicked across his face so fast she couldn’t name what she saw. “Dance with me,” he said.
He led her through the crowd to the dance floor, and oh God, this was how it was supposed to feel, hot and slippery and electric. Relentless. He wove their legs together, snugging her up against his torso, pressing his hard shaft to her hip. It thickened as they danced, one hand flat at the small of her back, holding her close, the other sliding under her hair to loosely grip her nape. She wound her arms around his neck, used his strength to press herself against his body and let the percussive bass draw her under.
Everything left her mind, the words, the other people in the room, the music itself, except for the thumping beat and Ben. Her hair stuck to her arms, to his, slipped into her face so that when he kissed her, he had to smooth it back from her face. The shock of hot lips, quick breath, and then his tongue dancing against hers sent a bolt of electricity sharp and jagged between her thighs. His abdomen tightened, and he pulled her closer. One song became two, then she lost track of time and the relentlessly sexual lyrics.
A woman backed into Rachel, stepping on her heel and jerking her out of the hot haze. Ben looked as dazed as she did, desire etched into his face by the sweat streaking from his temple to his jaw. She reached out with her fingers, grazed the side of his face, trailed the tips along his cheek to his mouth. He bit the tip of her index finger, then soothed it with his tongue.
“If you think we’re a good fit, stranger, I’d like to dance somewhere else,” she said.
“I’ve got a room at the motel across the street,” he murmured.
At this odd statement she pulled back, looked into his eyes. Torn halfway between fantasy and reality, she bit her lip and looked up at him. He leaned forward and used his teeth to tug her lip free, soothe the spot, then bite down on it himself. The heat and danger so tightly leashed.
“Let’s go,” she said again.
Chapter Twenty
Ben took her out through the storeroom, past a redheaded waitress in killer heels whose “Hi, Ben” got a curt nod as he opened the door to the alley. They wove through cars in the parking lot onto the sidewalk, then jaywalked across the street. The motel across the street had nothing to recommend it, a listing arrow of white neon with a red VACANCY flashing over two floors of doors facing the street. Ben led her up the stairs to the second floor and unlocked a door.
When she stepped inside, she saw a round table with two chairs, a single queen bed with a faded spread and thin pillows, and a dresser with a mirror hanging from the stuccoed wall above it. Ben closed the door on the streetlights and traffic, then stepped away from her, leaving her in the faint scent of industrial-strength cleaning products while he turned on the lamp above the table. When he closed in on her, all she could smell was Ben, heat and musk rising from his skin, almost as palpable as the tension simmering just under the surface.
He flashed her that smile she so distrusted, the one that meant he was stretched thin, the veneer of attitude barely covering the raw ache inside. Then he picked up a worn leather case sitting on the table, opened the snap, and pulled out a pair of handcuffs. He didn’t ask, just opened them, the ratcheting sound loud in the still air.
“My turn.”
She tilted her head and studied his face. He held her gaze with nothing in his eyes. She recognized that expression, had seen it in her own eyes those last tortured months at Elysian Fields.
“This is what you’d do with a stranger?” she asked.
The single lifted eyebrow, mocking, amused, was answer enough. She turned around, felt the awkward strain on her shoulders when she brought her wrists together at her tailbone. The steel, warm from his body, closed around her wrists.
Ben tossed the case on the bed, then rested his chin on her shoulder and his hands on her hips. His hard body shifted against her back and bottom, shoulder to shoulder, erection brushing her restrained hands, while his breath riffled the silky halter top. He unfastened the halter top’s ties and the cups fell forward, baring her breasts. The backs of his fingers skated down the side of her breast, along her ribs, then he unzipped the side and worked the top down over her hips.
He walked around her in a slow circle, the heat of his gaze a physical caress on her bare back, ribs, and breasts. Aroused by memory and eager for his touch, her nipples peaked. One corner of his mouth lifted in response. He reached out and laid his big hand on her ribs just below her breast, then stroked the soft underside with his thumb. The pressure, so tantalizingly close to where she wanted it, made her eyelids droop.
It should have felt awkward to stand half-naked in front of him. Doing so in front of a true stranger would, but this was Ben, and all she felt was a little dirty. Not bad dirty, but the kind of dirty that struck sparks and drew dampness between her legs. The kind of dirty spurred by a connection between them so fundamental and raw she could hardly stand it.
A connection he studiously ignored. “Touch me,” she said softly.
“Only if you watch,” he replied. He wrapped long fingers around her upper arm and guided her over to stand in front of the mirror, but didn’t look into the reflective surface. “You like to watch?”
The words were murmured into the slope where her shoulder met her neck; between his hot mouth and the shockingly carnal sight of his hands on her, a shiver ran through her body. They both knew she’d never watched this before. “Yes,” she said faintly.
His hands were so dark against her pale skin. They started at her shoulders, flexed down her arms before turning slightly to brush the full sides of her breasts, then continuing down to her waist, then the curve of her hips before skimming back up her ribs to cup her breasts. He squeezed gently, almost distractedly but ignored her nipples, now hard for his touch. Instead he brought one fingertip to her mouth. She watched her tongue flick out and dampen his skin, then kept watching as that fingertip brushed over each peak. The wetness heightened the air-conditioned coolness, and her nipples tightened even more.
But his hands moved low again, this time to unfasten and unzip her jeans. He didn’t push them down, didn’t slide his hand inside, just left them open, and the dirty-hot sensation ratcheted up anot
her notch. She was nearly naked to his fully dressed, restrained to his free, slender and delicate to his broad shoulders and heavily muscled body . . . a body she couldn’t see.
“Take your shirt off,” she said.
He just shook his head. “Watch yourself. Watch me turn you on.”
As long, heated moments passed, she did just that. When his fingers finally alternated between cupping her breasts and pinching her nipples, her head lolled back against his shoulder.
“Look at you,” he growled. “So hot.”
Her breath eased from her parted lips in soft, irregular pants. She couldn’t control the shimmy or the slight whimper she made when his hands dropped lower to push her jeans to the tops of her thighs, revealing her mound. When his finger dipped into her hidden folds she tried to spread her legs but couldn’t.
“Look at you,” he said again. His middle finger skimmed up a little, brushing the side of her clitoris. “Watch while I get you off.”
So she did, and as she did, she wondered at the back of her mind if this was the Ben other women saw. Slightly rough, slightly edgy, not all that dissimilar from the man she’d bought at the bachelor auction. The new Rachel looked back at her from the mirror, eyes alight with passion, cheeks flushed, bare breasts tipped with reddened nipples, a man at her back. His rough cheek snagged in her hair and sent it spilling over her shoulders. Then the stroking finger made her thighs clench. Her eyes slid to soft focus. Ben ground his hard shaft against her bottom as she undulated and gasped.
“Shh,” he ordered without letting up on his ruthless touch.
Silence was impossible, because this was the hottest thing she’d ever done, slow and visceral, like straining time through honey, and she saw it all. Saw the sex flush bloom on her chest, the same color as the roses Ben brought her, saw it climb her throat and claim her cheeks. Saw muscles tremble and clench in her abdomen and thighs. Saw her throat work as she tried to stifle the desperate, pleading noises he called from her. Then, when the pleasure peaked and his hand slid up from her breast to cover her mouth, she let go. Waves of release pulsed from the slick spot where his finger stroked outward through her skin, into the room and beyond. Her knees trembled and she sagged against his body. As she watched, Ben bent over her, his forehead resting on her shoulder.
“Ready for more?” he asked her reflection, but he had to clear his throat to get the words out.
Her hair slid into her face when she nodded. He turned her to face him, tucked the heavy strands behind her ear, then crouched to push her jeans clear of her legs. He stepped back until his legs met the bed, then sat down. Springs squeaked and the mattress sagged. He put his hands on her hips and pushed. As she went to her knees she looked over her shoulder to find Ben centered in the mirror, all dark stubble and hooded blue eyes.
“You want to watch me do this?” she asked, and there was no hint of innocence in her voice.
He focused on her mouth, on her drawn shoulders, on their intimate, sexual position. “Hell yes,” he said roughly.
He unbuckled his belt, popped open the buttons of his fly, then leaned back on his elbows, drawing his shirt up to expose his lower belly. The cheap polyester bedspread rustled under him. Rachel bent forward, firmed up the tip of her tongue, and traced the vein all the way up his shaft to the sensitive spot just under the head. Then she settled back on her heels and repeated the process, each time covering new ground but always, always finding the bundle of nerves. His breathing shallowed as his gaze flicked between Rachel’s mouth and the show in the mirror.
He slid his palm under her hair to cup her nape and bring her head forward. She opened her mouth just enough that it gave him the edge of teeth scraping ever so gently as his cock slid into her mouth to the back of her throat. For several long minutes he set a slow pace, the slick sounds of her mouth and his breathing punctuated occasionally by her soft whimper. He gave her a breather, letting her swallow hard. His cock pulsed, then he dragged his hand from her nape through her hair to brush his thumb over her lips.
“Very, very good,” he said. “Let’s keep going.”
He found his wallet and pulled out a condom, rolling it down his shaft while Rachel knelt between his legs. Then he pulled her up onto the bed. The ancient mattress dipped and swayed as he adjusted her position, on her knees and centered in the mirror. He wrapped one arm around her and guided her forward, face to the bedspread, ass in the air, and used his knees to spread her wide. She was blind until he gently collected her hair at the back of her head.
When he could see her face, he braced one fist on the bed by her right knee, and gripped her hair with the other, making escape impossible. He slid inside, torturously slowly. The contrast of his gentle stroke with his rough handling made her tremble. She needed to touch him. Even in this position she wanted her hands free to caress his leg or cup the nape of his neck. Whatever she could reach. She wanted that connection.
But he started to move, and within moments slow was long gone, the firestorm of lust roaring higher with each stroke. He hunched over her and took what he wanted, powerful strokes from tip to hips. The smacking sound was loud in the room. Then he bent forward, shifting his weight from his right hand to his left.
“Come on,” he murmured. “Tell me what you like. Is that better?” he asked, widening her stance a little.
A faint whimper. “How about”—he adjusted the cant of his hips, sliding lower over the hot spot inside her—“that?” he asked, and did it again.
A hard shudder ran through her.
“Tell me,” he demanded.
“Good,” she gasped. “So good, but . . .” She undulated, her wrists straining against the cuffs, her hands reaching for something and getting nothing. She didn’t want it to end like this, him deep inside her yet miles away. Her arms jerked again, desperate to hold him close, but orgasm reared up, poised to crush her. All she had left was his name.
“Ben,” she cried out.
Then the wave crashed over her, drowning her in sensation. Ben thrust deep, his release jerked from his body as he ground deep inside her. When the last shudder ripped through him he inhaled a deep gasping breath, and curved over her. Instinctively sheltering her, and yet giving her nothing of himself.
Rachel’s heart tore just a little.
When he straightened he immediately released her hands, then stepped away to deal with the condom. She pushed back to her heels, the muscles in her thighs and arms trembling with the effort, forcing her to tuck her knees to the side and sit for a moment to regain her balance. Ben tucked the cuffs into their leather case, then strode into the bathroom. Water ran in the shower, then the curtain slid closed.
For the first time, it wasn’t enough. More honesty and intimacy infused their first night together than this, and if she’d learned anything in the last year, it was that doing what she’d always done in the hopes of getting different results was a waste of time and energy. Her body quivered, the hot aftermath sliding along her nerves as she found her clothes discarded on the floor and dressed. Ben didn’t seem surprised to see her ready to go when he came out of the shower. He dressed in quick jerks, slipped his wallet, keys, cuffs into various pockets, then tossed the room key on the table.
“I’ll walk you back to your car,” he said.
“I’d prefer you didn’t,” she said quietly.
He cut her a sharp glance that flicked away as quickly as it landed, then folded his arms across his chest.
“I can’t keep doing this, Ben,” she said, gesturing around the hotel room.
He barked out a laugh. “You wanted a man who wouldn’t care. I’m that man. Never expect a man to change. What you see the first time is what you’ll get the last time.”
“How disappointing,” she said. How sad. How tragic.
“Lower your expectations.”
“I meant for you,” she s
aid as gently as he’d been harsh.
One eyebrow lifted. “You can’t fall in love with the first man you screw.”
“You can’t tell me what to feel,” she said. “Because I could so easily fall in love with you. I’m halfway there as it is. You’re strong and dedicated and you care so deeply, as much as you try to pretend you don’t.”
“I don’t give a fuck about anything,” he said easily.
“So you say. Life at Elysian Fields sheltered me from so much about the real world, but I did learn about men who wall themselves off behind the way things are supposed to be. You need me to treat this as casually as you treat it. You need me to be another plate in the armor you wear to defend yourself against feeling anything.”
He somehow got bigger, broader, even more walled off. “Bullshit.”
“Why aren’t you with your family at the hospital? When was the last time you went to Sam’s for brunch on Sunday with your parents?”
He went still. Totally still. “That’s none of your business.”
“I know,” she said evenly. “It’s no one’s business, Ben, and that’s the sad part. I don’t want to learn what you have to teach me. I don’t want to go where you’re going. I sacrificed too much to become a stranger to myself.” She looked around the cheap room, the cigarette burns visible on the bathroom counter, the cracked mirror. “This isn’t even your apartment. What’s next? The back seat of your patrol car?”
He flashed her that shark’s smile, the bright, flashing one that made the average woman’s brain stutter to a stop. But not hers. “Lady’s choice,” he said easily.
“That’s what breaks my heart, Ben,” she said. “You told me not to confuse this with love, and I haven’t. But it doesn’t even hold the promise of love, or the chance. Sometimes it’s not even affectionate. I can’t keep doing this. I don’t like who I’ll become if I do.”
With that she stepped out of the hotel room, into the open hallway running the length of the second story. She closed the door behind her and walked down the stairs and across the street to her car, still waiting in the No Limits parking lot. The noise and commotion coming from the bar remained exactly the same.