by Tess Lamont
Instead, in her imagination, Ben knelt before her, his hands grasped the back of her thighs as his tongue worked up the inside of her leg.
She leaned against the counter to offset the sudden weakness in her knees.
Perhaps calling him was not the best solution. What did she stand to gain by exposing herself to hurt?
The image came alive again. This time, she could feel his hands on her ass. She sighed as she pictured his mouth working its magic on her already throbbing sex.
Ben had inserted himself back into her life, not the other way around. Why the hell shouldn’t she extract some pleasure before she sent him packing?
If he wanted to grovel, at least she should get something for her time. What she wouldn’t give for his lips to work the kind of mind-ruining orgasms she remembered so well.
For a year, she’d gone without a man’s touch. Most men were not worth the bother, really. Sex with Ben had been the most intense sex she’d ever had—no one came in second. No one.
She swiped her finger across her phone and entered his number. Tonight, the servant would become the master.
****
Ben hadn’t been sure, when he’d taken Lisa’s call, exactly what she wanted. But, he had vowed to set things straight as part of his twelve steps, so, at her request, he’d gone to her apartment. Not until she opened the door—a vision in just her robe and slippers—had he understood how high a price she meant to extract. Now inside, he realized his mistake.
She planned to drive him mad, plain and simple.
Her secret weapon was her home. Here, she reached a zenith of power. Her walls were a soft, pale green and her feminine scent lingered in the air, both lured him like peanut butter lured a mouse. He was a wild horse in a small, restrictive corral. Tantalizing wilderness surrounded him, but he had no possible hope of release.
True, the full-length robe she wore covered her completely while, at the club, her string thong, chain, and pasties had left nothing to his imagination. But, the natural hang of her unbrushed hair whispered intimacy. The easy familiarity of her cosmetic-free face whispered peace. He had to deny these comforts to stay on track, had to refuse her song to protect her from the dark imaginings she brought to life inside him.
“Drink?” she asked, her voice light, but sultry.
Ben nodded, hesitant to leave her entryway.
“I have wine or beer,” she said.
“A beer would be great,” he replied.
“Come in, sit.” She smiled sweetly and motioned toward her counter.
He chose the bar stool closest to the door, watching Lisa warily as she moved about her kitchen. Though she lived in the same complex, she no longer had the apartment they’d shared. As he looked through the kitchen to the living room, he noticed she’d purged most, if not all, of their shared belongings.
He’d been completely and efficiently erased. He tried not to dwell on the unexpected stabbing in his gut. After all, he found the home she created to be infinitely more inviting.
“Nice place,” he said, his gaze rolling over the perfectly organized kitchen.
The old Lisa could have been buried in filth before she noticed. Now, her home was…serene. He pushed aside a sense of guilt—more proof that his presence in her life only caused her pain and confusion.
“Thank you,” she smiled, obviously pleased with her efforts. “I like it.”
Honestly, he had no idea how to interact. Despite her state of undress, she acted almost as if he were a new acquaintance, a casual visitor. Her ease set him on edge and, once there, tension started to build. He could sense the distant rumble of an advancing storm.
Her scent alone had drawn his cock to half-mast—definitely not helping.
Lisa set an open beer in front of him.
“You know what I like best about this apartment?” she asked.
“I can’t guess,” he replied, grasping the cool bottle.
“The apartment has a certain…lack of male energy that I find incredibly liberating.”
“No doubt,” he replied.
He didn’t trust himself to say more, so he drank deeply from the bottle, fortifying himself. She was bating him, he knew, but he would retain control.
“It is certainly…feminine,” he continued.
She leaned over the counter and stopped just an inch from his face. “Exactly.”
For a crazy second, with her lips too close to see, he thought she might kiss him. If she did, he knew it would not be a loving, gentle kiss, but a punishing reminder of all he’d left behind.
Inside, he wrestled for a response. His plan had been to fulfill step nine: Make direct amends to people you harmed whenever possible.
Her breath’s gentle heat fanned against his face. God, how he wanted her. Clearly, he needed to amend, if not completely abandon, his plan, or he was going to lose control. He would not be able to resist much longer.
She pulled back just before he broke.
Shit. Shit.
She sauntered to her couch, bent her knee and sat on her foot. She tasted her wine, watching him like she understood his need to escape. He began to sense the web about him—a carefully planned trap.
“Look, I came because I want to—” he started.
“Shh!” She put up a hand. “I know what you want. You want to say you’re sorry. Let me decide what I want.”
Her brow’s arch was a challenge the old Ben would have taken. In fact, her order caused a distant rumble in his heart.
When he’d seen himself as her Master, he’d allowed, even encouraged, her to mildly bait him. Playful challenges had been her way of saying she needed to be spanked without the disrespect she’d felt was inherent in a direct request.
Even now, her head’s taunting tilt made his hand itch.
He calmed himself with another swig of beer as she drummed her free foot against the base of her couch.
Maybe he should give up. Those who withhold forgiveness only withhold it from themselves. Ben heard his SAA sponsor’s voice inside his head. But he didn’t want to leave her this way. Just because he’d reformed, didn’t give him the right to walk out like a nutless jerk.
“Are you going to tell me what you want, then?” he asked.
This would be so much easier, if only her little pursed lips weren’t so fucking kissable. If only he couldn’t so vividly remember those lips wrapped firmly around his cock.
“The way I see it,” she said, “if I hear you out, you have everything to gain while I get nothing for my trouble.” She swept her hand, encompassing the length of her apartment. “All this, I did without you, despite you…why should I hear you out?”
“You could heal…” he suggested.
“Heal,” she snorted. “Who are you? I would’ve bet my Grand Prix against you ever saying the word heal in reference to a relationship.”
“Have you read my journal?” he asked impatiently.
Her skin flushed. Light burgundy spread down her chest, disappearing into the maddeningly loose folds of her robe. She was angry, yes, but the shade of her flush told him she was aroused. He would bet his life on it, screw the Grand Prix. He knew every inch of her body. Hell, he could write a dictionary to define the meaning of her every sigh, every subtle movement, every shade of her beautiful, pale skin.
“I read it in part,” she replied, although he heard her hesitation and knew she lied.
He drank the last of his beer—the fastest one he’d ever finished—and walked to the couch, hands stuffed safely in his pockets. He needed to do this quickly, like ripping a band-aid off a wound. Then, he’d get the hell out.
“I am sorry I hurt you.” The words tumbled out.
She opened and then closed her mouth…twice.
“Damn it,” she said. She inhaled as her eyes started to fill.
Even a saint would have fallen for the look she gave him. He moved on instinct, sinking to his knees and drawing her into his arms. Fuck, she felt good. He cuddled her close to comfort…only t
o comfort.
“I’m a bastard, I know,” he said. “But I’m getting better. I’m trying to get better.”
Her hands crept into his hair.
“You are a bastard, a selfish, rotten bastard,” she replied, sniffing. “But I want you anyway.”
Her words shot straight to his cock. I am powerless over my addiction.
Her palm’s heat against his hair drove out coherent thought. Her body’s weight rested on his shoulders, completing him, and yet stirring his need for a deeper connection.
He closed his eyes and searched his soul for the right thing to do.
Her lips touched his, feather-light.
Powerless… Ben whispered into the darkness of his heart, but no higher power answered. Lisa was his only beacon, his only light. His longing surged toward her with an ocean-tide’s unstoppable strength.
“Lisa…” Ben said her name against her skin.
His beautiful Lisa. He wanted her like parched, cracking marl wanted rain. But she did not belong to him. No woman belonged to a man.
He lifted her and tried to set her back onto the cushions.
“No!” Her grip on his hair went rigid.
Pain was a welcome distraction.
“You can’t deny me,” she said. “You will not deny me.”
Deny her? He wished he could laugh. If she only knew. Since leaving, he’d ceaselessly fought every urge. The things he wanted to do to her weren’t healthy, weren’t right.
He wanted to dominate her, to claim her. To tie her up and fucking feast. How he wanted to take her, possess her, wreck her…and then sink with her into warm water and wash away the sweat and jiz from her neck, her breasts and her swollen, pink cunny.
He jonesed for their world, but its damaging effects had been plain to see. She’d withdrawn, her light had dimmed. She’d changed.
If he went back to her, his worst fear was that he’d flip. What if he became the reckless, belligerent, woman-hating bastard his ass-hole step-father had been?
No. He would not allow himself to hurt her again.
But Lisa did not seem to understand the war within him, the fight to keep her safe…nor did she seem to care. She leaned back, pulling him with her as she sank against the cushions.
“I’m hungry, Benjamin,” she said against his throat, leaving no doubt about the nature of her hunger.
He braced himself on his elbows. “I’m trying to control myself, but…”
With her teeth, she pinched his neck. “I don’t want you to control yourself,” she dug her fingernails through his clothes into his shoulder.
The sting in his flesh lanced his pride, breaking the last of his barriers. His elbows quivered. Her clean-smelling hair tumbled across the couch pillows.
Fuck it, a man had limits.
“What do you want?”His voice was a rusted saw.
“Go down on me, you bastard.” Her voice went low and husky. “Taste what you’ve been missing.”
Ben’s world paused as he sucked in. Shimmering in the distance was the sliver of an opening—the chance to walk away.
Lisa slid the curled edges of her robe apart. One glance at the heated flesh surrounding her taut and rosy nipples and hope fled.
Ben closed his eyes and ran his cheek across her breast’s softness. Damn, she was prime. With a savoring lick, he took one stiff and straining nipple into his mouth. He swirled his tongue around the perimeter, then lightly grazed the edge with his teeth.
Heat broke on his temples, his neck and his lower back—the kind of heat that drew one body to another in a sightless night.
He tightened his grip and her soft moan sent shivers of need through his veins. He could spend the night right there, sucking, eternally sucking. He craved the feel of her writhing body. Nothing came close. Nothing.
In that moment, two things existed—her tangy-musk taste and the tantalizing way her body shook.
Taste what you’ve been missing.
Oh, he’d taste all right. He’d leave her a quivering, panting, satisfied mess—driven to the brink and coaxed back by his touch.
The thought made him suck with abandon. With his other hand, he caressed her free nipple. She bucked. He pinned her under his weight, framing her with his thighs, rendering her helpless. Beautifully, sweetly helpless.
His cock, straining against his fly, wept cum. He paused without pulling away and closed his eyes, stilling his lust.
“Oh God, Ben. I can’t take it, I can’t…”
Her purring groan fixed his attention back to her breasts. He traced the under-curve with his thumbs and splayed his fingers across her back.
“Oh, you can and you will,” he murmured in a gritty, commanding voice he hardly recognized. “Won’t you, pet?”
“Yes.”
Her chest heaved deep as he trailed his fingertips down her sides and circled slowly to her sex.
She tossed her face into the pillows. Her nipples were glistening and peaked.
This—Lisa, suspended in the pain of longing while anticipating his touch—was everything to him: a wave to ride, a mystery to solve, a reason to fucking breathe.
He didn’t touch her clit just yet, but he saved that work for his tongue. Instead, his fingers played a game of cat-and-mouse with the tension in her blood-engorged sex. He traced just the edge of her quim…teasing, teasing, teasing. So wet, so slippery, so damned ready—she could take him twice and still not be dry.
She used to say only he could get her this wet.
She strained against his hand, restless with crazed need. He allowed himself a smile, a small sense of satisfaction.
He bent to her throat and kissed his way through her breasts’ valley and down over her belly. He stopped just before he reached her pussy. His fingers coaxed her to that special moment…the moment her moans turned to pained whimpers.
“Look at me.”
She boosted herself on her elbows and opened her eyes. He imprinted the sight of her flushed cheeks, her unfocused gaze. She smoked allure and sex—true sex, not the silly, contorted shit she radiated at the club.
“Venus never shined as bright as you,” he whispered. “And, turns out, pet, you’ve made me hungry, too.”
He separated her folds and brought his lips close to her heat. But only a putz would launch an all-out raid. No. His aim was seduction. He wanted to drain every last ounce of her strength.
He blew gently against her clit and she wailed. He sunk two slack fingers where his cock so longed to be and flicked her nub with his wetted tongue.
She planted her feet on his back, curling her toes into his skin. The circles he drew on her G-spot’s spongy heat made her arch completely off the couch. He rode with her, his tongue darting in smooth, warm lines as he savored her animal musk.
She rocketed through orgasmic delirium. Whimpering and shaking, she echoed the cries he heard nightly in his dreams. Her wetness covered his lips and chin, leaving him dizzy. Her orgasms were his special thrill.
Ben buried his head in her stomach, relishing a moment he did not deserve.
****
Lisa’s orgasm retreated in delicious spasms. Her fingers itched to embed in Ben’s shoulders. She wanted to drag his body up and demand he fuck her. He’d taken her to that place and she wanted more than anything to feel him quivering as he came.
Strangely, he lay perfectly still while she ran her nails softly up and down his neck. What the hell did one do with a master who wouldn’t command? Didn’t he want her—all of her?
Fuck waiting.
“Take off your clothes,” she whispered against his hair.
“I can’t.” His words muffled against her belly.
He made no sense. She was offering, willingly offering—unless. She went rigid underneath him. Oh God.
“Tell me you don’t have a girlfriend.”
He shook his head. “No, no girlfriend,” he said, his voice strained.
“No wife either?” she demanded.
“No wife.”
> “Then why can’t we fuck?” she asked, voice rising.
“Because I will hurt you.” He slid up and rested his chin above her belly button. “And hurting you is the last thing I want to do.”
The swell of her breasts blocked her full view, so she sat up, drawing him with her.
Without speaking, she reached for his buckle and undid it. She slid the leather through the loop and yanked the belt from his jeans. As it snapped out of the last loophole, she blushed.
The things Ben could do with a belt had always amazed. Even now, her ass was warm and screaming for his attention.
He kept his eyes averted. Instinctively, she knew he would not give her what she wanted. Not yet.
But why? She brushed his hair away from his face and stared down, realization dawning.
Could he be ashamed of the things they had done together? It wasn’t possible, was it?
She made a note to read that damn little book. Right now, she had her mind on other matters. And, with just the right coaxing, her other parts would soon be busy, as well.
She faced a crucial moment. She needed to feel her way through this, to trust their connection. Do this right, her heart whispered, and he’ll be yours forever.
“Make love to me.”
She doubted that she’d ever called it that before—at least not with Ben. But if he wanted to talk about healing…maybe he needed to make love as well.
“Take me to my bed,” she whispered against his ear. Then, because it was Ben, she added, “I want you to make me scream.”
He gave her the same searching look she remembered from the club.
She kept her face passive but her eyes sure. “Please.”
He lifted her from the couch, cradling her as if she were wounded. She ran her hand along his tense and bulging muscle and rested her cheek against his chest.
“The door to the right of the entryway,” she directed.
He slipped inside her bedroom, undistracted by the riot of her club clothes and shoes. Tenderly, he released her into her pillows.