by Elle Kennedy
“You’re imagining it.”
I drag my fingers up to her waistband.
She groans and tries to wriggle away from my caress. “I don’t have time for this,” she grumbles.
“Sure you do.”
“I have homework…”
My hands still, because I’m not about to keep going without her consent. I meet her eyes, my tone serious. “If you say the word stop, I’ll stop. If you say the word no, I’ll stop. But you haven’t said either of those words.” I flick up a brow. “So are you saying yes?”
After an interminable long beat, she dips her head in a nod and whispers, “Yes.”
Without another word, I remove her panties and toss them aside. Then I lower my head and place a soft kiss on her clit.
She gasps.
Then sighs.
Then moans.
Fighting back a smile, I kiss her again, and again, and again, until it dawns on me that I’m not out to prove a point anymore. I intended to show her she can’t hide the effect I have on her and prove the attraction between us is mutual. But as I run my tongue over her slick pussy, I forget about all that.
She tastes like heaven. I swirl lazy figure-eights over her clit, savoring the sweet taste of her, groaning against her when she releases a whimper of pleasure and widens her legs. If my cock wasn’t throbbing relentlessly and my head wasn’t buzzing with lust, I might’ve been able to maintain the slow pace.
But I’m painfully, desperately aroused, and all I can do is speed up, suddenly anxious to bring her over the edge and make her scream my name as she comes.
The wish is fulfilled a lot faster than I expected. All it takes is for me to slide one finger deep inside her pussy and suck her clit hard in my mouth, and she shudders with an orgasm so powerful I almost come in my pants.
Maggie isn’t one of those chicks who bites her lip and writhes in silent pleasure. Oh no. She vocalizes every sexy second of her climax. Moaning. Trembling. As the words “Oh fuck” gasp out of her mouth, she tangles her fingers in my hair and locks her thighs around my head.
When she finally whimpers and grows still, I pull back, a satisfied grin on my face and an unsatisfied erection straining against my zipper.
“You don’t play fair,” Maggie murmurs, cheeks flushed, eyes a little glazed.
“Never have,” I say easily. I give her inner thigh a light pinch and hop to my feet. Her disheveled appearance sparks a rush of satisfaction, because I know I’m responsible for it. “All right, Red. Good hustle. I’m hopping into the shower now.” I offer a gracious smile. “You can go ahead and finish your homework.”
14
Maggie
He wants to play games? Is that it? I gape at Ben’s sexy backside as he disappears into the hallway.
What the hell was that? I inhale a deep breath, then stumble off the chair and bend down to retrieve my panties from the floor. I’m still a little stunned by what happened, and more than a little shaky from the exquisite orgasm that just rocked my world.
Ben Barrett made me come in a record-breaking three minutes. He hadn’t asked me what I liked. Hadn’t waited for me to guide him. He simply knew. It doesn’t surprise me. The second I slid into bed with him two nights ago I knew this man possessed the ability to set my body on fire. And he fully took advantage of that ability just now, effectively ensuring that I’d never be able to concentrate on schoolwork now.
It’s hard to stand when my core still throbs from Ben’s orgasmic treatment, but I force myself to my feet. I walk toward the bathroom on wobbly legs, my determination deepening when I hear the shower running.
If he wants to play games, I’m ready to play back. If only to give my aroused body what it wants so I can finish researching my paper without any distractions.
At least that’s what I tell myself as I turn the doorknob and step into the small, steam-filled bathroom. The pink plastic curtain shields Ben from my view, and me from his.
“Are you joining me or what?” His muffled voice breaks through the sound of water flowing.
My nostrils flare. Damn it. I don’t even have the element of surprise on my side. How did he know I’d follow him in here? Is he so arrogant that he just assumed I’d run into the bathroom to get a glimpse of his naked body?
It’s what you did, isn’t it?
I push the annoying reminder out of my head and reach for the edge of the shower curtain. As I pull it open, a billow of steam clouds my vision. When it clears, my eyes focus, and the sight of Ben, wet, hard and naked, is enough to suck all the oxygen out of my lungs.
My brain goes into overload trying to absorb all the delicious little details. Like his smooth, golden skin. And his rippled abs. And his firm, muscular thighs. And his…oh, gosh, his everything.
“You’re letting the cold air in,” he complains.
I swallow, trying to regain my composure. Then I slip my shirt over my head, let it drop to the floor, and step into the shower. The second I do, Ben plants his hands on my bare hips. He pulls me into the stream of water and captures my lips with his.
Hoo-boy. He gives me another one of those rough, drugging kisses, but this time I break lip contact before I can completely lose myself in his kiss.
I lean on my tiptoes and press my lips to his ear so he can hear me over the rush of water. “I don’t like being interrupted from my work,” I say mockingly.
He raises his brow, sending droplets down his aristocratic nose and into the thick stubble on his chin. “Okay. Should I apologize for making you come?”
“No.” I run my hand over his wet chest. One flat, brown nipple hardens beneath my fingers. “I’m just voicing my disapproval.”
“So, what, you crashed my shower to punish me?” One side of his mouth lifts in a crooked grin. His metallic blue eyes smolder when he says the word punish.
“Something like that.”
I glide my hand down his chest and encircle his shaft.
He inhales sharply, eyes narrowing with arousal. Water droplets pool over his upper lip. Feeling bold, I lean forward and lick the moisture off. Then I meet his gaze and offer a crooked grin of my own, before sinking to my knees and taking his cock in my mouth.
This time his jagged intake of breath is followed by a low groan. His hands tangle in my hair, which has matted against my forehead. I push a few wet strands out of my eyes and lick him from base to tip, enjoying his masculine taste.
And unlike Ben, I take my time teasing him. I drag my lips over his tip, sucking, kissing, stroking his balls with my palm. I torture him with long strokes of my tongue and pull back each time he tries to thrust deeper.
His husky moans and the feel of the hot water streaming over my breasts drives me crazy. I clamp my knees together and try to focus on bringing him to the edge, until he tugs at my hair and I look up to meet his heavy-lidded gaze.
“Touch yourself,” he orders, his words hissing through the steam filling the small space. “I want to see you play with yourself.”
I swallow back a whimper and nod. Widening my knees, I press my fingers between my legs and take him in my mouth again. Going slow is no longer an option, not when I can feel Ben watching me as I rub my clit, not when I can feel his thick cock pulsing against my tongue.
We come together, hard, fast. He fills my mouth and I swallow every last drop, while my own orgasm sizzles my nerve endings in a wave of pleasure that numbs every part of my body.
With a ragged groan, Ben gently pushes my head back and sinks to the floor of the tub, looking completely and thoroughly spent. He reaches out and brushes hair out of my eyes, then strokes one of my trembling thighs. “You okay?”
I know I must look like a drowned rat, still shaking from the climax and gasping for air, and I laugh at the concern I see in his eyes. “I’m fine. Numb, but fine.”
He grins. “In case you’re wondering, I’m fine too.”
I glance at his crotch. He’s still sporting an erection, and I’m shocked to feel my nipples harden with des
ire. Ugh, I hate this guy. How is he still hard? And how am I, the person who just experienced my second orgasm in twenty minutes, ready to go again?
I’m not sure what makes me jump to my feet, that startling realization or the sudden change of water temperature, which goes from lukewarm to lukecold. Whatever the reason, I quickly tug on the shower curtain and stumble onto the fluffy pink bathroom mat.
Ben calls my name, but I ignore him.
Two days, I realize as I wrap a bathrobe around my wet body and hurry out of the room. Two days since I’d first met Ben Barrett, two days of allowing him to distract me to no end, and now two orgasms that still haven’t managed to flush the man from my system.
What’s the matter with me?
“What’s the matter with you?” Ben sounds out of breath and annoyed as he marches into my bedroom wearing nothing but a towel.
I tighten the sash of the robe and cross my arms over the thick terrycloth. “Nothing is the matter.”
“So you always sprint out of a room after sex?”
“We didn’t have sex.”
Laughter spurts from his throat. “We came pretty damn close. In fact, we came pretty damn hard.”
My cheeks burn. “But we didn’t cross the line.”
A shadow floats across his face. “I wasn’t even aware there was a line.”
“Well, there is.”
I feel unbearably exposed, standing there in my bathrobe, the hardwood floor icy under my bare feet. And unbelievably confused, because my mouth keeps saying words that make Ben frown and my body keeps berating me for it.
“So this line…” His frown turns into a scowl. “Is it the one that keeps you from having fun?”
“What?”
“You heard me. You crossed over from uptight land to fun world, and now you’re trying to convince yourself what we did was wrong.”
He’s right—I am trying to convince myself we’ve done something wrong. But it has nothing to do with being uptight and everything to do with the way he makes me feel. Tony and I have done things in bed that nobody would ever consider uptight, but not once have I lost my head over Tony. Not once did I choose Tony over studying or finishing an essay.
I’ve seen what happens when you let yourself get sidetracked by a man. Hell, my own mother abandoned me because of a man. But I’m not going to be that stupid. I’m not going to abandon the path I’ve set for myself, or desert my goals and my dreams for some guy. Even one who makes my entire body tremble from one penetrating gaze.
“You think I’m uptight?” I decide to respond to the one remark he’d made that didn’t hit close to home.
“Yep.” He leans one bare shoulder against the doorframe and casts a glare in my direction. “You’re anti-fun, Red.”
Irritation prickles at me. “No, I’m not. I simply have different priorities than you.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means my life doesn’t revolve around fun. I have a job, I have goals, I have responsibilities. Unlike you, I don’t have time to gallivant around or spend a whole day in bed, not if I want to pay my bills.” My jaw tightens. “I’m not as lucky as you, Ben. Twenty million dollars doesn’t just fall out of the sky and into my lap.”
He makes an exasperated sound. “I wasn’t asking you to quit your job, Maggie. Only to let loose and enjoy your day off.”
“Sorry, but I don’t have that luxury. In my life there’s no such thing as a day off.”
Shaking his head, he edges away from the doorway. “Wow. Sounds like you lead a mighty fulfilling life,” he cracks before disappearing into the hall.
“Ben,” I call after him.
His footsteps stop. “Yeah?”
I sigh. “You should probably look for a hotel.”
15
Maggie
After I’ve gotten dressed and brushed my hair, I enter the living room to find it empty. The only signs of life come from the television Ben left on. Some entertainment show silently flashes across the screen.
He left without saying goodbye.
It shouldn’t bother me, but it does.
“You’re the one who told him to find a hotel,” I mutter to myself. I collapse on the couch, stretching out my legs to rest my feet on the coffee table.
Right about now, every female in America would be screaming vile things at me if they knew I sent Ben Barrett away. But to hell with them. I’m too busy to be playing hookup games with some egomaniac celebrity. I have way more important things to do.
Growing up, I never felt like I belonged. At school, I was a loner. At home, I was invisible. I was passed up for adoption so many times I’d given up on ever finding someone who truly cared about me. It was like being the last person picked for a game of softball. Standing there as everyone around you got picked one by one, feeling humiliated and unloved, as useless as a piece of trash on the sidewalk. Only the stakes were higher than a silly sports game. It was about a child not being good enough to have parents.
It wasn’t until I started studying social work and working with kids that I finally found a place where I fit in. I found my identity at the youth center. It’s where I developed this hunger to help kids and ensure they grow up feeling like they matter. It took me years to get past the pain and resentment of being abandoned—I don’t want any of the kids I work with to ever feel as alone as I have.
So what if it means putting relationships on hold for a while? I won’t be single forever, just until I graduate and find a good job. Then I’ll go out and do what other women my age do. I’ll date and flirt and maybe even get married. Other Ben Barretts will come along. It isn’t like saying goodbye to this one will have life-altering effects—
“The ladies love Ben Barrett!”
I yelp when a cheerful female voice breaks through the dismal silence in the room. Shifting, I feel the remote control dig into my butt and realize I accidentally pressed un-mute when I moved my legs.
I yank the remote from under me but can’t bring myself to shut off the TV. Not when Ben’s ridiculously sexy face mocks me from the screen. It’s like driving past a gory car crash. You just can’t look away.
“Bad boy Barrett might be stirring up some scandals recently, but the Heart of a Hero star still manages to stir up the ladies.”
No kidding.
“Shanika Thomas, our New York correspondent, spent the day in the Big Apple chatting with Barrett’s fans, who don’t seem to mind all the negative attention their favorite action hero is receiving. In fact, it’s unanimous—we all love him.”
“Oh my God, Ben is sooooo cute!” a fan giggles into Shanika Thomas’ microphone. “I don’t care if he, like, slept with a married woman. He’s still hot!”
“I’m a married woman and he can sure sleep with me,” another fan remarks with a laugh. She lowers her voice. “Just don’t tell my husband I said that.”
“I don’t know who his new girlfriend is,” someone else sighs. “But I’d go to a hotel with Ben Barrett any night of the week!”
“Well, there you have it,” Shanika chirps into the mic. “Scandalous or not, it looks like Ben continues to scandalize the hearts of his fans.”
Scandalize the hearts? What does that even mean?
Rolling my eyes, I shut off the TV. A second later, I hear the front door swing open.
I hop off the couch, startled, then relax slightly when Ben enters the apartment. “Oh,” I blurt out. “You’re still here?”
“Sure am.”
He strides toward me, dropping a set of keys—my keys—on the hall table before approaching the living area. He holds a large paper bag with splotches of grease at the bottom of and steam rising from the top.
“I went out and got us some Chinese food. I don’t like pizza all that much.”
“But…”
“You asked me to leave?” He cocks a brow. “That’s not going to happen, Mags.”
I bristle at his use of the nickname. “Why not?”
“Because you
like me. And I happen to like you.”
“I also like Joe the hot dog vendor. Doesn’t mean I’m going to let him move in with me and turn my life upside down.”
“Who said anything about moving in with you?” He flops down on the couch, sets the bag on the coffee table and shoots me a look that says you don’t understand me at all.
Um, I don’t understand him. He’s Ben Barrett, for God’s sake. After watching a two-minute TV segment on him, I’m pretty sure he could walk out of here and have five phone numbers in his pocket before he even leaves the building.
So why the hell is he still here?
“All I want to do is spend some time with you,” he adds. “And if you’re honest, you’ll admit you want to spend time with me.”
“Ben—”
He silences me by raising a hand, and like an obedient third-grader, my jaw slams shut.
“I have a proposition for you,” he announces, a grin tugging on one side of his mouth.
Wariness circles me. “What kind of proposition?”
“I’ll have sex with you if you let me stay here a while.”
Wait. What?
With a pleasant expression, he begins removing items from the take-out bag. He carefully places each cardboard container on the table. He reaches into the bag for the napkins and cutlery.
I stare at him.
Obviously I misheard him, because no way did he just offer to sleep with me in exchange for room and board.
Yeah… I’m not even humoring this one.
I shift my suspicions to the feast he’s laying out on the table. I told him to check into a hotel, and instead he’s come back with that cocky attitude and a bag of Chinese food that smells so damn good and makes my empty stomach growl in anticipation.
“Gimme that,” I grumble, grabbing the carton of egg rolls from his hands.