“I do.” He finally says. Clearing his throat, he rests his hands in his lap, staring down at them instead of me once I remove my hand from his throat. “I do.” he repeats—much softer—a shameful declaration of something more than just acknowledgment of a memory. I can’t dissect the meaning—I can’t understand him.
“Did you really find it with someone else? What you felt with me?” Benjamin looks back up into my eyes. I’m nervous, ears ringing. If he says yes, I’ll leave. Clearly the things that held weight to me would have meant nothing to him and I won’t force him to acknowledge this any further. If he says no—I should probably still leave, considering we can’t be anything anyway. But it would hurt less—knowing he still thinks about it—that it was more than just a passing moment in time to him. He looks so vulnerable at this moment, heels tapping against the cabinets below, twiddling his thumbs, biting his lower lip. He’s debating.
“No.” He finally says. Well, it comes out as more of a breath released, an exhale. He looks lighter—like he’s gotten a weight off of his chest. I smile.
Now I can leave. I’ll grab Amber and sit on a couch until the boys are ready to go—making sure that big-tit blonde stays far away from wherever Benjamin is—and Amber can drive us home. Maybe tomorrow we can all go for snow cones. Everything is going to beokay.
Benjamin leans in a little closer to me, his eyes that of a startled baby doe. Like I’m going to show him—like I’m going to guide him down a path that has long since been forbidden for us. I stare back at him and realize that I’m afraid. Afraid of the power he might have over me.
“Button.” I warn. I’m back in the bathroom watching him shower. I’m in the pool house watching him masturbate. Both times I should have turned away. Just as I should now. “What are you doing?”
“Doing?” He asks—half listening to what I’m saying. I feel his breath on my lips. The smell of cinnamon and citrus overwhelms me, and my already-hard dick gets painfully harder. Benjamin’s hands tentatively cup my jaw, eyes never leaving mine, lips a breath away.
“Please—” I beg him. “Don’t.” I can’t push him away. I’m too selfish—too tempted. He’s so fucking beautiful. I live wrapped around his finger, how could I ever deny him a kiss? He takes a deep breath, breathing me in and shuddering. Ah, fuck. We’re both far too drunk for this.
“Just one?” He asks, voice so small. He waits for my permission—right on the ledge, teetering. “Please?” I still say nothing, just stare, unmoving. He has to see the panic and conflict on my face. Has to realize I won’t allow or deny him. I can’t. “Just one.” He says it like he’s giving me a promise—a mercy.
His lips meet mine so gently—just a brush—resting against each other like neither of us have ever kissed before. After a moment, Benjamin pushes forward, melding our lips together and I can’t stop the guttural, feral groan that’s ripped from my throat when his lips fit so nicely against mine. I didn’t know. I didn’t know that I had been waiting since the last time we kissed—so patient—just to feel it again. Seeking it out in every other kiss that I had, in every dream I dreamt. In every moment of my pointless existence that Benjamin crashed his way into.
He pulls away—panting and eyes opening to stare straight into mine. His hands still cradle my face, and his breath warms my lips. Torture.
He’s asking me something with his eyes. Asking for more. They’re pleading with me. His trembling hands on my jaw is his body’s appeal—my own skin burning at the contact and craving to bend and give in to whatever the little succubus wants.
“Aaron.” He speaks. He tilts his head slightly, blond hair falling over his forehead and touching his brow. His voice is so soft—so innocent yet purposefully seductive. My face pinches in what probably looks like pain.
“Benjamin.” I croak.
“Would you?” I don’t respond. I know what he wants—I see it on his face—I feel it in the slight buck of his hips; the soft sighs he releases every time they find contact.
I pull at my hair, taking in a deep breath. Closing my eyes, I try to calm my heart, my brain, the electricity running up and down my nerves. I have to remember why touching Benjamin isn’t allowed. I have to think of Felix’s feelings—the fact that I’m eighteen now, I’m going to college soon. We basically live together as well. It’s a recipe for disaster. It can’t happen.
Benjamin puts a hand back on my chest, lets it wander and explore the territory like he’s never touched me before. The touch isn’t necessarily sexual—but God, if my skin isn’t lighting up under his fingers—my nipples hardening under his fingertips as they drag over the expanse of them over my shirt.
I cannot touch Benjamin Dickinson. I can’t. But God—I fucking want to. He clears his throat and I open my eyes, returning my reluctant gaze to his. His pupils are dilated, his skin flushed, breath heavy and hot.
“Would you take me apart with your hands, Aaron?”Fuck, fuck, fuck.I take a step back; I need space immediately. I’m about to flee the bathroom when Benjamin slides off of the counter—now standing directly in front of me and staring up at me with thosebig—lust filled eyes. “Make me cry. No one else can touch me like that—not the way you do.”
“Fuck, Button.”
I have him turned around and bent over the counter before I can decide against it. If he keeps talking like that I’ll come in my pants—and I’m not doing that again. He moans when I grab his hips and do what I’ve been wanting to do all night; I lick obsessively over those back dimples of his—switching to prod at them and suck them against my tongue.Mine.
My fingers are digging painfully hard into his hips, but I can’t seem to let up—and he keeps moaning.
I feel the straight fire running along my skin, the way my heart is beating so fast I’m scared I’ll have a heart attack. I run a hand up under his shirt to the back of his neck—gripping him there and pushing him to lay flat on the counter.
“Aaron—” he breathes. “Touch me. Please.” Benjamin grinds his hips forward for any kind of friction, but I hold his hip, pulling his ass back until it settles firm against the front of my jeans where my painfully hard cock is begging to get out. “Ah—ahhh.” He’s shivering—moaning at the feeling of me behind him. I feel like a drug addict, needing every little sound and movement I can take from him.
“You walked around all night in this.” I say, running my hand along his exposed midriff. He nods. “You looked so good, Button. So slutty in your little shirt.” Whining, he reaches back blindly—trying to touch me. I grab his arm and pin it against his back. “Did you like it? Everyone looking at you like they wanted to devour you?” He keeps whining, panting underneath me.
I move away an inch or two and bring a hand up—only to whip it back down. The loud slap would be more satisfying if his ass was bare, but Benjamin gets the memo, jolting with a moan—then rushing to speak.
“Yes, yes I enjoyed it.” He moans again—as if just admitting it to me brought him pleasure.
I rub his ass cheek, pushing my cock back up against the crease of his ass.
“That’s my good boy.”
“Aaron—oh my God—please.” He sounds like he’s crying, his words coming out as a sob.
