by Skyla Madi
I pull his jacket tighter around me. I didn’t know he was in the army…
“You can play your games as much as you want, Sera, but you cannot get rid of me.” His dark, gravelly tone makes me shiver. “I’ll be there, right behind you, until your father buries a bullet in my skull.”
I peer at him. “And that doesn’t scare you?”
“What?”
“My father…when he finds out what we did?”
Ben’s jaw flexes as he ponders, and the longer he holds me in his thoughtful gaze, the faster my heart beats.
“No.”
“He’ll kill you.”
“Maybe, but that won’t erase what we did.”
I tap my manicured fingers against my knees, watching as the bright colors of Vegas reflect in the clear acrylic.
“Do you regret what we did?” A stupid question, but I ask it anyway.
We were both wasted that night. I don’t remember all of it, but the snippets I do still set my blood on fire. Ben Campbell knows his way around a woman, that’s obvious. He’s had a hundred women, probably. I bet I barely made a blip on his radar.
When he doesn’t answer, I muster the courage to look at him. He’s watching me, one hand closed tightly around the handle to the arm rest.
“Do you?” he counters and, dare I say, his voice is almost sad.
I open my mouth and the words I was going to say become trapped in my throat as James lowers the partition. “We’re going home, right, Miss?”
“Yes, thank you, James.”
With an impatient sigh, Ben mutters under his breath and closes the partition.
“I guess neither of us remembers enough of that night to truly form an opinion.”
“Speak for yourself.”
I cut my eyes at him. “You drank as much as I did.”
Ben’s full lips twitch at the corners and he fights one of those smiles I like so much. “I’m curious to hear how you think the night panned out since you’re already wrong.”
“Wrong?” I turn on the seat, facing him front on.
“Yeah, wrong. You outdrank me a hundred to one.”
I frown. “No, I didn’t.”
“Whatever helps you sleep at night.”
“That’s not how I remember it,” I argue. “Next you’re going to tell me that I threw myself at you? That going back to Chad’s suite was my idea?”
Ben leans close, his eyes glistening with delight. “Yes, you did throw yourself at me. No, it wasn’t your idea to go back to Chad’s suite.”
I settle against the leather seat, smug.
“If I let you have it your way, you would’ve fucked me in the corner booth of a random Vegas club instead of every surface in a two grand a night hotel room.”
I gape at him. Fierce heat rushes into my cheeks and blooms all over my body. Where does he get the nerve to talk to me like that? Like I’m some kind of…of…whore.
“That’s not how it happened.” I shrug out of his jacket and toss it to the floor along with my bag.
Is it hot in here? I hit the partition button and request James cool the air before closing him off once again. Ben’s cockiness radiates off of him in waves and it irritates the hell out of me. How dare he sit there all unbothered. Who the hell does he think he is?
“Can’t take the heat, princess?”
“I’ve already asked you not to call me that.”
He shrugs his big, broad shoulders and lifts my heels in front of his face. “If the shoes fit.”
Clenching my teeth, I launch at him, knocking my shoes to the floor. He barely flinches, barely reacts to my outburst. As I pant in anger next to him, all he does is look at me, his chin slightly tilted toward his chest, his darkening stare penetrating my soul from under his brow.
“You’re wild…” he says in a low deep voice. “Aren’t you?”
“I’m anything, but a princess.”
James rolls to a stop at a red light and bright, white LEDs infiltrate the black, bulletproof glass, illuminating Ben’s features. His spiky black hair, dark eyes that—in this moment—threaten to share all of his deepest, darkest secrets with me.
…and don’t get me started on those full lips of his.
Lips I want to kiss.
Ben flicks his tongue over his lower lip to moisten it and it pulls me out of my daze.
We’re close, I realize. So close I can smell him—feel his warmth radiating onto me, urging me to reach out and touch him.
“You don’t remember anything about that night?”
I give my head a lazy shake.
“Not how I kissed you?”
I close my eyes and desperately try to remember. I bet it was fucking glorious. “No.”
“Not how I touched you?”
I feel his hot breath on my face and my pulse skitters uncontrollably. I don’t dare open my eyes. The thought of having him so close…my heart can’t take it.
“Look at me…” he utters and I force my eyes to flutter open. “I’ll refresh your memory if you promise not to ever run off on me again.”
Is…is he negotiating with me? A kiss in exchange for my compliance?
“You think your kiss is worth it, huh?”
My amused tone makes his eyes glisten with a challenge and he smiles, one corner of his mouth turning up, as he rolls the sleeves of his white button shirt to his elbows.
“Are all soldiers as dramatic as you?”
He chuckles. “Only when their dignity is on the line.”
Ben shuffles toward me and I fall back against the leather with a nervous laugh. “Ben, this is stupid.”
“No, it isn’t.”
He leans closer and fire burns in my cheeks. He’s serious. He really wants to do this.
“James…” I whisper, my attention falling to Ben’s lips as he moistens them. “What if he—”
“Don’t worry about him.”
He glides one rough hand along my outer thigh and gently guides my chin with the other. He lifts my face to his and touches his lips to mine. His kiss is gentle, barely a touch, but it threatens to consume me all the same. My eyes flutter shut and my heart races, threatening to tear a hole in my chest.
This is dangerous.
With a groan, he clamps his hand on my thigh and I gasp as he tugs me forward, pulling me into his lap. The thin fabric around my thighs gives away with smalls pops of threading and I try to assess the damage, but he snatches my face in his large hands, forcing my mouth to remain on his. Ben kisses me hard, so hard he sucks the air from my lungs and the sense from my head. The warmth from my blush spreads down my neck and pools in my breasts. His hands return to gripping my thighs and they’re so strong and powerful. I want to feel them over my entire body.
I remember now. This is exactly how I felt that night.
Ben flicks his tongue over my lower lip, coaxing me into opening my mouth to him.
Then he claims it.
He claims it like it’s his and only his.
Like he’s the only one who’s ever kissed me.
I moan against him, raking ten aggressive fingers through his clean hair. I open my thighs wider, eager for our hips to touch. His thighs are monstrous, warm, and firm. I moan again, louder this time, and it’s enough to break this kiss. I tilt my head back.
“Shut up,” Ben growls, pressing his lips to my throat. I swallow hard and he licks my flesh as it bobs. “We’ll get caught.”
“I don’t care,” I sigh. “Just keep going.”
I tilt my face, meeting his lips once again, this time with wild abandon.
This kiss is worth risking everything for.
This kiss is worth getting murdered for.
I want him. I want him now. In this moment, as wrapped up as I am, I can see myself throwing caution to the wind and taking him anywhere—and any way—I can get him.
I press my breasts against his chest, desperate to get closer. A few wild heartbeats pass and I feel Ben begin to close off underneath me, trying to end
the kiss, but I don’t want to stop.
I groan in protest and continue to touch him, to kiss him, but he pulls my hands from his body and pins my arms to my side before raking his teeth over my lower lip, ending the kiss.
Disappointment and frustration flood me and I cut my eyes at him. “That wasn’t anything to brag about.”
My voice is breathless and I hate it. My lips are swollen too, they feel like tiny balloons on my face. Smirking, he eases me off of his lap and the burning skin of my thighs cool against the leather seat.
“If you say so.” He bends down and grabs my heels. With a gentle flick of his wrists, he tosses them in front of me. “We’re home.”
I sit up straight. We’re home? Jesus Christ. How long did we kiss for?
“What’s the matter?” he asks, his voice teasing as he reaches over and plucks his jacket off the floor. “Lose track of time?”
“No.” I slip my bare feet back into my heels, cringing when the leather presses against forming blisters. “Don’t be ridiculous. It was a kiss. Not an LSD trip.”
Oh, you little liar. Kissing Ben was more than any synthetic fantasy I’ve ever been on. I’m just too stubborn to admit it. Whatever this man has in his saliva needs to be extracted, synthesized, and turned into a drug. No one human should possess the ability to kiss like that.
The car rolls to a stop just as we finish adjusting ourselves. I flick my hair around my shoulders to hide the pink hue of arousal in my skin. I work on evening my breathing when Ben reaches up to the ceiling and turns the light on. I flinch away from it, like a vampire to sunlight.
“What are you doing?”
“You left a wet patch on my pants.”
My stomach revolts and I gape at him, mortified. Why is he looking at me like that? As if he’s just revealed the punchline to a joke.
“No, I didn’t.”
He snatches my hand and presses my palm against his warm, damp crotch. My fingers twitch, so does his cock, and his hot breath blows against my cheek. “That’s all you.”
I snap my hand back with a scoff, feigning disgust to mask the sexual heat that climbs the back of my neck. Reaching up, I turn off the roof light, drowning us in semi-darkness. “You’re ridiculous.”
“And you’re a shitty actress.”
James’s shadow appears against the passenger’s glass a second before he opens Ben’s door. I purse my lips, deprived of getting the final say.
Fucking Ben Campbell.
Chapter Nine
Ben
She’s a piece of work, this girl, but fucking hell, is she beautiful. I stand beside James as Sera climbs out of the car with all the grace in the world. You can’t tell she’s drank more than she probably should have. You can’t tell she spent a good chunk of her night grinding her perfect ass against a stranger. You definitely can’t tell she just had the life kissed out of her, not unless you count the small smear of red lipstick to the right of her lips.
“Enjoy the rest of your night, Miss Sera.” He looks at me. “Ben.”
She smiles sweetly at James. Why can’t I get one of those smiles? All I get are sneers and glares.
“Goodnight, James.” Sera and I speak in unison and her husky tone meshes wonderfully with mine, but I knew that already.
“If you need to go anywhere now until tomorrow morning, I’m sure Ben will take you.”
Fat chance. I’m tired. There’s only one place Sera is going and that’s bed.
She marches in front of me and storms the front steps of her house. Inside, all of the lights are still on. I glance at my watch. Midnight. When do these people sleep?
I follow Sera through the house and into the kitchen where her father waits, cutting into a loaf of bread with a knife much too big for the job. His stare flicks over Sera as she dumps her handbag on the counter with a heavy exhale, and opens the ridiculously large fridge for a bottle of orange juice.
“Want a glass, Ben?”
I approach the counter. “Sure.”
“Dad?”
Marco shakes his head. “Your dress is torn at the hem.”
Sera plays dumb and she does it well. Maybe the girl isn’t such a bad actress. “Hm?”
“Your dress.” He points to her thigh. “It’s torn.”
She shrugs her slender shoulders, dipping low into a cupboard for some glass cups. “I danced. Must’ve happened then.”
“What kind of dancing?”
Snorting, Sera tucks hair behind her ear and pours O.J. into the cups. “Normal dancing.”
Marco watches her closely as he continues to cut bread with his large knife, wearing a black polo that makes the crumbs on it stand out, like dandruff.
She returns the orange juice to the fridge, grabs her handbag, her cup, and waves her father off before retiring for the night. When she’s out of sight, Marco turns his black, soulless stare on me.
“I’m impressed you brought her back before curfew—without her annoying friends too.”
I shrug. “I’m sure she’s not happy about it.”
“Doesn’t matter. Vegas is no place for a girl after midnight.” He pinches a large crumb of bread and puts it between his lips. “You got kids?”
I grimace. Is he asking because I look old enough to have children? Perhaps to him, I look old enough to have children around Sera’s age. The thought turns my stomach and I shake my head as I grab my glass of orange juice.
“Why give her a two a.m. curfew if you don’t want her out so late?” I ask, eager to change the conversation.
“It was her mother’s idea. She thinks I’m too strict with Seraphina, but she’s naïve. She doesn’t know Vegas like I do.”
I sip my juice and put it down. “I don’t think handling your daughter will be a problem for me.”
He nods, dropping the knife. “Good. Listen.” He rounds the counter and I try not to look at his gray sweatpants as his chubby body comes into view. “We’re having an event here tomorrow evening. This place will be swarming with unsavory characters. I’ll have my men here, but I want a set of eyes only on Sera. Understand?”
I nod. “Okay.”
“Some of the men coming are slimeballs who’ve had an eye for my daughter since she was young.”
I frown. “And you allow them into your house?”
“I don’t fucking allow anything when it comes to my little girl,” he snaps. “But despite the business, I can’t go around slaughtering important people. You get what I’m saying?”
I nod. “So, I keep an eye on her. No problem.”
“No.” He jabs me in the chest with his index finger. “You keep two eyes on her.”
I swallow. Obviously, that’s what I meant.
Marco pushes past me. “All of your shit is in the guest house. I suggest you rest.”
I stand in the kitchen, staring into my orange juice. All of my shit is in the guest house? Talk about invasive. Luckily, I’m a minimalist and I don’t own much in my little apartment on Vegas’s west side. Most of my expensive and sentimental belongings are stored at my mother’s house.
I place my glass of orange juice down on the counter and make my way out of the kitchen and into the wide-open backyard. The only sounds to be heard come from the fountain in the pool and a set of sprinklers along the far-right fence.
I shrug out of my jacket and unbutton my shirt. The manor and its grounds have a different feel at night. It’s less threatening, less daunting, when it’s not littered with criminals standing around waiting for a call. It’s serene. A true resting place.
I tug on the front door of the guest house and slip inside. A few handfuls of medium sized boxes litter the vast sitting space. Inside them holds nothing of extreme importance or sentimental value…my uniform, medals, and weapons being the exception. I’m almost too ashamed to look at them now.
The glow through the front windows and door fades as the lights of the house are turned off. Working only with the glow of the moon, I cross the sitting room to a lamp by a booksh
elf and I fumble with it until it flicks on, almost blinding me.
I shrug out of my shirt and toss it to the floor. From where I stand, I see the sitting room and a kitchen. Branching off from those is a small hallway that I can only assume leads to the bedroom. My exhaustion draws me to the hallway like a moth to a flame, and I don’t fight it. I let it guide me, moving on auto-pilot, until I’m face down on one of the firmest mattresses I’ve ever laid on. Which is perfect. Most beds are too soft. Unless I’m wasted, I can only sleep on the floor.
I groan, pushing my hands under the pillows to feel the cool fabric as I kick my shoes off. One hits the floor and one doesn’t, but I’m dead to the world before I can even think about investigating.
***
I’ve never been much of a dreamer, but I’ve dreamt of Sera and the night we spent together on and off since it happened. It’s nothing to write home about. We kiss, we touch, we fuck, and I wake up with a raging boner. That’s the usual sequence…
…but tonight is different.
Tonight my subconscious clashes with my reality in the strangest of ways. I attempt to open my eyes, but I’m sucked back into dreamland by the most vivid dream I’ve ever experienced.
Pleasure rolls over my body in powerful waves and all I can see behind my lids are her full glossy lips against my shaft, tracing the vein that runs along the back with her wet, warm tongue.
Reality swiftly interrupts and I shudder, wanting to clench the sheets beneath me in my fists as a groan—my groan—vibrates my chest. But I can’t move. My body is still paralyzed from sleep.
Whatever is happening, whatever my brain, my hormones, and that fucking girl is doing to me, I don’t want it to stop. I don’t want to wake up from this.
Warmth flows from between my legs and my eyes finally flutter open. The wonderful sensation draws me from my sleep, forcing me to feel everything—in real time.