“I’m good,” I managed between breaths. “Keep going.”
The hard length of him ground against my stomach through his jeans. I arched into him on instinct, and he rewarded me with another deep, filthy kiss and a roll of his hips that dragged a whimper from my throat.
Holy shit, this man could kiss.
And his hands . . . fuck. He was a goddamn octopus.
One slid down my side, tracing the dip of my waist before settling possessively on my hip. The other slipped lower, cupping my ass through the thin lace of the thong, fingers spread wide as he kneaded the flesh.
He pulled me tighter against him, lifting me just slightly so the friction of his thigh between mine hit exactly where I needed it.
I moaned into his mouth, the sound swallowed by another slow, drugging kiss. His tongue stroked mine in a rhythm that matched the way his hand squeezed and released my ass, guiding me to rock against him.
Over and over. Back and forth.
When he shifted, my whole body felt it. Every kiss traveled through my spine like a shockwave, buzzing and alive.
I had never really enjoyed making out before. And sure, my experience was limited, but it had always felt like . . . too much, an overload of sensations colliding all at once.
My brain usually tapped out before my body could catch up, leaving me overwhelmed and disconnected.
But this was different.
Bennett kissed like he was listening with his whole body. Andmywhole body was screaming for more.
He pressed closer, chest pinning me gently to the wall as his hand on my ass lifted me higher, fingers teasing dangerously close to where I was already aching. The solid weight of him surrounded me—broad shoulders blocking out the room, heat and muscle and that delicious, woodsy scent.
It was perfect . . . until it wasn’t.
The wall was cool and unforgiving at my back, and suddenly the air felt thinner. It wasn’t fear, exactly. Just a flicker of being too pinned in, like I couldn’t quite draw a full breath or shift the way I wanted to. Discomfort curled in my stomach.
And much to my surprise, Bennett noticed immediately.
“Hey,” he said softly, voice rough but calm. He pulled back an inch, eyes scanning my face in the low light. “Talk to me, Bella. Where did you go just now?”
I exhaled shakily. “I’m okay. It’s just . . . a lot.”
“You want me to stop?”
“No!”
His chest shook with laughter when I all but shouted directly into his face.
“Sorry, no,” I said, lowering my voice. “I think it’s the fact that you’re so much taller and stronger, and with the wall behind me, I suddenly felt kind of . . . trapped. Like I couldn’t move the way I wanted.”
Bennett nodded, patiently absorbing every word. His hands slid from my ass to my hips, loose and light now, giving me plenty of room.
“Got it.” He brushed a soft kiss to my forehead, then the corner of my mouth. “Want to try something else?”
“Yes,” I breathed, relieved he didn't make it awkward, the sincerity in his voice melting any lingering doubt.
There wasn’t a trace of frustration or bruised ego in his tone, just quiet gratitude. He scooped me up effortlessly—goddamn, that was hot—and carried me to the couch, sinking down with me straddling his lap.
His palms settled lightly on my thighs, thumbs tracing idle circles over bare skin. “Better?” he asked.
I rolled my hips experimentally, feeling the hard line of him beneath me. “Much. Thank you for noticing when I checked out.”
“I always want to notice,” he said simply.
