“Well, I certainly don’t want you to die, now do I?”
I helped him to his feet, and we picked our way around the mess of vases that Alice broke, on our way to the bedroom. Moments later, Ben sat propped against my headboard, his shirt gone, the lamplight catching on the ridges of scar tissue across his chest and the fresh, angry red of his stitched-up side. He looked wrecked — beautifully, heartbreakingly wrecked — and every instinct in me screamed to protect him, even from myself.
I stood at the foot of the bed, hands still trembling from adrenaline and everything else.
“We really shouldn’t do this, Ben. You’re hurt.”
His eyes met mine, dark and heated despite the pain.
“I need you more than I need air. Right now.”
The words unraveled me. I climbed onto the bed slowly, straddling his thighs without putting any weight on his lap yet. My palms settled lightly on his shoulders, reveling in how warm and solid he was as his muscles tensed under my touch.
“Then we do this my way. Slow. Careful. You tell me if anything hurts.”
He exhaled, a shaky sound and offered me a devastating, mischievous grin.
“Yes, ma’am.”
A faint smile tugged at my lips as I leaned in, brushing my mouth against his, the kiss soft and testing. His hands came up to my waist, light, reverent, like he was afraid I’d vanish if he held on too tight. I deepened the kiss, tongue sliding against his, and he groaned low, fingers flexing against my ribs in a needy spasm.
I pulled back just enough to tug my sweater over my head, letting it fall to the floor. His gaze roamed over me, hungry but patient. Waiting. I reached behind me, unclasped my bra, and let it drop to the floor too. The cool air tightened my nipples into hard buds, and his stare burned hotter.
“Chrissy...”
His voice was rough gravel.
“Shh.” I shifted forward, settling my weight carefully on his thighs, avoiding his bandaged side entirely. My hands framed his face, my thumb tracing the raised scars along his jaw. “I’ve got you.”
I kissed him again, slower this time, savoring the familiar taste of him. His mouth opened under mine, tongue stroking, but he let me lead. I trailed kisses down his throat, feeling his pulse hammer under my lips. When I reached his collarbone, I nipped gently; he shuddered, hands sliding up my back, his touch so damn careful it stole my breath.
I rocked my hips once — light friction through the denim of our jeans — and he hissed, head falling back against the headboard.
“God...”
“Too much?” I whispered against his skin.
“No. It’s perfect. You’re perfect.”
I smiled into his neck, then sat back to work his jeans open. He lifted his hips just enough to help, wincing only once. I eased everything down, freeing him and finding his cock hard, hot, and already slick at the tip with precum. My own jeans and thong followed, kicked aside. We were naked now, skin to skin where it mattered most as I straddled him again.
I rose on my knees, guiding him to my entrance with one hand. Our eyes locked as I sank down slow, inch by inch, watching his face for any flicker of pain. There was none. There was only raw pleasure tightening his features, and a low growl rumbling in his chest.
When he was fully inside me, I stilled, letting us both adjust. He filled me perfectly, the stretch exquisite. His hands settled on myhips, not gripping hard, just resting there, his thumbs stroking soothing circles over my skin.
“You okay?” I breathed.
He nodded, throat working.
“Better than okay.”
I started to move, small rolls of my hips at first, gentle rises and falls. Every motion was deliberate, mindful of his wound. His breath hitched with each downward glide, fingers tightening fractionally on my skin but never bruising, though I wouldn’t have minded if it did. I’d enjoyed the rough nights with him just as much as I was enjoying the gentle lovemaking now. I braced my hands on his shoulders, controlling the rhythm, keeping it slow, deep, and unhurried. The friction built steadily, heat coiling low in my belly.
His head tipped back, eyes half-lidded, watching me through his lashes.
“You feel... incredible.”
I leaned forward, kissing him again as I circled my hips. He groaned into my mouth, one hand sliding up to cup my breast, his thumb brushing my nipple. Pleasure sparked sharp and sweet. I gasped, my pace quickening just a fraction, but still careful, still watching his face.
