I thought the same thing about Charles. Knew he was a jerk but didn’t think he would ever hurt me like he did. Ben has already proven he is an asshole, with a razor of a tongue, one he likes using on me. It stands to reason he could hurt me if he wanted to.
Still, as angry as Ben makes me, he also has a way of making me feel oddly comfortable. I’d go so far to say that he made me feel good. Confident. Unafraid. Strong.
Something about the way he throws insults at me and calls me names is kind of fun. I have no way of knowing if he really thinks I’m a bitch or not, but getting to hurl insults back at him is different, enjoyable even.
When I pull into a parking space in front of his condo, he undoes his seatbelt and reaches for the door handle. Doesn’t bother saying thank you or bye, just slips from the car. I watch as he wobbles on his feet, back hunched over.
I can’t let him climb up the steps of the building alone. He will fall to his death trying to make it to his door without any help.
Groaning, I turn off my car and slide out of my seat, catching up to him as he grips the rail of the steps. His eyes drift over to me, questioning me with a raised eyebrow.
“I’m not leaving you to try to get to your place alone. You’ll die.”
“And you would just hate that, huh?” He laughs.
“Lead the way.” I roll my eyes.
I follow him to his fourth-floor condo. I stand and watch as he fumbles with his keys, cursing under his breath as he tries to slide it into the hole, then pushing the door open.
It thuds against the wall as he swings open. He flicks on his lights. Standing in the doorway, I glance around the place.
He has a black couch that is big and plushy. Black probably wasn’t the best color choice. I’m surprised the thing isn’t covered in sex stains. I’m sure a black light would turn the whole thing blue.
There is a black coffee table sitting in front of a black stand where a large TV sits. Black bookshelves line the other wall. He has far more books than I imagined he would have, but mixed in are little trinkets I can’t quite make out.
A few awards hang on his walls, with posters of his band and others.
Off to the side is a square dining table with some chairs around it. He has an open kitchen, twice the size of Cameron’s kitchen. A hallway is off to the side leading to more doors.
Glancing back to him, I see he has pulled his hoodie over his head. It lays discarded on the dark wooden floor. His shirt gets tossed onto the black shaggy rug under the coffee table.
“Am I bigger?” he asks, as he kicks off his shoes.
“What?”
“Than your ex.”
“Are you seriously asking me that right now?”
“Yes.” He smiles, unzipping his jeans. I glance behind me. The hallway is empty, and it’s late, but the fact he is unbothered getting undressed with the door wide open and me standing here is bold.
I just stare at him as he pushes down his jeans. His black boxers hug at his hips. Despite being skinny, there is a slight outline of muscles on his body. His stomach is toned. Tattoos cover his skin. Nothing like a sleeve or anything, just randomlittle designs here and there. A ghost, a flower, a stick figure. Many other things I can’t quite make out.
“So, am I bigger?” he asks again. My eyes drift up, meeting his, as he stares at me.
“Yes.” I roll my eyes. “By a lot.”
“Do I have the biggest cock you’ve ever seen?” He tilts his head to the side, mouth curved up in a knowing smile.
It’s hard to hate him for being cocky about his dick when it’s as impressive as it is.
“Yes. Happy?”
“Oh yeah. I’m just fucking ecstatic.”
He strolls to the couch, plopping down on it and reaching for the remote.
That should be my sign to leave. I did my good deed. Picked him up, got his drunk ass home, and stroked his ego. There is no reason for me to stay any longer, but I don’t move.
