The realization settles deep, warm and overwhelming.
Bennett closes the door behind us with a quiet click. When I turn to face him, he’s watching me with that steady, open expression he’s been practicing for weeks now. No walls. No deflection. Just him, looking at me like I’m the only thing in the room that matters.
I reach for him first.
My hands slide up his chest, over the soft cotton of his shirt, and I feel the solid warmth of him beneath it. He lets me set the pace, lets me pull the fabric up and over his head, his arms lifting to help. When his shirt drops to the floor, I press both palms flat against his bare skin and just breathe him in.
“You planned this,” I whisper.
“I hoped.” His voice is low, rough. “I wanted you here. In my space. In my bed. Not just for tonight, either.”
The honesty in his words undoes me. I rise up on my toes and kiss him, slow and deep, pouring everything I’m feeling into it—the gratitude, the love, the quiet awe that this man, who once sat broken in the middle of Main Street, is standing here telling me he wants me to stay.
His hands find my waist, then slide under my sweater, warm and sure against my skin. He peels it off with the same care he’s shown all evening. When my bra follows, he steps back just far enough to look at me, his eyes dark with want and something softer, deeper.
“God, Gisele.” His voice breaks on my name. “You’re so fucking beautiful. I still can’t believe I get to touch you.”
He lowers his head and kisses my collarbone, then the swell of one breast, then the other. When his mouth closes over my nipple, I gasp, my fingers threading through his hair. He doesn’t rush. He worships—sucking gently, then harder, tongue circling, teeth grazing just enough to make me arch into him. His hand kneads my other breast, thumb brushing over the stiff peak in perfect rhythm with his mouth.
“I’ve thought about this every night,” he murmurs against my skin. “About how you taste. How you sound when I do this.” He sucks harder and I moan, the sound raw and needy. “That. Exactly that. I want every sound you make for me.”
He sinks to his knees in front of me, hands sliding down my sides to unbutton my jeans. He peels them down my legs along with my panties, then sits back on his heels and just looks at me, completely bare in the soft lamplight.
“Perfect,” he breathes. “So fucking perfect.”
He leans in and presses a kiss to my stomach, then lower, until his mouth finds the heat between my thighs. The first slow drag of his tongue over my clit makes my knees buckle. He catches my hips, holds me steady, and devours me with devastating patience—long, luxurious licks, then focused suction on my clit, two thick fingers sliding inside me and curling just right.
I fist my hands in his hair, hips rocking against his mouth as pleasure builds in hot, pulsing waves.
“Bennett—oh God—”
“That’s it, baby,” he groans against me. “Let me hear you. I love the way you taste. Love how wet you get for me. Been dreaming about this pussy since the first time I tasted it.”
His fingers thrust deeper, curling against that perfect spot while his tongue works my clit in tight, relentless circles. I come hard, crying out his name, thighs trembling around his shoulders. He doesn’t stop until I’m shaking and oversensitive, then kisses his way back up my body, tasting every inch.
When he reaches my mouth, I taste myself on his tongue and moan into the kiss. His hands are everywhere—cupping my breasts, gripping my hips, sliding between my legs again like he can’t stop touching me.
“I need you,” I whisper against his lips. “Now.”
He walks me backward until my knees hit the bed. I lie back, watching as he strips off the rest of his clothes. His body is a masterpiece of hockey and hard work—broad shoulders, thick chest, the defined lines of his abs, and his cock, heavy and thick and already leaking at the tip.
I reach for him, wrapping my hand around his length. He groans, hips twitching into my touch.
“You’re so big.” I stroke him slowly. “I love how you feel in my hand. How you feel inside me.”
Then he reaches over to the nightstand, opens the drawer, and pulls out a condom. His eyes never leave mine as he tears the packet open with his teeth.
“Put it on me,” he says, voice low and rough with want. “I want your hands on me first.”
The request sends a fresh wave of heat through me. I take the condom from him, sitting up slightly so I can reach. I roll it down his thick length slowly, savoring the way his cock twitches in my grip and the low groan that escapes his throat as my fingers stroke him while I work it on.
“Fuck, Gisele,” he breathes, watching my hands with dark, hungry eyes. “The way you touch me… I’ve dreamed about your hands on me for years.”
When it’s fully on, I give him one last slow stroke, just to feel him throb under my palm. Then I lie back again, spreading my thighs wider for him.
His gaze locks on mine, intense and unwavering.
He climbs over me, bracing his weight on his forearms so he can look down at my face as he settles between my thighs. The blunt head of his cock nudges against my entrance, and we both go still.
