Page 71 of His Reckless Freshman

Heat courses through my body as I sit up too, desperate to reach for him.

“Yeah, Jolie.” Ben dips his head. “I can come without having to go all the way with you.”

“Can I make you come like that?”

He glances over his shoulder, his expression bunching before he looks away from me. “Um… yeah, you could. But that’s not what this is about.”

“But you made me feel so good. I want to return the favor.”

“No. Uh…” His laugh is all awkward. “This is about you and your pleasure. You’re the one we’re trying to make come. Not me. And…” He pops off the bed, spinning around to look down at me. His expression is pained for a second before he crosses his arms and murmurs, “And you’ve experienced that now.”

There’s this thick beat of silence as I study his face and quickly figure out everything he’s not saying.

My body runs cold, my lips parting as I curl my legs toward my chest and wrap my arms around them.

“So that’s it?” My voice is so heavy with disappointment it’s barely audible. “We’re never going to do this again?”

I glance up at him, and he’s still looking pained, so I quickly close my eyes.

How can I go from feeling so high to plummeting back down with a sickening thud?

“Jolie, don’t… uh…” He sighs, and I feel the bed dip as he sits back down. “Please don’t… cry…”

“I’m not,” I squeak, my voice giving me away.

Crap!

I don’t want to cry, but the emotions are all just bubbling up and…

He doesn’t want me.

It’s not like he’s your boyfriend.

The thought somehow makes it worse, and I squeeze my legs a little tighter. I’ve had my one orgasm now, and I should be really happy.

But I just know I’m going to want more. Even though I probably shouldn’t, I totally do.

And I want Ben to give them to me.

I don’t want someone else’s hands on my body.

I trust him.

I want him.

“Jolie, we agreed that I’d show you a few things. You know what feels good now. You can touch yourself. You can—” He lets out a little huff. “You felt where I touched you, right? You can replicate that.”

“I can’t kiss my own boobs, though,” I mumble, my cheeks flushing when I just realized what I said and how I said it—like a sulking kid. Ugh!

Squeezing my eyes shut, I silently berate myself and hope Ben’s not looking at me when I open them again.

But nope.

He is.

He’s staring at me with this torn look, and I’d do just about anything to find out what he’s thinking right now.

Which is why I blurt in this blubbery voice, “What are you thinking? Please, tell me what you’re thinking.”