Daring You

by Ketley Allison

  I’m bracing for his next words, and I repeat them in my head at the same time he says them.

  “I want to testify.”

  29

  Ben

  When I put on a suit the next day and stand in front of my mirror, adjusting my basic, navy tie, I stare at the boy I would’ve been.

  If I’d grown up as Ryan Delaney in a working class home, with parents grinding their fingers to the bone to provide for me, I wonder if I would’ve been the same.

  Tim and Rose Delaney loved me. They cared in the way that doting parents do—I remember being fed with clean clothes, given a room with toys, Mom kissing me at bedtime, bath time, and whenever the urge struck her. Dad throwing his arm around my shoulders while we were on the couch, screaming at the TV during Sunday Night Football.

  The Donahues are upper-class. Mom quit her job to raise me. I had apple slices and cookies ready every time I came home from school, making my buddies extremely jealous. I never requested apple juice. I’m wondering if maybe, I refused it.

  Both sets of parents started off with one thing: love for a little boy. One set was given the gift; the other had it cruelly ripped away.

  As I blink at my reflection in the mirror, locking my jaw from displaying any further emotion, I hope the Delaneys would be proud of me, and proud of the Donahues for raising me the way they did.

  I blow out a breath as it hits me that I’m going to have to talk to Mom and Pops at some point about all this. And I really don’t know where to start.

  “How about, I love you. Start there,” I murmur to the mirror.

  My legs get jittery. I do a shuffle, exactly like I do in the locker room before a big game, shaking out my arms, my legs, dispelling the tense energy in my neck.

  This is the biggest game of my life.

  Astor said she’d meet me downtown, so I take a car there and once I arrive, I’m ushered through security. It’s 6 a.m. and the building is sparse, exactly what’s intended.

  The arrangements occurred shortly after Astor and I’s meet yesterday. I had to cut happy hour short with Ash and East, but they didn’t seem to mind. Carter and Sophie had joined us at that point. They seemed a group ready to swig shots when I left, making it easy to duck out without raising suspicion.

  Astor texted me long into the night, and kept me on the phone for a while, detailing what the next morning will bring. She also had to contact Aiden and present a formal request to interview. These people didn’t want to waste any time—at least, that’s what Astor says. And she’s my expert right now. She’s my fucking knight in shining armor.

  I want to be hers.

  Grunting the thought out of my consciousness, I find her waiting for me at the reception desk, in front of an intimidating glass wall.

  A few people are striding back and forth on the carpeted hallway on the other side, carrying folders and mugs and shit like that.

  I’m staring straight at the competitor’s playbook, Astor’s prepped me enough to know each and every move the other side’s gonna make. I should be pumped and about to explode.

  “You ready?” she asks as I approach.

  “Glass is see-through. I see everything going on back there. Suits scurrying around. Why’s it so intimidating when I see what’s coming?”

  “You’re nervous.”

  “Fucking right I am.”

  She cups both sides of my face and holds me steady within her bright, bold blue eyes. “I’ve explained everything that will happen in there. There will be no surprises.”

  “My whole life is a surprise.”

  “Then it’s finally within your control,” she replies without a hitch.

  I nod. “I’m ready.”

  “Good. Follow me.”

  I swamp the beanpole men that scamper out of our way as Astor leads me to where this deposition is going to happen. I assume it’s the spot where the Assistant District Attorney, Spencer Rolfe, is standing, arms folded behind him like he’s a butler or an assassin. I can’t tell which.

  “Mr. Donahue,” he says, holding out his hand. “I can’t tell you how relieved I am you’ve agreed to this.”

  “It’s my only choice,” I say honestly.

  Rolfe nods. He’s as tall as me, with much blonder hair and features most chicks would call “chiseled” instead of muscular. I don’t know if I like him.

  “And Astor.” Rolfe directs his attention on her. “You’re putting a lot on the line, giving me the lead on this instead of Yang.”

  Astor looks at me when she says, “I have no regrets.”

  “Okay, then,” Rolfe says. He pushes open the door to an old-fashioned, lots of wood, conference room with bulky, black leather chairs. Aiden sits in the center, appearing grumpy, tired, annoyed and resigned. A mirror image of myself, in fact.

  “Let’s get started,” Rolfe says.

  One foot in, and I’m prepared to face the fiery Armageddon of my past.

  Four hours later, and my mom and dad’s last night, my real-life nightmare, is documented in a computer, ready to be printed out and handed to the other side, potentially to be used at trial.

  “Your name will never be on the pages,” Astor says as she puts her blazer back on.

  The small amount of people in the conference room—Rolfe, the court reporter, and Aiden, have left.

  I forgot to tell Astor how beautiful she looks. As soon as I saw her this morning, in tailored black skirt and a pale pink blouse, I thought, She’s waiting for me.

  And Astor stayed with me, all throughout this grueling process.

  “I don’t fucking deserve you,” I say to her now.

  Astor freezes with one arm through her blazer. A surge of conflict flows through her expression before she says, “It’s the least I could do, Ben, after the shitshow I caused.”

  “No. Don’t do that.”

  “I’m not doing anything.”

  “You are. You’re going all professional on me.”

  She gestures around us. “That’s exactly the kind of environment we’re in.”

  “Last time we were in an official environment, I fucked you from behind.”

  Astor’s eyes go wide and she shushes me as if we have eavesdroppers, when we’ve just been put in the most secure place possible, other than maybe a bank’s underground vault. And thank God, I laugh. Chuckle hard. Get out all the pain and emotion from the memories I was forced to bring forth in a few single, loud guffaws.

  “What’s the matter with you?” she asks.

  “Truth? I don’t fucking know anymore. But all I want is to get out of here somewhere, with you.”

  She hesitates, but I sense sadness behind her eventual smile. “I got nowhere else to be, so just choose the place.”

  “You’re gonna lose your job over this, aren’t you.” It’s not a question.

  Astor waves my statement off. “I was meant to leave it long before Ryan Delaney came along.”

  “You got a place with me,” I say.

  She looks at me questioningly.

  “There’s a lot I have to do now. Talk to my parents—my living ones. Deal with whatever’s gonna happen with…all this.” I include the conference room, and what went on in it. “Figure out what to say to Locke, my buddies. Decide whether or not to throttle your ex. Worry over whether your boss is going to out me, or if I need to pack up my shit if that drug guy, Chavez, ever finds out.”

  “They can’t—won’t,” Astor cuts in. “Not with the amount of protection the DOJ has put on you.”

  “See, there you go again,” I say with a sad smile.

  “I…I’m not sure what you’re getting at.”

  “You’re always stating the facts as you see ‘em,” I clarify. “When what I see, is a woman who I want by my side. Always.”

  She shakes her head on an uncomfortable laugh. “This has been a lot of trauma. I can’t imagine how it was for you, talking about what happened…”

  “A fucking night terror. That’s what it was. Apparently something I
suffered from as a child long before the murders. But you are my light, Astor. Hell if I couldn’t see it—it’s in your fucking name. Ever since I met you, you were meant to be in my life. I was meant to have you here today. If you weren’t around, I don’t know what would’ve become of Ryan Delaney, but I do know what would’ve happened to me.”

  I rise, meeting her in a stand and holding her hand, loosely.

  “I’m not Ben Donahue without you,” I say in a low voice.

  “That’s…” When Astor finally meets my eyes, hers are filling with tears. “Oh God, Ben…”

  “Hey,” I say, and pull her to me. Astor finds her spot, burying her face in my button-down. “I’m not sure if I’m breaking your heart or making you happy right now, honey.”

  “Both,” her muffled voice says into my shirt. “Goddamnit, both.”

  She sniffs, and I hold her tighter, stroking her.

  “We’ve both been through a lot of shit, huh?” I say into her hair. “How about we give it a break and just be for a while.”

  She nods. “Yes. I’d like that.”

  Gently, I rest my hands on her shoulders and drift apart from her. “Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

  Instead of letting go, Astor surprises me by pulling my mouth onto hers.

  Her tongue catches mine, I tilt my head against hers to catch the deep, soul-shattering kiss. So stunning, she scores my lips, like a star shining into my body, the light shriveling all the black tumors harboring within my spirit for so, so long.

  And we drift off together, just kissing.

  Just being.

  30

  Astor

  I wait for Ben this time.

  No impulsiveness, no ultimatums, no demanding a quickie against random pieces of furniture. I want him. All of him, and I want him to take his time with me.

  We take a car to my place from the neutral office designated by U.S. Marshal Aiden Watts and the prosecution’s office, leaving its impartial structure and the terrifying facts that were spoken within its walls, behind.

  Lunchtime traffic is at its peak, and I fidget against the leather in the back seat, swollen and uncomfortable from our kiss.

  Ben’s gaze cuts sideways, and I see the partial curve of a smile before his large, calloused hand whisks against my stockinged thigh. His fingers tap, explore, and slide up my skirt.

  I’m about to whisper a shocked objection, but Ben lifts his other hand to his mouth, putting a finger against it and miming shhhh.

  I feel the curl of movement under my skirt, the hook of his index finger as he finds my sensitive spot even through tights and underwear.

  Choking on a moan, I pretend to adjust myself in the seat, praying the driver keeps his eyes forward.

  “Take a load off for a while,” Ben says, his grin all pompous and arrogant. “Tilt your head back, close your eyes…”

  All the while he’s rubbing against my clit, my hips undulating in time to his every beckoning finger-twist.

  I do as he suggests, otherwise I’m going to orgasm with my eyes popping open and riveted to the rearview mirror, hoping the guy doesn’t meet my stare.

  “Ben…” I whisper, oh-so-quietly.

  “Yeah, hun?”

  “Don’t…”

  He bends closer, his nose almost hitting my ear. “Don’t what?”

  “Don’t stop.”

  Ben’s lips quirk against my tendrils of hair. “Wasn’t gonna.”

  I stifle another moan. Dig my nails into the thick leather as an orgasm hits me right as we’re pulling up to my apartment. Ben nips at my ear, then draws away.

  “Th-thank you,” I stutter to the driver, and it’s all I can do not to topple out into the winter cold.

  “Easy,” Ben says through his laughter as he comes around the back of the car. “I got you.”

  “I think you just ruined my Uber rating,” I say, but take his proffered arm. My legs are annoyingly wobbly and appeased at the same time.

  “Knowing you, you probably screwed over that star rating long ago.”

  “I object to that.”

  “Fine. Just don’t object to what I want to do to you as soon as we hit your bedroom.”

  My stomach does a little whoop of delight at the promise, and we rush past security, bang hard on the UP button of the elevator, and impatiently wait for it to shoot us to the right floor so I can be shot into the galaxy.

  We can’t keep our hands off each other.

  Kissing, pulling at clothes, tripping over each other’s feet, we make it down the hallway and to my door. I fumble for keys and hurl it open as we fumble inside.

  I’ve had enough of Ben’s buttons. I rip at the shirt, exposing his delicious, carved pecs, and he slips both that and his blazer off his body and onto the floor.

  “Tit for tat,” he says, then tears open my blouse. “Oh, definitely tits.”

  He pulls at the lace of my bra, tucking the cups under my breasts and refusing to waste time unclasping it.

  Sucking, pulling, twirling, biting, both my breasts are getting equal attention as Ben guides me backwards to the bedroom.

  This time, throwing my head back seems natural.

  Ben’s hands cup my waist, almost encasing me whole, and lifts me up before laying me across the bed. The weight of him is welcomed as he lays on top of me, taking his time on my lips, my neck, the sensitive line of my jaw.

  I scramble for his pants, dragging my fingers along the taut muscle of his stomach, the gorgeous lines of his abs, until I find what I want and start peeling his pants away.

  My hand curls around his dick and I stroke, eliciting succulent groans heavy against my ear.

  “Pants. All the way off,” I gasp.

  Ben rises on his elbows, staring at me frankly. “What did you promise? No demands. You’re all mine, for as long as I want.”

  My answer is to writhe underneath him. And possibly frown like a spoiled child not getting her way.

  Ben smiles. Stands and kicks off his pants and boxers, until I see the full daylight of him, as stunning as the night I had him in college.

  I don’t care about the burns. They’re a part of him, a swirl of tragedy against the skin able to withstand it.

  Rising until I’m sitting, I trail my fingers across his hip, drinking in the scars, a lot like I wasn’t allowed to in college.

  Ben grips my wrist, exactly like he did that night.

  But…this time, he guides me. Traces his burns with my fingers, grazing the pads along the bubbles and ridges of his tale of survival. He moves me to his arm, and we trace the burns there. I touch every part of him that was torn open and eaten by fire.

  As if my touch were a healing balm.

  I’m so riveted by the motions, the feel of him against my hand, that when I meet his eyes, I’m shocked to find them locked onto my face.

  “You know all of me, now,” he says.

  I swallow. And nod. I don’t flinch as he lets go of my wrist and reaches for my face, tracing the light pock marks on my cheek.

  “You’ve known all of me for a long time,” I say.

  “Yes.” His thumb strokes my cheekbone. “And you’re as beautiful as the day I met you.”

  I blink back tears. This moment doesn’t need them. “And so are you, Ben.”

  Ben lightly pushes me back against the mattress. Strips off my skirt, then peels down my tights, kissing the exposed skin of my thighs and legs along the way.

  He rises to lie on top of me again, both of us fully exposed. Keeps my gaze as he slides into me, excruciatingly slowly. Smiles when I bite my lower lip.

  I clench at the feel of him, unwilling to let him leave, since this is what makes me whole. He dips his head, watching as he lifts out, then drives in again. I bury my fingers in the skin of his ass—if I’m not allowed to demand that he stay, then I can sure as hell make it clear in other ways.

  He groans, and I feel his exhale on my nipples. Goosebumps take up the tingle and scatter every which way along my body, from my
knees to my collarbone, collecting into a swirl at my center, building, building…

  Flying.

  My hands clench against Ben’s body as he takes me to the sky, his movements faster as he buries himself as deep as he can go inside me and then retreats, over and over, until we’re both blind from ecstatic torture.

  “I’m gonna come…” I say. “Ben, I’m gonna come.”

  He lifts to his hands, then straightens and digs his fingers into my hips, pounding harder.

  “Oh my God, I love you,” I say, my head thrown back as far as it can go, chin tilted to the ceiling.

  The crescendo comes and I can’t make sound as my body spirals and explodes. Ben keeps fucking me through the pleasure, joining the ride.

  His muscles tense and bulge as he comes. He grabs my jaw, jerking my gaze to his so I can see the moment he lets go, so we can stay connected, when he spills inside of me.

  Ben collapses on me, both our chests and stomachs heaving, but he gathers enough remaining stamina to whisper against my ear. “Say it to me again.”

  I don’t need to ask what. And I don’t need to hesitate. “I love you. I’ve loved you a long time, Ben Donahue. Even when I hated you, I loved you.”

  He turns his head into my neck and presses his lips against my skin. “I love you too, my obstinate, amazing, ridiculously impossible gorgeous girl.”

  My fingers press into the his shoulder blades. “Ben, what are we going to do?”

  “About telling our friends?” He lifts his head. “Or about your boss and company knowing who I am? Or about the drug kingpin learning my identity?”

  “Oh, God.” But I burst out in laughter, because what other alternative is there? Sob? Scream in fear?

  “We’re in the fucking thick of it,” he says.

  “But together, right?”

  Ben finds my hand above my head and laces his fingers through mine. “You’re damned right.”

  Ben showers with me, and we have slick, soaking hot sex against the tiles, his dick sliding into me with my back against the chilled marble, then bent over, with my hands squeaking down the glass partition.