I give it about a minute before he moves again.
23
So, in the past few days, we might have slightly ruined the apartment. Maybe more than slightly.
The days upstairs are always a blur. Usually with clothes scattered everywhere.
We joke about how we "successfully made the place ours," which is funny until I remember the bathroom mirror is cracked from the time I pulled Ben onto me and slammed into it too hard. Didn't even feel it, but thank god Ben caught it—he even cut himself—because that shard could've gone straight through my chest.
The dining table—love it. Dark cherry wood, classic, elegant, completely traumatized. Needs new screws, probably a new soul.
My legs? Definitely need replacements after what Ben did to them. Not recommended.
Seriously, sleeping with Ben should come with an insurance policy and a warning label.
And still, my gluttonous body wants more.
We're in the bedroom now, the light thick and gold and almost illegal in how it catches his jaw, the tiny scar above his eye, the way his lashes flare in the sun.
Daylight... We've never done this in daylight before.
And honestly, I don't know how I'm not breaking apart when I see him like this.
I'm straddling him, riding him slowly, feeling every angle, every stretch as he leans against the headboard, legs splayed underneath me, his hands mapping the curve of my spine, like a man praying.
He roams his lips over my chest, rolling my nipples, sucking on my skin, and the room is nothing but his gasps, my moans, and the scent of us.
His chest is covered in scratches and marks—my cryptic message ofI love you.But that smirk on his face says I can't hide any of that.
Poetic, I know... But let me have this moment, though. I don't trust life enough to promise me it'll come again.
Ben bucks his hips and I crash into the curve of his mouth as his hands grip my butt, grinding me on top of him, harder, quicker, more desperate. He growls loudly as I moan, wrapping my arms around his neck.
Tremors come, shivering down to my fingertips—fingertips learning his face by heart.
"Emma..." His voice rasps, tethered to me.
"Ben..." I shiver, letting the quiver trail through me, through us.
And then—collision, the slam of spines together, twin hearts snapping back into one. My body starts shaking uncontrollably as he crushes me into his arms and holds me there, flooding me, wave after wave, until I'm nothing but him and a warm pool of us spilling on the sheets.
For a long, breathless minute, we hang in each other's embrace, shaking.
Then his voice fills my ears, shredded and euphoric: "This one... I'm not pulling out. I'm dying in you."
I press a featherlight kiss to his damp lips. "You're such a dramatic lover."
"I'm dramatic?" His eyes drop to his scratched chest, then back at me. "And what exactly were you trying to do here? Carve my heart out?"
I bite back a grin because that might have been the plan, but I've got my own currency to spend.
I tilt my hips and give him a view of two angry crescents from his teeth left behind. "And this? What is that? Too much? Psycho much?"
His grin turns sly while his fingers trail the mark. "That? That was a sticky note compared to what I wanted to do to you. You should be honored. I bite only what I really like." A sudden crease cuts between his brows. "Wait, did I actually hurt you?"
"Oh yeah," I breathe, over the top. “Nerve endings fried. Legs unusable. I think I need a doctor."
"On duty." He throbs inside me at the words, and a broken moan slips out of my mouth.
