I opened my eyes and looked at him. He looked just as drunk with pleasure as me, but he kept his eyes on mine as he continued his slow trek within me. It’d been so long, and the feeling of fullness had my eyes rolling to the back of my head.
“Look at me,” he repeated softly.
When I did, my chest squeezed and a strange feeling soared through me. It was hard looking at him. It felt too… personal. I wanted to close my eyes and just drown myself in the feeling, but he kept his hand cupped at my chin and my face directed at him. He moved in and out slowly, as if savouring every inch, and when I made to close my eyes again, he paused and waited for me to open them.
So I kept them directed at him, even though it was hard. While I felt the pleasure of his thrusts, I was too distracted by the personal invasion of his gaze. I felt stripped bare and he could see all of me.
He brushed his tongue against mine again before his lips roamed my face. My breathing stopped entirely when his mouth made contact with my scars. He kissed every individual one delicately, like that part of my face deserved to be cherished. Pain shot through my heart, and I was terrified he could see it in my eyes.
This was too much. I wanted him to stop. I couldn’t bear to be touched there.
But I only found myself gripping him tighter and fighting back the tears that surfaced behind my eyes as he continued to move into me. His breaths turned to pants as his thrusts quickened. He gripped my ass above the mattress and sent sharper, harder thrusts into me. He groaned at this, pulling my lower body a few inches up so it was elevated. His thrusts went deeper this way and I shook suddenly at the pleasure that I was edging toward.
How did he get me there so fast?
I moaned loudly as I began to approach the crest.
“That’s it, lovely,” he growled. “You feel incredible. The way you’re hugging my cock right now, it’s killing me.”
I dug my nails into his skin and frantically kissed him. It was more breath than kiss, though.
“That’s it,” he repeated. “Get yourself there.”
I trembled and cried out. Oh, the pleasure. On and on it went. On and on he went. It built and built and…
Oh, my God. Oh, my God. “Oh, my God.”
The orgasm that rocked my body was sudden and bittersweet. It stretched on, a buzz that seemed to flow as fast as my bloodstream. I shook and rode it out as Ben gripped me tight and followed with his own release. Eyes still locked with mine, he grunted against my mouth. I felt his cock jerk inside of me, and his body quaked as he came.
For a split second his walls went down, and I saw a vulnerability in him. I felt his melancholy before he panted and buried his face into my neck, as though he didn’t want me to see.
The minutes that followed were silent as a grave. I felt the pounding of both our hearts against each other’s pressed chests, and I wrapped my arms around him. I held him close, and stared up into the darkness. I found myself asking the same question over and over again.
What the hell have I gotten myself into?
Chapter Seven
I’m very picky
He moved off of me. For a split second I expected him to get out of bed and start to get ready to leave. That had been my reality when I’d started bedding men: screwing someone and getting out of there minutes after it ended. Like a quota that had been filled, you were of no more use.
I watched Ben closely as he ran a hand through his hair and rested on his back. He was still catching his breath when his arm reached out and found me. To my astonishment, he pulled me to him, until I had my head over his chest and my front body against his side. We were sweaty and we smelled of sex, but beneath all that I still caught the whiff of his unique scent.
I relaxed after a tense few moments. He absently ran his fingers up and down my spine, and I couldn’t help but feel like one of the many heroines I read about in my books. The way they felt safe and warm in the hero’s arms, I understood that feeling now. Ben was the first guy that bothered to bring me close after he got what he wanted. But unlike the other guys that came and went, he’d looked after my needs too.
I felt cherished.
“Why’d you ask me how long it’d been since I’d been with someone?” I wondered out loud, breaking the silence.
His fingers paused at my lower back. “Because I didn’t want to be another number to you,” he answered bluntly.
“You? A number?” I nearly laughed.
“Why is that so funny?”
“Because you can be with anyone. If anything, I’m the number.”
He chuckled dryly. “Then you’re a very low number because I don’t have sex with just anybody, little lady. I’m very picky.”
I smiled discreetly. What had I done right to be chosen? I hated having all these questions in my head. I was not the type of girl that liked to stew on shit or misconstrue it. So I simply asked him, “Why did you decide on me right now? I don’t understand.”
He looked down at me with knitted brows. “And I don’t understand why you find that so shocking.”
I shrugged, not meeting his eye. “Well, you just showed up out of nowhere and you tell me you want me… and I don’t get it.”
“I’m very attracted to you.”
I resisted the urge to roll my eyes and slam my head against the wall. How many ways did I have to ask him why he’d suddenly appeared in my life? He didn’t strike me as the type that wanted to just bed me and move on. No, he wanted me. And I needed to know why!
“Have I taken advantage of you?” he asked.
“No.”
“I know I should have slowed down, but I couldn’t help myself.”
“Neither could I.” I inhaled sharply and closed my eyes. God, this warmth was addictive. “I’ve never been like this with someone before.”
“Like what?”
“Like this.”
“Never?”
I shook my head slightly and continued to relax. I listened to his heartbeats, and it soothed me. Nine months of rainy days and the sun finally came out. Whether this was just a fleeting moment of happiness or not was irrelevant. The point was I could feel again, and that gave me hope.
He resumed stroking me, and, like a child, I wrapped my arm around him and clung to him like he was my lifeline. It felt good, yet my heart was acting funny. While it felt like it was soaring, it also squeezed as though it’d been wound up tight by a thread. That thread was tugging, and with every tug it felt painful.