‘That’s it.Yes . ..That’s it, sweetheart. Relax.’
My whimpers turn to cries as he picks up the pace, nudging places inside me that have never been reached. Sliding from base to tip, he switches to shallow movements; small jabs and punches of his hips.And I love it. Love it all. Especially as he begins to whisper my name like a soft catechism of praise. His eyes are dark and stormy as he bends to flick the tip of his tongue across both nipples in turn. Sliding his hands under my ass, he lifts me from the counter, changing the depth and pace.
‘Oh, Ben . . .’
‘You look like a dream, but you feel so fucking real. So fucking delicious,’ he whispers, burying his face in my neck as the pressure builds between my thighs like a dam about to break. I flex against him, my movements tight and almost jolting.
‘God. Oh, God. I’m... I’m...’
Exploding. Like a super nova. I’m falling apart, unable to process the overwhelming rush of sensation and heat.
‘I can feel you,’ Ben grunts. ‘I can feel you coming so hard.’ Before his guttural words turn to curses as he joins me until we’re a joint twitching, pulsing mess.
Chapter 10
BEN
I’ve become one of those men who watch women while they sleep. Not the creepy kind that hang around uninvited, watching through chinks in curtains or blinds, or worse still, planting cameras and craping where they’re not invited.Because those blokes are sick. And I was invited—not only into her body but also her bed.
Round two was a lot less frantic and desperate but no less enjoyable. We’d kissed and kissed until I thought my heart would burst. We kissed so long her face had to be sore from my stubble. Then, with our hands linked above her head, we’d fucked missionary style, slow and deep. Well, until she started wriggling under me, so I’d flipped her over and fucked her from behind. One mind-shattering orgasm later, she’d flattened herself like a starfish in the middle of the bed, snuffled her sweet little face into her dusky pink pillow, and fell asleep. And while it would’ve been nice to have felt needed, you know, for cuddling purposes, I still couldn’t quite believe my luck. And I’ve pretty much watched her for hours since.
So yeah, I’ve become one ofthosekinds of men. A soft, soppy bastard.
And I’ve no regrets.
The feel of her...let me just say that, along with no regrets, I also have no words. There are not words in the English language to adequately describe what it felt like to have her trust. Yeah, of course, given that situation again, I’d have fucked with a sock on my knob if that’s what she’d wanted. But she didn’t. She wanted me just as badly, and she trusted me. And that means everything—above the feeling of her, hot and wet and so tight, above the sensation of her pulse beating around me, through me, her exhales my inhales.
She. Trusted. Me.
But it doesn’t change anything.
‘What time is it?’ Like Frankenstein resurrected from the dead, Nell comes up off the mattress, her eyes wild and panicked, her breathing rapid and anxious.
‘It’s about five.’ Fuck, that view. Side boob, full and round. A narrow back and shoulders, the sweet swell of her arse. I reach out, rubbing my hand at the base of her skull, her head immediately falling forward, her shoulders dropping like a marionette with cut strings.
‘Oh. Oh, thank goodness. I thought I’d overslept.’
‘Hey.’ I pull myself up full, resisting the urge to wrap her in my arms and pull her down to the mattress again. ‘You haven’t. Come on, it’s okay. Besides, being late is hardly life and death, is it?’
‘But it is,’ she says, turning her head sharply. ‘Or it can be.’ She brings her hands to her hair, ruffling her already wild curls. ‘No one tells you the job will be like this. I suppose that would be bad for business, hey?’ She turns her head over her shoulder, her forced smile so forlorn.
‘Come on.’ I pull on her shoulders until she’s relaxed against my chest. Fuck,no one tells you the job would be like thisshould be my mantra. The Army’s motto is hardlyjoin the Army and get to shoot shit. ‘Tell me about your job,’ I find myself saying, not wanting to dwell on thoughts I’m avoiding.
‘I love it. And I hate it. I’m just so tired of being tired all the time.’
‘And this is because... ’ How do I put this delicately? ‘The dumb fucker left you to pay the bills?’
‘Partly,’ she half laughs. No, on second thought, that wasn’t laughter at all. ‘The dumb fucker bailed, and that’s fine—painful at the time, but fine. I just wished he’d concluded I wasn’t the woman for himbeforehe hung the albatross around my neck.’ She sighs, her body rising and falling against mine. How could anyone give this woman up? I swallow uncomfortably because I’ll have to do just that. ‘The problem is mine because the house is mostly mine. My grandma died and left me a chunk of cash. I used it as a deposit, but the mortgage is still huge. It was big for two incomes, but it was supposed to be an investment. Buy, fix, sell.’
‘So jump to the end,’ I reply, tightening my arm around her shoulder. ‘Sell it. Get rid of it.’
‘I can’t. Not until it looks less like a demolition site. I’d end up in debt to the bank and have nothing to show for it,’ she says, tipping her head, her gaze finding mine. ‘Can I tell you the truth?’ she asks softly. As I nod, she turns onto her side, her palm on my chest. ‘I’m not surprised he left,’ she murmurs. ‘I’m not fun to be around.’
‘That’s not true.’ I find myself tightening my arm around her, wondering if I should tell her than all men are pricks. But that seems a bit fatalistic.
‘You’ve only just arrived. Stick around and your opinion will change.’ I swallow thickly, the silence and the exchange of our gazes acknowledging that this wouldn’t happen. I won’t be here for long, and I’m not the man for her. I’m just the rebound.
‘You’re wrong. You could never be boring.’
