by Watson, Lucy
“This what you want?” The humor in his gravelly voice is gone.
“Yes,” I manage to say between heavy breaths. I can’t help but move my hips against his hand. With a sound low in his throat, he slides his fingers under the side of my panties.
His magic fingers.
“Oh my god,” I say on a trembling breath.
“So fucking beautiful,” he growls, with his calloused fingers moving over my most sensitive bit in deft rhythmic strokes.
His breaths match my own, the pressure of his fingers increasing, his focus on the sensitive bundle of nerves lasting longer with each stroke.
I freaking love his fingers.
I grip onto his shoulders, moving against his hand, desperate to pull what’s building closer.
“Fuck,” he curses harshly, then roughly tugs my panties farther to the side and thrusts his strong finger inside me, filling me fully as I arch my back.
“Can’t tell you how long I’ve wanted to feel you like this,” he whispers as he pumps his finger inside me, his thumb moving against my sweet spot.
His intense gaze slices from what he’s doing, to my face, then back—like he wants to see everything at once.
“Ben…” I gasp out, feeling hot and dizzy, losing my words to sensation.
He adds another thick finger with a grunt and pumps mercilessly while sucking on my nipple, his teeth scraping, his tongue licking, his beard scratching.
Then he’s at my mouth, our heavy breaths crashing against each other. I hold tight to him, moving my hips, trying to sate this ache growing between my legs, feeling the first spark of an orgasm.
“That’s it, babe,” he whispers against my lips as the pressure of his fingers increases, the pace speeds.
I move my hand between us, sliding it past his hard abs, under his jeans, wanting to take him there with me. To make him feel as good as he’s making me feel.
He sucks in a sharp breath as I slide my fingers past his slick, damp tip down the hard, velvety length of him. I stroke as much as his jeans will allow. His erection pulses against my hand. Our tongues meet, but we’re too lost in sensation to fully kiss.
He nips at my bottom lip. “Fuck, Emelia.” My name spoken in his deep growl against my mouth causes every nerve to pull tight, tighter…
He moves to my ear, scraping my lobe between his teeth, groaning. My inner thighs tremble and quake. His hooded gaze slams into mine. It’s a demand to give him what he wants. His thumb moves with more pressure, his fingers go deeper, quicker.
“Ben.” I think I say his name out loud, but I’m not sure.
So close…
I feel his erection jump in my hand. Another deep moan from him, and that’s all it takes to push me over the edge. I cry out as my body snaps with an explosion of pleasure, crashing against me in pulsing waves. My vision blurs as I try to hold onto his moonlit gaze. I tremble with the intensity of it, clamping down around his moving fingers.
He rests his damp forehead on mine. “Fuck, Shortcake, I could come just looking at you like this.”
I ride the waves of pleasure, tingling with aftershocks. His erection jumps against my hand again. I stroke his length desperate to make him feel good. He hisses between clenched teeth, and shoots a hand to my arm, stilling me.
“Not gonna come in my fucking pants, babe.” He gives me a quick deep kiss and stands from the bed.
Silver moonlight plays in the shadows of his muscles. I want to be the one to take off his clothes, but I can’t move, so focused on what’s about to happen, I’m paralyzed.
He strips from his jeans, his gray boxer briefs pulled tight around his erection. As he strips from those too, hot lust shoots through my veins, flushing my skin. I’ve never seen anything as sexy as his heavy erection bobbing free.
He bends down and grabs his wallet, pulling out a condom, quickly tearing the wrapper, and sliding it on.
I try not to think about who he would’ve used that condom on. Or how many times he’s pulled one from his wallet. Or how many girls have seen him this way. Felt him this way.
I try not to think about anything except this moment.
Him and me.
Us.
I slide off my panties.
The bed dips with his weight as he climbs toward me. I let my legs fall open, and then some, to accommodate him. He moves into place, where I want him, where I need him to be.
“You good?” His hooded gaze holds mine. He’s giving me a chance to change my mind.
“So good,” I say, breathless, as I run my fingers over his chest and scars, feeling tense muscles twitch beneath them. I can’t help but think that maybe we survived our nightmares, so we can have this.
Us.
He gives me a tender half-smile that fills my heart. I reach up and run my fingers along his jaw. I want to tell him that this isn’t just sex for me. That it’s more. So much more. But the words are lodged in my throat, so I just return his smile.
He grabs my hand in his bandaged one and places a gentle kiss to the palm, then moves it above my head and trails kisses down my neck, his beard rough and scratchy, his lips soft, his tongue hot. I clutch his neck with my other hand as he shifts his broad shoulders and reaches down and guides his not-so-small tip along my entrance, nudging where I crave it most.
His dark eyes find mine, holding them captive in the moonlight, making this already intense moment… something more, something as dangerous as it is beautiful.
I dig my nails into his neck, and my breath catches, feeling him push inside. I open my legs wider as the sweetest ache builds, as he slowly stretches me…
His kisses are deep and wet as he fills me.
Inch by inch.
A hot flush spreads across my chest. His muscles tremble with restraint.
He breaks the kiss with a swift intake of air as he bottoms out. His bandaged grip on my hand turns almost painful.
“I’ve imagined you like this, Shortcake. But fuck if I thought you’d feel this good,” he says on a shaky breath, falling forward to rest his arms on either side of my head.
He lets go of my hand, grips my hair. His Zest-and-motor-oil-scent skyrockets my desire.
Then he’s kissing me again as he gently rolls his hips. Waves of tingly pleasure move through me. I gasp against his tongue. He rolls again. And steals my moan with another kiss, tongue, lips and teeth, then thrusts into me with a groan. My heels dig into his ass.
He thrust harder, and I bite my lip at the sharp pleasure that pulses through me.
“Christ,” he curses on a pant. I feel him straining to hold back, feel him throb inside me. I know he’s trying to be gentle, not wanting to give me too much too fast.
“Don’t stop, please,” I moan. Giving him permission to let go. To take me where he wants. Fuck me like he wants.
I shove my fingers into his short, silky-soft hair, rocking my hips against him.
He pushes up on his arms. I grip the swell of his biceps, and his eyes lock with mine and then he pumps, slow and deep. My breasts jostle with the force of it. I lift my head from the pillow.
His face is fierce with pleasure. A look I put there.
I’m making noises I’ve never heard come from my throat before.
He feels so good, so right.
Then he shifts his weight, moving my leg over his wide shoulder, his intense gaze holding mine.
“You were fucking made for me,” he says on heavy breaths.
I’m too lost to speak.
Each thrust in and out is gaining momentum.
Unbelievably fucking deep.
Hitting hidden places inside me.
My panting moans fill the room. His thrusts increase. His fingers dig harder into my flesh. Then with a brutal thrust his hips still, and every beautiful muscle in his body flexes, impossibly tight.
“I’m not going to last, babe,” he pants with a short thrust. “You feel too fucking good.”
I want him to lose control.
I want to be th
e one to do that to him.
“Don’t stop,” I whimper, circling my hips, urging him to give into this, to me. “Please.”
“If you keep moving like that… Shit.” He growls and falls forward giving me a kiss full of passion and desire while he rolls his hips hard and deep.
Ecstasy slams across my body.
I kiss him back. It’s sloppy and wet, and so fucking erotic.
Then his fingers are at my sweet spot, working me, pulling me tighter. I swallow his grunts and groans, giving him some of my own as he pumps his hips.
His mouth parts and hovers over mine, as his thrusts become urgent, deep and shallow, hard and fast, all at once consuming me.
“Come with me,” he grunts.
His words set me off and I’m there. I cry out as blinding pleasure like nothing I’ve ever felt shoots through my body down to my toes.
Ben groans sexy and low, his rhythmic thrusts go offbeat as he chases his own pleasure.
“Jesus,” he growls with deep, erratic pump of his hips.
Then he grunts through each deep thrust, again, again, again, “Fuck.” He slams into me as his mouth crashes down on mine in an open-mouthed, sloppy kiss, a low guttural sound vibrating from his throat as he comes.
The feeling of his erection pulsing inside me is the single most erotic thing I’ve ever experienced.
With a low content hum, he lowers his body to my chest, skin to skin. I feel his heart pounding, his breaths coming in sharp pants against my neck.
I run my fingers through his soft hair, looking to the shadows on the ceiling. I don’t even care that the sheen of salty sweat coating his stomach is burning my scrapes. You could set me on fire, and I wouldn’t let go. Not yet.
He pushes up onto his forearms, his eyes sated, holding mine. Then his face melts into a smile that steals my helium heart from the sky and claims it as its own.
“Fuck, babe,” he says, and gives me a sweet kiss. Then he pulls his softening length from me and climbs off the bed. I watch as the perfect globes of his ass disappear out of the bedroom.
A mix of battling emotions rush through me. I force them all back. Nope. I’ll think about this shit tomorrow. Right now, all I want to think about was how I just had the best sex of my life with the most gorgeous specimen of man on the planet. Me, Emelia Anderson, just had mind-blowing sex with Benjamin Crawford.
You’re in love with him, Emelia…
It may not be love.
It’s love…
It could be lust.
It’s love…
Ben walks back in, carrying a towel in his hand and another one slung over his shoulder, looking more relaxed than I’ve ever seen him. I half-expected to see an arrogant, gloating Ben, a guy who knows he just gave me the best sex of my life and can’t wait to throw it in my face.
Maybe I was hoping for that Ben.
So much easier to guard my heart when he’s acting like a jerk.
He kneels on the bed. “Spread your legs for me, Shortcake,” he orders with a tired smile tugging his full lips.
Fuck. It’s love. The dangerous kind.
I hesitate for a second, then let my legs fall open, and the warm, wet towel moves along all my sensitive bits, even bits that make me blush. Then he maneuvers the towel and runs it down my legs to my feet.
“You don’t have to.” I go to move my foot, not wanting him to catch Ebola.
“I want to take care of you.”
“Okay.” My voice sounds small. I can’t remember the last time someone said those words to me.
He grabs the towel slung over his shoulder and moves it to my stomach, gently cleaning the scrapes. I also can’t remember the last time someone took care of me like this.
Ben tosses the towels in the hamper, then starts to pull the covers so I’m under them. I help by lifting my jello body. Then he’s under the covers beside me, snaking his arm under my neck, pulling my head to his chest. I snuggle him. He makes a damn good body pillow. His scent mixes with the smell of our sex lingering in the room. His breaths fall into a deep rhythm.
“Are you asleep?”
“Not yet,” he slurs, looking down at me with heavy lids over glossy eyes. “What’s up?”
“You’ve pictured us having sex before?” I don’t know why I have to know that, have to hear him say it, but I do. Maybe because he said I’m not his type. Maybe because I believed him. Maybe because I hope he lied.
He gives me a tired chuckle. “Fuck, babe, I’ve been jacking off to you since I found you ass-up in my bed looking for your vibrator.” He gives another small chuckle. “You even caught me once.”
I lift my head up at that, shocked by his words. “No, I didn’t. When?”
“You did. And I’m not telling.”
I grin. “You have to tell me. Please.”
“In the shower. When you stole back your grandma underwear. Underwear which I have in my possession, by the way.”
I think back, to the moan I thought was a tired groan coming from the shower. The thought of him doing that, thinking about me, has a small laugh bubbling from my lips.
“You found them?” The fact that he even looked for them widens my smile.
“Yup,” he says, actually sounding fucking proud of himself.
“You’re so weird,” I laugh.
“Yup.”
There’s a short pause. I know I’m on limited time before we both drift off, so I finish, “Tonight was”—beautiful, amazing, mind-blowing—“great.” I rest my head back into the crook of his arm, wrapping my arm around his warm chest.
“Yeah, it was.” His heavy hand blankets my arm.
“Good night, Ben.”
“Good night, Shortcake,” he says. Then he gives my head a gentle kiss before resting back on the pillow with a heavy sigh.
That kiss seals my fate.
I know then, without a doubt, I’m head over heels in love with Benjamin Crawford: stealer of parachute panties, bringer of orgasms, giver of gentle goodnight kisses.
All I can hope for now is that if I’m expecting it, it won’t hurt so bad when he breaks my heart.
Or maybe it will hurt more.
Or maybe he’ll love you back…
Shut up and go to sleep.
My eyes drift shut as I snuggle closer to his warm, naked body.
Or maybe he’ll love me back.
23
Forget me Not
Last week, I woke up naked in an empty bed with my “engagement ring” back on my finger, which I thought was a sign of something.
I lay there snuggled against sheets that smelled like us, looking at the ring with a mind-blowing-sex-and-maybe-love afterglow casting a new light on it.
Then Ben sauntered in with shower-damp hair and stole that glow with a tight please-don’t-get-clingy smile as he tossed his towel into the hamper.
Fucking glow thief.
I knew then that the ring on my finger was just a returned item I’d asked him to hold and it would never be something else.
Ben warned me that he couldn’t give me more than this—this, being nightly hot marathon sex. Sex that I kept telling myself was a mistake. A mistake I made every night, my stomach fluttering as I pretended to be asleep waiting for him to come to bed, which after a day of polite smiles and one-syllable answers, he always did. Then he’d rock my world—slow, hard, fast, deep—and maybe I rocked his world a little too. Then we’d fall asleep in each other’s arms. Sometimes I was his body pillow, and sometimes he was mine, but whatever position we ended up in, there was always a “Goodnight, Ben” followed by a “Good night, Shortcake.”
Followed by a gentle kiss.
Except for last night.
Last night I forced myself to sleep on the couch.
Forced myself to think about the one-way plane ticket sitting in my inbox. Forced myself to think about starting over back where I started from. Forced myself to let go of what could’ve been and accept what is.
Did that stop me from lying a
wake most of the night, hoping to hear his heavy footfalls down the hall? Hoping that he’d give me a reason to hold on? No, it did not. Turns out Ben’s right, I am a slow learner.
“Emelia, dear… Dear…”
My eyes flash from my cold coffee to Betsy sitting across the kitchen table, holding out a reception-menu card for me to take. A menu prepared by Winston, for a pretend wedding Ben was supposed to call off weeks ago. I can’t say I blame him for that one, though. Betsy is really freaking good at her job, meaning things have been moving along like wildfire.
On the upside, since people got word she was doing a Crawford Wedding, she’s been bombarded with requests from other couples and has already booked a wedding in June, which means she’ll keep that sparkle in her eyes after I’m gone, which makes me happy.
I give her a shaky smile and take the menu with my newly Mara-manicured fingers. “Sorry, I just kinda zoned out. The menu sounds awesome.”
“I think the carving station is a nice touch,” she adds, her eyes bright.
“Totally,” I say, trying to match her enthusiasm.
Her gaze holds mine for a moment before a wistful smile tugs on her thin lips. Her hand reaches for mine, and she takes my cold, clammy one in her warm, dry one.
I’m going to miss her too.
“It’s perfectly normal to have nerves before the big day, dear.” She gives my hand a squeeze and sits back. Her eyes crinkle in a happy memory. “I was a nervous wreck before my wedding,” she says with an easy chuckle. “Even thought about joining the Amish. God knows why, but it seemed like a good idea at the time. George said if that’s what I wanted, then off we’d go, bless his heart.”
Note to self: look into the Amish acceptance rate.
“I’m pretty sure if I told Ben I wanted to join the Amish, he’d buy me a bus ticket and off I’d go.” My laugh is dry and humorless because the truth is a dry, humorless bitch.
She tilts her head thoughtfully. “I think you might be surprised, dear. The way he looks at you…” She leans forward with a secret smile. “Let’s just say, I’ve planned hundreds of weddings, and I’ve never seen a groom look at his bride-to-be the way Ben looks at you.” She sits back in her chair, seeming satisfied with her observation.