“Later,” said Ben. “Right now she needs to lie down and chill out before she falls down.”
“I’m not going to fall down.” But I held on tight to his hand just in case. “I’m fine.”
Anne let me go without further comment. Just as well. I couldn’t dump all of this on her. She was still in blushing bride, newly married mode. No way should I be messing with that. Lately she’d taken on more than her share of big-sisterly duties, accompanying me on doctors’ visits, staying behind with me in Portland.
The suite seemed eerily quiet after all of the commotion downstairs. All of the noise and thoughts continued rattling around in my head, however. Out beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows the city carried on. Christ, this was really happening.
“Come and sit down.” He led me to the suede couch.
I disentangled my hand from his, shaking with some emotion. I just wasn’t sure which, yet. “No. I … I don’t want to sit.”
Ben collapsed on the couch, crossing his legs, ankle to knee. His arms spread out along the back of the couch, watching me pace back and forth. So many words were crammed inside me, fighting to get out. If I could just think straight. No point taking it personally, the journalists and photographers were just doing their jobs. Didn’t make them any less of a bunch of gossip-mongering asshats, but there you go.
“I feel so … so powerless.”
“I know,” he said.
“They basically made me out to be some alcoholic who has orgies every night of the week ending in Y.” I rubbed my hands against the sides of my jeans. Still staying up by virtue of a hairband. Though pants weren’t much of a problem in the scale of things right now.
“You’re not,” he said, so certain.
“My numerous male friends,” I sneered.
“It’s bullshit.”
“Why does it always come down to sex with women in the media? How many people have you slept with?” I asked, hands on hips. “Well?”
His tongue played behind his cheek. “I, ah, I didn’t really keep count.”
“They didn’t infer you were some kind of slut, and you’ve probably slept with dozens more people than me.”
He gave a careful nod.
“Hundreds?” I hazarded.
He cleared his throat, turning away and scratching at his beard.
“Right. Not that it matters. And yet I’m the slut because I’m the woman. Like it’s anyone’s fucking business how many either of us has slept with or if I enjoy going out for a beer occasionally. I’m not getting behind the wheel of a car and driving drunk. I’m having a few drinks with friends at a party and organizing to get home safely. And if I’m taking someone home, that is none of their business. Those hypocritical motherfuckers, condemning me for these things. What consenting adults do in private should not be entertainment for the world at large. Nor is it in any way a viable judge of a person’s character.”
“Liz.”
“Mother-fire-truckers.” I gave my belly a pat of apology. “Sorry, baby.”
“Liz.”
“That double standard between men and women drives me insane.”
“Yeah, I’m getting that.” One side of his mouth tipped up. “You want me to sue for defamation? I can get the lawyers onto it now, if you want. See what we can do. But they probably can’t do much. The press had a field day with Jimmy, and we could never get a retraction on even the most out-there stuff they wrote. But if that’s what you want…”
With a sigh, I went back to pacing. “It’s out there. No matter what, it’s out there now.”
A slow nod. “Yeah, sweetheart. It is.”
“I just … I never thought this would impact on my future this way. I knew studying would have to take a backseat for a few years to motherhood.” I pulled my blond hair back off my face, giving it a fierce tug. “I knew Bean would have to come first, that’s the reality of it. But I thought one day…”
“You will get to finish your study and practice psychology. Don’t you dare give into this shit.” Ben sat forward, elbows on his knees. “There will always be some fucknut out there saying something, trying to bring you down just to make a buck or because they can. Because their own lives are shit. You cannot let them win.”
“They’re saying it to a potential audience of billions on the Internet, Ben.”
“I do not care,” he said, eyes blazing with anger. “You will not let these shitheads win. You’re better than that. Stronger.”
I stared at him, amazed. “You really believe that?”
“I know it. From the minute word got out you were pregnant, you weren’t looking for someone to blame. You were pulling yourself together, planning ahead for your baby.”
I stood taller, just looking at him. It was as if I could feel myself being stronger just because he believed it.
“Well?” he asked.
“To be honest, I was kind of upset with your penis and testes for a while. I may have called your sperm some bad names.”
He chuckled. “Yeah? How you feel about my reproductive organs now?”
A sudden urge to burn up the panicky energy raced through me. “I feel that I’d very much like to fire-truck you.”
Once more he sat back, arms spread out along the back of the couch. Such a slow, filthy smile on his handsome face. “Just so happens, I’d very much like to be fire-trucked by you.”
“Child-appropriate dirty talk. There’s something very wrong with that.” I wandered over to him, kicking off my flats. Next came unhooking my hairband waist rigging so I could push down my jeans. My top and bra disappeared in a flash, leaving my panties for lucky last.
And all the while Ben sat there, taking me in, mouth slightly open in appreciation. “Fuck, you’re pretty. And I love it when you get all riled up and righteous.”
“My bearded beauty.”
He laughed, hands reaching for my hips. “At your service, sweetheart.”
“I’ll hold you to that.” I straddled his lap, bare-ass naked and perfectly content to be so. This was trust, giving him all of me, no holding back. “No more slow.”
His nostrils flared as he inhaled hard. “Whatever you want.”
“You. Just you.”
Our mouths met, kisses hard and soft, sweet and greedy. Everything all at once. Perfect. I slid my hands up beneath his T-shirt, pulling it up over his head. How annoying, leaving his mouth for even a moment. But for skin on skin, these sacrifices must be made. And holy hell, Ben’s skin. All of the art of his tattoos and the hard of his muscles. His hands covered my breasts, ever so gently massaging.