And sometimes that was enough.
The episode finished, and we wordlessly started another. I honestly thought the twitterpation of it all would have faded, but if anything, I was even more acutely aware of his presence than ever. It was like I was suddenly gifted with enhanced senses, able to hear his heartbeat, my nose completely filled with his scent.
He was wearing cologne, but it wasn’t overpowering. In fact, most of it seemed to be his natural musk, something deeply masculine, but it wasn’t body odor. I really liked bodies in their natural state, but I definitely didn’t have an armpit fetish.
I hadn’t really had much opportunity to explore kink all that much. With my mother’s death and my own illness kicking in, my sexual awakening had only happened in college, and since then, I’d only had one serious relationship and dated two men casually. Not exactly a ton of time for romance while I was establishing my teaching career and getting into the flow of things while also trying to gain weight.
Did I think I wanted to be tied up eight ways from Sunday or sit on a cake? No. But the idea of Ben’s large hand on my throat was appealing, and him being so muchbiggerthan me definitely made me sweat in a really good way. What would it feel like to have his weight over me? To have him pressing me into a soft mattress that gave way beneath us?
Welp. Now my panties were soaked.
I stayed locked in that delicious limbo, until the episode ended and we were left with a prompt asking us if we wanted to continue to the next episode. I was in such a haze from the welcome overstimulation of it all that my thoughts were full of syrup and honey, far too pleasantly viscous to move. After a few minutes, I realized we were staring at a stagnant screen, and I blinked lazily.
“Is everything okay?” I asked, tilting my head up to glance at Ben’s face.
He was staring at me with an expression that was impossible to read. It wasn’t deadpan, or devoid of any emotion, but there was somuchthere that it was impossible to discern one emotion from another. They chased each other across his features, sometimes colliding in his gaze, his brows, or the corner of his lips. It was a wild display of sentiment, enough to rouse me from the sweet cocoon of comfort I’d allowed myself to fall into.
“I think I’m an idiot.”
What?
The abruptness of his sentence had me more than a bit confused, and I blinked away the rest of the clinging molasses of relaxation that had fallen over me. “Why do you say that?”
“Because I really want to kiss you right now.”
What?
I must have misheard that. Sure, there was no denying that we had chemistry, but I was keenly aware that something had been holding him back from going any further with it. I’d thought it was because I was human and sick, and he was a shifter with his own issues, but what if it wasn’t that at all? Had I been wrong about the whole thing?
The biggest question was, did I want him to kiss me?
Who was I kidding? That was an unequivocal yes. With an exclamation point. Even though it had been a few years since I’dmade out with anyone, my entire body surged with a very clear and enthusiastic “yes, yes, yes, God, yes” at the idea.
I didn’t know if my brain was functioning enough to answer, but somehow, coherent words made it out of my mouth. “Why does wanting to kiss me make you an idiot?”
“Because… I don’t know if it’s the right thing to do.”
When I was younger, and a fair bit less empathetic than I was now, I would have rapidly put together the equivalent of a twenty-four-slide PowerPoint presentation explaining why he should kiss me, and kiss me immediately. But as viscerally as my body wanted to connect with his, I knew coercion—even coercion via a meticulously thought-out presentation—was not actual consent.
I moved my head away from his shoulder and turned to him, taking his hand.
“I can’t answer that for you. It’s okay to want to kiss me but not act on it. But, if it’s something you want to do, I want you to know that not only are you safe with me no matter how you react, but I would really like to kiss you too.”
“What if you don’t like it?”
“Then we’ll stop.”
“What ifIdon’t like it?”
“Then we’ll stop.”
“What if I’m a terrible kisser?”
A slight chuckle escaped me. “I doubt it, but if that’s the case, we’ll both probably want to stop.”
Ben still didn’t move, and I got the sense that he was lost in thought. I had no urge to rush him or influence his decision, so I stretched past him to grab the remote.
“Why don’t we watch another episode, and if you?—”
