Now that I know too much, well, I’m a live wire. His pinky finger brushed mine on the car seat during the drive and I almost jumped out of my skin. I had to cover the episode with coughing.
I cough again as I enter The Roasted Chestnut.
I just need to stop thinking about it. About him. He’s just Benedict being Benedict—good for some laughs and some occasional sex. Soon it’ll all be over. I cough again for no reason, then shake it off. I just need some caffeine, since I didn’t sleep well after my whole world was tilted off its axis.
No, not my whole world. Just my sexual world.One good orgasm is not going to change your whole world! Get a grip, Janie.
As I wait in line for coffee, without thinking, I pull out my phone to text Skye. That happens, the urge to talk to her, even though we don’t talk anymore. I sigh at the screen, ignoring the unread messages at the top. They’ve slowed, but haven’t stopped. I’ve been distracted enough that the nightmares about texts have stopped, at least. Since I have had some money come in I’ve been able to eat again most days.
I don’t tap on Skye’s name. I can’t really talk to her anyway. If we talked I’d want her to dress me down, knock some sense into my confused brain.
I move my attention to the next best thing. The photos app. I flip through the reminders,the album.
Yup.
My walls fortify like clockwork as I scroll. I will not be charmed again. I’ll keep my lust in check and my emotions tucked away. I can handle this.
_____
“Couldn’t handle it, eh? Had to sneak out while I was in the shower.”
“Benedict? What are you still doing here?” I say as I move from the garage mudroom area into the kitchen.
“Refusing to be avoided,” he smirks.
“I wasn’t…” I set my purse down, along with the facade. “Okay, I was.”
He laughs, “I’m shocked.”
“Don’t you have somewhere to be, though?”
“In a few hours. Shall we eat something? Continue watching Emma Watson grow exponentially as an actor?”Say no. Make up plans. Literally run away.He goes on, “Quit trying to come up with an excuse, love, it’s a Sunday night, Leftovers Night. You don’t even have food planned. You’re doing nothing. Let me do nothing with you, come on.” He walks over to the sunken living room and grabs the remote like I already agreed.
“Fine,” I sigh.
But he looks back over his shoulder at me, grinning and I swear I see an actual sparkle in one of his deep blue eyes. Mischievous. Confident.Hot.I’m in so much trouble.
I manage to keep my cool though, sitting on the far opposite edge of the couch as we eat a classic “girl dinner” of left-over gourmet pizza, all the sides from the steakhouse dinner he ordered me a few nights ago, chips and queso, and some cake. Perfection.
We do watchHarry Potterbut with a million interruptions. I need water. He says we need wine. He clears our plates and trash. I go to the restroom. He goes to the restroom.
Suddenly we’re sitting thigh to thigh and all I can think about isBen Ben Ben.He’s purposefully wearing jeans with no socks again.Is that an invitation? Is he messing with me?He smells so freaking good, clean and manly.Did he put on more cologne after we ate?His arm keeps brushing mine, huge and hard and warm and every cell in my arm responds.Ben Ben Ben Want Want Want!
Yet there he sits, calm, looking forward. Watching the stupid TV. He has to be messing with me. There’s no way I’m alone in—
“Fuck it, I’m desperate again.” He says, turning to me.
“Thank God, me too.”
Then we’re on each other. His mouth claims mine, I groan, “Yes.”
He pushes me back on the couch, I pull his shirt off.
He kisses down my neck, then one of his hands travels up my shirt. I quickly whip off both my top and my T-shirt bra at the same time. He sits back, staring.
“Bloody hell. Your tits will be the death of me.”
“I thought my legs were going to be the death of you.”
