Текст книги "Outside the Lines"

Автор книги: Emily Goodwin

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Текущая страница: 5 (всего у книги 14 страниц)

CHAPTER SEVEN

I stand on the closed toilet, precariously balancing on tall heels, and snap a picture of myself in the mirror. I carefully jump down, wishing I had another way to get a full body shot of my reflection in the mirror in my bathroom, and send the picture to Erin.

I rush into my closet and change my top, slipping a silky black tank top on, and quickly shimmy into a pair of dark jeans. I ditch the heels, opting to holding them in my other hand instead of risking falling and breaking my neck before the date with Ben. I send her another picture, then move to the sink to take the hot rollers out of my hair.

A few seconds later she replies, saying both her and her hubby like outfit number two better. Good. I won’t have to change again. With much care, I loosen the curls and create a new hole in the Ozone with hairspray, touch up my makeup, and accessorize with a red-jeweled necklace, matching earrings, and a black bracelet. I sit on the closed toilet to put on a pair of tall black heels, tastefully spotted with gold and scarlet gems. Yes, they are Gryffindor shoes, and yes, I fucking love them.

I put them on, spray myself with perfume, and look in the mirror.

“You are awesome,” I tell myself. “The shit, actually. If Ben doesn’t like you, then fuck him. His loss.” I nod at myself, trying to believe the pep talk. Can I have a glass of wine? Just half a glass?

I’m so nervous.

I tighten my bra straps and reach inside my shirt to give my breasts a boost. I have on a push-up bra and might have done a super-light version of Cosplay cleavage, which entails using contouring to make my breasts look fuller and rounder … not that they need much help though.

I leave the bathroom and straighten my bedspread. Ya know, just in case we come back here and things get physical. When was the last time I washed my sheets? Last week? Two weeks ago? Maybe longer since I can’t even fucking remember.

I cringe and go crazy with the Febreze. I shove my dirty laundry into the closet, force the doors closed, and go into the living room. I have about ten minutes before Ben gets here to pick me up. We’re going to Osteria Rossa, a fancy Italian restaurant in Grand Rapids. I’d yet to go there, and am really looking forward to yummy food.

I sit on the couch, getting the evil eye from Ser Pounce because I pushed him off my lap, not wanting to get covered in cat fur, and flip through channels. I end up watching the tail end of an episode of Naked and Afraid until the doorbell rings. I shoot up, count to ten, run my hands over my top, and go to the door.

“Wow,” Ben blurts when I open the door. His dark eyes widen and he slowly looks me up and down, clearly not caring that he’s obviously checking me out. “You look amazing.”

“Thanks,” I say, trying to brush off the compliment and not smile like a goon. “You don’t look so bad yourself.” He’s wearing dark pants and a black button-up shirt. He’s effortlessly put together. I take a step to the side. “Come in.”

We move into the living room and he turns, eyes fucking me all over again. He closes his eyes in a long blink and bites his bottom lip. The he shakes himself and smiles.

“Hungry?”

“I am,” I say. “You?”

“I’m always hungry.” He sees Ser Pounce and reaches out to pet him. The fat cat hisses and turns his nose.

“He’s an asshole, don’t take it personally,” I say. “I wanted a dog, but my old apartment didn’t allow dogs. I think Ser Pounce knows that he was my second choice and resents life because of it.”

Ben laughs, and I’m relieved. Not everyone understands my weird sense of serious-sounding sarcasm. “We should probably take off. Ready?”

“I am,” I repeat and grab my purse. Ben waits for me as I lock the front door, then opens the passenger side door of his Audi for me. I get in, breathing in the scent of new leather and paint. I turn and see a sheet draped over the backseat, protecting the leather from all the art supplies he has thrown in the back. Yes, definitely a chaotic mess creative type. We make small talk, mostly Ben telling me how Mindy still can’t figure out how to use the website.

He opens the door and offers me his hand when we get to the restaurant. I carefully step onto the curb, clutching my purse in the other hand. Ben locks the car and pockets his keys.

And he doesn’t let go of my hand.

We have reservations, and only wait a couple of minutes before the hostess leads us to a table in the back of the restaurant. The lighting is low and it’s supa fancy. I feel nervous again.

You’re the shit.

Yes. I am. We sit opposite each other. Ben orders a bottle of red wine—thank God—and the waiter brings us bread to nibble on as we look over the menu.

“You said you haven’t lived here long,” Ben starts as he takes a drink of wine.

“No, I got a new job and moved from Mistwood about seven months ago.”

“Mistwood?”

“It’s a small-ish town near Lake Michigan.”

He nods. “Do you like it here?”

I shrug. “It’s been okay so far. It’s kind of fun being somewhere new, and the job is pretty easy.”

“I’d think so,” he comments. “What’s someone who graduated from MIT doing working in customer service?”

“Oh,” I say and put another piece of bread on my plate. “I don’t actually do customer service. I was filling in for someone else at the company I work for.”

“What do you actually do, then?”

“Code websites. Easy-peasy stuff.” I wave my hand in the air. “I used to be a software programmer before this. Loved the job, but the place I worked didn’t offer much room for growth. Or raises,” I add with a wry smile. “Who knows where I’ll be in a year or two.”

Ben is smiling. “You’ve got the wanderlust bug.”

“I do,” I agree. “I like traveling and going new places.”

“So do I.” He dips his bread in oil and takes a bite.

I take another drink of wine. “Have you always been here?”

“I grew up in Detroit,” he says. “My father was in the military so we moved around a lot until I was a teen, and he was done with the army for good.”

“That must have been hard,” I reply, knowing how hard middle and high school was for me and I had the same friends throughout both.

“It wasn’t so bad.” He shrugs. “When you’re constantly going somewhere new it forces you to not be shy. I think it pushed me to be an artist too.”

“Really? How so?”

“I liked sports, but you can’t join teams mid season,” he starts to explain. “Which makes it harder to make friends. But you can always join art clubs no matter what point it is in the school year.”

“I wouldn’t have taken you for an art club type,” I admit. “You don’t look the type.”

“You said it: looks can be deceiving.” He lets out a breath. “I always liked art, liked being able to get lost in something.”

That’s how I feel about Cosplay and fantasy. I feel another connection to Ben. “And you’re good at it, right?”

He smiles. “That too. I really don’t think anyone can be bad at art. It’s expressing something. If you can’t paint landscapes, sculpt. There’s always another way to get what you feel on the inside onto something on the outside.” He shakes his head. “It wasn’t always easy moving around, and art gave me that outlet.”

I like seeing this deeper side to him. “That makes sense.”

“I did eventually get used to moving, and used to making new friends. And that’s how my parents met,” he goes on. “My dad was stationed in Japan for a while. Brought my mom back with him.” He laughs softly. “I think my grandparents are still pissed about it.”

“Have you ever gone there to visit them?”

He moves his head up and down as he finishes chewing. “A few times. I haven’t been there in years though, and I’m wanting to go back.”

“I’ve never been there,” I say. “I’d love to go. So much.”

“It’s beautiful. My grandparents are a bit old school too, so it’s almost like going back in time. And Tokyo is just … so much. There are so many people and there’s always something going on. It’s nonstop, but it’s awesome.” His eyes grow big as he talks, and the passion and excitement takes over his face. “It’s easy to get that lost in the crowd feeling when thousands of people pass you buy unnoticed, but it has an energy about it that’s just contagious.”

“Why haven’t you gone in a few years?” I ask and hope it’s not prying.

“I opened the gallery here a few years ago,” he says. “And it’s kept me a lot busier than I expected. But I love it too.”

I don’t really know what being an artist entails, though I imagine it’s pretty fucking awesome, like getting paid to get up and do your hobby. Making websites isn’t art, but it’s creating something, and seeing something come from nothing.

“I like to sew,” I declare. “Not really the same thing.”

“I’ve never attempted sewing,” he says. “What do you like to sew?”

“Costumes,” I answer. “I like to Cosplay.”

“So you’re one of those people who go to Comic Con all dressed up?” There is amusement in his voice, but it’s not judgmental.

“I am. It’s so much fun.”

“I’ve never been to Comic Con.”

“Wizard World in Chicago is coming up at the end of summer,” I tell him. “My friend Erin and I are going. We go every year.”

“Are you dressing up?”

“Of course.”

The smile is back on his face. Before he can ask me anything else, the waiter comes over to take our order. I hadn’t looked over the menu at all, so I order the same thing Ben does.

“So,” I start once the waiter leaves. “What do you do other than paint?”

“Hang out with friends, work out.” He shrugs. “Usual stuff. I’ve been going to a lot of galas and art shows lately,” he says almost like it’s a surprise. I nod like I have no idea either, although his pictures came up when I searched him on the internet, smiling next to one of his paintings, with the buyer on the other side. And the buyers ranged from politicians to CEOs of huge companies. He hasn’t said it out loud to me—yet—but I know he has a piece in the Museum of Modern Art in New York. Once that went up, his popularity increased tenfold … and then he moved here. Weird. Or at least that’s what the research says. “And I like to read.”

“Me too. I read a lot. What do you like to read?”

“Anything, really. I’ve been into the classics lately. You?”

“I love paranormal romance.”

“I’ve never read that,” he muses. “Is it like that Fifty Shades stuff with vampires?”

I laugh. “There are some like that.”

Ben wiggles his eyebrows. “Then maybe I will read it. I do like to be bitten.”

My cheeks flush at his blunt confession, and I’m not sure if he’s joking or telling the truth. I think he’s telling the truth. If things get hot and heavy tonight, should I go in for the kill and nip him with my teeth? The extent of my BDSM knowledge goes so far as tips from Cosmo, and after that last article about poking a man’s tender regions with a fork—don’t break the skin, they said, like that was even a question—I’m doubting all their advice.

No surprise, my brain gets ahead of me again and I get a flash of flesh and see Ben on top of me, thrusting those glorious hips into me, and I gently clamp my teeth down on his neck. Blood warms my cheeks, going through me and making me feel hot between my legs.

The waiter brings us more bread and refills our wine glasses. I pick mine up, fingers trembling slightly, and take a big sip. I set the glass down and look at Ben, unable to get the image of him naked and on top of me out of my head.

We keep talking about normal first date things, like our families and work. The food comes and we get words in between bites. The silence isn’t awkward, but I’m so worried it will be I keep saying stupid things, things no one cares about, like how long it takes me to clean my house. I like talking to Ben, and the more time that passes, the more comfortable I feel. There is still a formality in the way he talks to me, like he’s not really being himself. He’s “on” and his game is good.

Suave, smooth, confident. Yep. He’s got it all.

I get sauce on the side of my mouth when I take a bite of cheese ravioli. Some splatters on my shirt. Thank God the fabric is dark and you can’t see the stain. I don’t have it all. And I never will.

I mentally sigh.

When we’re done with the main course, Ben orders two pieces of cheesecake without asking me what I want. Should that bug me? Or should his dominance turn me on? (Because it does.) And I like cheesecake. Pick your battles, right?

I’m nowhere near drunk after the wine plus all the food, but my mind is a little buzzed and it helps me relax. I slowly eat the cheesecake, legit full from filling up on so much bread—but it was so good! Whoever doesn’t fill up on bread, or chips and salsa, or whatever you get before a meal at a restaurant has no soul, I swear—and feel Ben’s eyes on me.

I look up and smile. “Do I want to know what you’re thinking?” I ask and pick up my water.

He gives me a wicked grin. “You might be interested in it.”

“Then you better tell me.” I slowly run my finger down the stem of my wine glass.

His eyes drop to my chest then go back to my face. “I don’t see how you weren’t the popular girl in high school, like you said. You look like you would be.”

I drop my gaze. “Looks can be deceiving.” He’s meant it as a compliment, but his words make me feel self-conscious. Damn it.

“They can.”

“I didn’t always look like this,” I offer and know I should just shut my stupid mouth and stop talking.

“That doesn’t matter,” he says. “I didn’t know you then. And I like the way you look now. A lot.”

I can’t help the smile that pulls up on my lips. “Yeah, it’s not so bad,” I say back. The waiter brings us the check; Ben grabs it before I can even look at it and pays, leaving a rather large tip.

I waited tables in college. Ben just earned major bonus points from me.

He takes my hand when we leave the restaurant. The night is still warm, and a light breeze rustles my hair. Stars do their best to shine above us, despite the light pollution. It’s perfect.

“I don’t know about you,” Ben says, “but I’m not ready not to call this a night yet.”

“I’m not ready either.”

Hand in hand, we slowly walk to his car. He opens the door for me again, then gets in the driver’s seat. “What do you want to do?” he asks as he pushes the start button. “We could get drinks at Stacks.”

That’s another place I’d never been but had heard of. Stacks is an upscale bar that caters to white-collar businessmen. So not my thing.

My nose wrinkles and Ben laughs. “You have another idea?”

“It’s so nice outside. We could … uh … go mini golfing and ride go-karts,” I blurt, saying the first thing that comes to mind. Plus I rock mini-golf.

Ben’s face goes slack and I’m sure he’s thinking that’s the stupidest thing in the entire fucking world to suggest we do on a first date. We’re adults, after all. He puts his hands on the steering wheel. “That sounds awesome,” he says and the smile returns to his face.

I sit back in the seat, grinning ear to ear.

*

“You’re cheating!” Ben laughs after I get my third hole-in-one. “I don’t know how, but you’re cheating!” He sets his beer down on the bricks that outline the eighth hole and drops his ball, using his foot to line it up with the hole.

I grab my ball and hop off the AstroTurf, piña colada sloshing down my hand. “Yes, cheating with my telekinetic powers,” I laugh back.

Ben hits the ball. It bounces off the side of the little brick path, rolls halfway up the slopped course, and comes back down. We both laugh. It takes him five more attempts before we can move on.

“I didn’t know these places served booze,” Ben says, grabbing his beer. “Well, the last time I was at one, I wasn’t old enough to drink.”

“I assume they started doing it for the parents who come with small children,” I say. “You know, the ones that take even longer than you. They have to drink to keep their sanity.”

He takes my arm as we walk across a wooden planked bridge. It’s not the easiest thing to do in heels.

“You’re probably right.”

We stop at the next hole, and I step aside. “Go ahead. Let’s see if you can get it in the hole on your first try.”

Ben turns to me, a devilish glint in his eyes. “I always get it in the first try.”

Oh boy.

I open my mouth, wanting to say something sexy and witty back to him. But only a garbled, “I bet” comes out. He flashes me his bedroom eyes and sets the ball down.

I stare at his tight ass, thinking of it sans clothing with my nails digging into his flesh as he goes to town, pumping and thrusting into me. I get hit with a hot flash, and I know it’s not from my oncoming period.

I take a big gulp of my drink and shake my head. A group of teenagers shriek and laugh across the course. It’s a group of three couples, and they are all over each other in a typical juvenile public display of affection.

“Young love,” Ben muses, looking up. “They don’t know how easy they have it.”

“No bills, no jobs, just homework and parents to deal with,” I say. “But still, I’d never go back to high school if you paid me.” Unless I was undercover, like in a movie. Then maybe I’ll consider it. Maybe.

Ben’s ball rolls into the little white hole next to a fake pond filled with water so scummy the fountain is clogged and just spitting up bubbles instead of spraying the water into the air.

“You really hated it that much?” He steps off the course.

I drop my ball, hit, and miss. It goes into the water. I grimace and walk up to get it, using my purple golf club to pull it from the water. “I’d never go back, if that tells you anything,” I say. “But it was years ago. I’m over it.”

“I loved high school,” he admits and it doesn’t surprise me. He’s always been good looking, I can tell, and I’m sure he’s always been athletic and talented too. “But I wouldn’t go back either. College, yes.”

“Oh me too,” I say. I’d go back for a do-over. I fucked up big time in college. “That was fun.”

I get a hole-in-two and Ben and I exchange party stories as we finish the course. I win, by a lot, but I stopped keeping score after the fourth hole and it became apparent I’d dominate.

“Are you up for go-karts?” I ask Ben when we turn in our golf clubs and balls. I finish my piña colada and toss the plastic cup in the recycling bin next to the trash.

“If it involves you, I’m up for anything,” he says and I can’t help but wonder if the “up” reference has to do with his penis.

I’m so fucking mature, I know.

“Let’s see if your Mario Kart skills carry over into the real world,” he teases and buys us tickets. There’s not many people left this late, and the park closes in twenty minutes. It’s more than enough time. We get into our little cars and the attendant comes over to check our seat belts. Ben revs his engine, wiggling his eyebrows at me.

“You’re going down,” he says. Another sexual reference? Gah, I need to stop.

“So are you,” I threaten and rev my own engine, getting a stern look from the man in charge. Mine was a sexual reference, by the way. I love a man who goes down on a woman.

The green light flashes and we take off, passing the three other people on the course—who are all twelve years old or younger. Ben jerks his wheel, slamming into me. My car shutters and hits the wall, bouncing off the rubber tires lining it.

I laugh and hit him back but he swerves out of the way just in time. We fly down a hill and my kart gains enough speed to pass him. He catches up quickly and rams into me again, causing me to spin out and get stuck.

“Hah!” he calls out, smiling as he goes on. I have to wait for the stupid attendant to come over and turn the car around. Seriously, why isn’t there reverse on these things? I’m off again, laughing when one of the kids hits Ben’s kart, slowing him down enough for me to pass.

“That’s karma for you!” I shout as I fly by. Ben’s on the go again, his kart picking up speed, and he T-bones me. We both spin out, laughing. The attendant comes over, muttering about how this “isn’t bumper cars” and turns us both back around. We have one lap left, and Ben gets ahead by just a few feet. He wins, and waits for me at the finish line.

He hops out of his kart and comes over to me, offering me a hand. I climb out, a bit unsteady on my Harry Potter heels, and I stumble. He catches me, hands closing on my waist, and he holds me a moment longer than necessary, not letting go even after I get my balance back.

I feel his muscles through his clothes, smell his cologne, sense the warmth of his skin. I shiver. He turns, letting one hand drop to his side. The other stays on my waist. Once we’re back on the sidewalk, heading to the parking lot, his slides his hand down to the curve in my hip. Cameron’s words about wearing Spanx come back to haunt me, and I hope and pray Ben either doesn’t notice or doesn’t mind the extra fat I have sitting on my hips, stored there and waiting for me to go into hibernation or something.

His fingers press into my flesh and I’m suddenly so hot between my legs. I hook my arm around him and rest my head on his shoulder.

“Thanks,” he says when we get in the car. “I haven’t had fun like that in, fuck, too long.”

“You’re welcome,” I reply and more of Cameron’s words come back, worse than haunting. It’s full-on demonic possession and I’m internally panicking that this “fun date” has put me even more into the friend-zone. What was I thinking? I should have played off the smart, sexy girl Ben thinks I am instead of letting my inner dork come out and beat him badly in mini golf.

I bite my lip and pick my purse up from the floor of the car. On auto pilot, I grab my phone and see I have a missed call from my brother followed by two texts. I never replied to his question about having a plus (or minus) one for the wedding. I have another “good luck!” text from Erin that makes me smile. I love that girl. I put my phone down and fret over being labeled as one of the guys the rest of the way back to my house.

Ben glances at me from time to time, the happiness in his eyes turning to confusion by the time we pull into the driveway. I’m about to get out and walk myself up to the door, because at this point I’ve convinced myself nothing more is happening. I’m such a good self-cheerleader, I know.

Ben beats me to it. He cuts the engine and gets out, rushing around to get the door for me. He takes my hand and slowly laces our fingers.

“Do you want to come inside?” I ask. “I have wine.”

He pulls me to him and my body crushes against his. The heat is back between my legs and my body longs to feel more. “Yeah, I want to come inside.”

“Good,” I blurt.

He chuckles. “You sound surprised.”

“No, I’m not, I’m just, uh, uh, glad because I want you to come in too in case, uh, in case you want to, and we, uh, can play games or something,” I stammer and my cheeks are suddenly as hot as my lady bits.

But not in a good way.

Thank the fucking lord it’s too dark out here to see the blushing. I need to learn to stop talking. Seriously. I say the dumbest things when I’m nervous. Ben’s fingers inch along my back, until the tips are just under the waist of my jeans.

“I’d like to play games with you,” he tells me, voice deep and commanding. My head goes up on its own accord, and his lips are just inches from mine. He moves a hand up, cupping my cheek, then brings me to him as he parts his lips.

I’m suddenly nervous and forget how to kiss. Do I close my eyes? Open my mouth now or later? And my hands? What the fuck do I do with my hands?

His soft, full lips crash against mine and everything falls into place.

I hold onto his waist, sliding my hands up his back. His tongue opens my mouth and slips inside, causing my knees to weaken as I hold tighter to him. The kiss intensifies and he pushes me against the car before finally breaking away, tipping his head so his lips brush against my ear.

“You have no idea how much I’ve wanted to fuck you all night,” he whispers.

For once, I don’t speak, don’t say something to kill the mood. I put my hands on his face, turn his head back to mine, and kiss him again. I take his hand and lead him to the house, desperately feeling around in my oversized bag for my house keys.

Bugs swarm around the porch light. I swat them away and finally get the damn key. My hands are trembling as I push it into the lock. I turn the key, madly opening the door. We step inside and I throw my purse onto the ground. Ser Pounce hisses at Ben from the couch.

That’s right. Be jealous. Someone else is sleeping in my bed tonight. Maybe. Probably? We’ll end up in bed, I’m sure. But I don’t think much sleeping is going to happen.

The heat of the moment has cooled down a bit. I swallow, take my shoes off, and look at Ben with wide eyes, not sure what to do now. He steps out of his shoes and reaches for me, hands sliding around my waist and under my shirt.

My heart lurches in my chest. He draws me in until my breasts smash into his firm chest. He’s looking right into my eyes, confident, calm, so damn sure of himself and what he’s going to do next.

He brushes my hair back and kisses me softly, pulling back and moving his lips to my neck. A shiver runs through me, and I’m so fucking wet. I want him now. Like now now.

My breath leaves me and he takes a step forward, and now I’m pressed between Ben’s body and the wall. In the heels, I’m close to his height. Without them, I can feel his cock harden against my stomach.

He breaks away and rests his forehead against mine. “Want that glass of wine?” he asks.

I want a tall glass of you.

 I nod, but don’t move. Ben is still holding me against the wall, after all. “If you do,” I pant. He grinds his hips into mine and sucks at the skin on my neck. I run my hands through his hair and gasp when his teeth clip me.

Fuck the wine. Actually, fuck Ben. That’s what I want to do. I want to fuck him. My hands drop to his waist and I’m untucking his shirt from his pants without really knowing what I’m doing. His mouth is on mine again and his hands go from my waist to my breasts.

I unbuckle his belt next and pull it through the loops, letting it fall to the floor. My hand finds its way to his thigh and runs up it, feeling his erection through his pants. His tongue pushes into mine and he can’t kiss me hard enough. I move my hands up to his chest and give him a gentle shove. He takes a step back, not letting me go, and stumbles over our discarded shoes. We take another step back then pause to grope each other.

“Wine?” I say between kisses.

“Later,” he growls. “I fucking want you.”

Holy shit. “Okay,” I say and am too swept up in the moment to get embarrassed. I take his hand and turn, leading him into my room. As soon as I’m through the door, Ben’s arms wrap around my waist. He lifts me up, and my legs go around him. He takes a few steps to the bed then tosses me down and advances, pinning me to the mattress with his body.

I’m so hot for him I can hardly stand it. He kisses me, slowly trailing his mouth down my neck, kissing my collarbone. He sits up just enough to grab the hem of my top. I push up and hold my arms above my head. He pulls it off and lets it drop on the floor next to us.

He looks at me, and all I can think is how I ate too much at dinner. Booze makes me bloat. These pants are too tight along my waist and my pushin’ for the cushin’ spills out too much. I should have worn the mother-effing Spanx.

He lets out a moan. “Fuck, you’re beautiful.”

I’m so glad I don’t have the stupid Spanx on. It’s awkward to take them off, anyway.

“You really think so?” I blurt and he nods. “Tell me again.”

His eyes glimmer and I realize he thinks I’m attempting to dirty talk and dominate, not seeking reassurance.

Desire burns in his eyes, and he looks at me like I’m the most beautiful woman in the world. “You’re a fucking knock-out.” He buries his head between my breasts, sucking and kissing. He reaches behind me and unhooks my bra with one hand, faster than I can unhook it myself and I wear the damn thing every day. Well, nearly every day.

I roll the straps down my arms. Ben moves it out of the way, grinding his cock into me as he gazes at my breasts. He groans and dives down, taking one in his mouth, tongue circling my erect nipple. I toss my head back and rake my fingers through his hair. I’ve never gotten off on nipple stimulation. Really, it did nothing for me.

Until now.

My whole body is alive, humming with pleasure of what’s to come. It’s going to be fucking epic, I know it.

I don’t even realize he’s unbuttoned my jeans until he starts to pull them down. I lift my hips to allow them to come free, bending my knees and pulling my legs out. The jeans join my shirt and bra on the floor.

I’m laying here in just dark-purple panties, and Ben is fully clothed. This isn’t right. I put my hands on the side of his face and gently push him off of me.

“Something’s wrong,” I say.

Is that disappointment that flashes through his eyes? “What’s wrong?”

“You still have your clothes on.”

The disappointment quickly transforms into lust, and he gives me that grin, the famous grin I’m now forever going to associate as the “I’m going to fuck your brains out and make it impossible for you to walk in the morning” grin. He sits up and unbuttons his shirt. I watch like he’s my own personal Magic Mike warming up before a show. Slowly, he peels his shirt back.

Holy sex on a stick.

Black tattoos cross his chest, going over his shoulders and down his biceps. It’s too dark to discern exactly what they are, but I’m able to make out a skull and a few Japanese characters. He’s muscular, with abs I’d lick chocolate—fuck, I’d even lick ranch dressing off those babies—and biceps too big for me to come close to wrapping my hands around.

My heart is pounding, blood rushing through me. I’ve never wanted anyone so badly before in my life. I lick my lips and unbutton his pants. The force of his erection pushes the zipper down, and the tip of his dick is sticking out the top of his black boxers. It’s glistening and wet and abso-fucking-lutely perfect. The only thing that could make it better is it being inside me.

He’s back on me, putting himself between my spread legs, kissing me like I’m the last woman on earth and his life depends on it. I’m so hot, so wound up that I feel like I might come just from him brushing against my clit through my panties.

He moves slightly to the side and hooks my leg over his, holding onto my thigh. We kiss for another moment and then he breaks away, moving down. His lips trail from my neck to my stomach. Holy fucking lord. He’s going to—