Face the Music

by Salsbury, JB

“In a box.”

  Her eyes are closed and she nods. “All of them?”

  “I kept one in the drawer in my bathroom.” And I’m ashamed to admit that, but she deserves the truth.

  Her smile is shaky.

  “Can I lay you down in my bed now?”

  Having already kicked off her shoes in the living room, she’s in her white button-up and black leather leggings that I’ve been desperate to take off her all day.

  I ask, “Can I get you something more comfortable to sleep in?”

  “You’re that convinced I’m a sure thing, huh?”

  “Quite the opposite actually.” I pull a pair of boxer shorts and an old ASU T-shirt from my drawer and hand them to her. “I’m very much not a… sure thing.”

  “So all this kissing and touching is just one big massive tease?” She smiles as she slips off her shirt then unhooks her bra.

  Time stands still as she lifts her arms, and her heavy breasts sway as she pulls my shirt over them. I blink and shake my head. Self control, Ben.

  “I took some pretty significant and specific vows when I became a pastor.” I stare unabashed as she peels her leather pants down her legs. Her borrowed shirt falls to her knees, so I can’t see what color her panties are, or if she’s wearing them at all.

  “Abstinence?”

  “Huh?” I look at her dumbly.

  She chuckles. “You can’t have sex if you’re not married?”

  “Right.” If I could’ve seen into the future back then, I would’ve passed up the pastor gig and gone into construction. I never would’ve expected I’d end up in my room with a sexy, nearly naked woman who isn’t my wife. When I took my pastoral vows, I was married and thought I’d be married forever. “No sex.”

  She lies down on my bed, tucking my pillow under her head. “Is that why you asked me if I was okay if our making out was all that you could give me?”

  I sit on the edge of the bed, angled toward her. “Yes.”

  “Did I not answer you clearly enough then?”

  “No, you were pretty clear.”

  “So what’s the problem?”

  “I want to make sure we’re going into this with clear and realistic expectations.”

  She takes my hand and kisses my knuckles before interweaving our fingers. “What can we do?”

  “Everything except sex.”

  “Does that include oral sex?”

  My gaze lifts to hers, and I nod once.

  “Bummer. I was really hoping I’d get a chance to taste you.”

  My groin tightens and I laugh a little uncomfortably. “I hate to disappoint you, trust me, but if it makes you feel better, I don’t know what I’m missing out on anyway.”

  “What?”

  “Shhhh.” I look at the door, expecting Elliot to come barging in at any minute.

  “Ben”—she sits up so we’re hip to hip, her gaze level with mine—“are you saying you’ve never had a blow job?”

  “Nope. Never.”

  “What the fuck?” she mouths and stares blindly across the room.

  “I was raised in a strict religious cult that believed oral sex was from the devil.”

  Her gaze darts to mine. “Your poor mom.”

  “Gross.”

  “Sorry.” She shakes her head. “I can’t believe this. I didn’t think those archaic beliefs still existed.”

  “Oh, they exist. I carried those views into adulthood, and Maggie… well, she wasn’t raised the same as I was, but she felt that performing oral sex on a man was degrading.”

  “Did she carry the same views on oral sex performed on a woman?”

  This is awkward. “No. And after I was married, I changed my views on oral sex, but she never came around to my way of seeing things.”

  “Huh. How convenient.” She sounds miffed on my behalf, which warms me inside. “This explains why Jesse is such a crazed sex addict. The second he left home, he must’ve been out to shove everything his parents taught you guys in their faces.”

  She’s right about that.

  “Can I be honest with you about something?” I ask.

  “Always.”

  “I have a sexy, gorgeous woman wearing my clothes in my bed. The last thing I want to do with her is discuss my sexual past, my brother’s sexual past, or my parents’ sexual hang-ups.”

  She laughs. “I see your point.”

  “Maybe we continue this conversation over coffee? Or never?”

  Her lips fuse to mine, and she pulls me on top of her. “Okay, Ben, so let’s make out and do every single thing on your approved list.”

  “Deal.”

  Ashleigh

  Funny thing about sex. When the opportunity to have it is on the table, I find most people rush to get to it. When the opportunity is not on the table, I’ve realized, there are so many creative ways to play. Sure, it’s not a rush to the finish, but it’s even better—a slow build that fills beyond bursting.

  Even now, with Ben’s big body between my legs, my borrowed shirt somewhere on the other side of the room, and Ben’s mouth on mine, I’m keenly aware of how erotically charged a no-sex agreement can be.

  With nothing between us but his boxer briefs and my borrowed boxer shorts, he rocks his hips against me. His elbows are placed on the bed on either side of my shoulders, my hands on his back. I feel the raw power of his back muscles flexing with every thrust forward.

  If he’s this talented with clothes on, I can only imagine how good he’d be without.

  “You feel so good,” he says against my lips with another long, firm roll forward. “Even through the shorts, you’re soaked.”

  I am. We’ve been touching, kissing, licking, and sucking everything from the waist up for the better part of an hour now. If I don’t find my release soon, I’ll go unconscious. I arch my back and do my best to work with his strokes, rubbing the sweetest part of me against the thickest, hardest part of him. “Is this okay?”

  “Gray area.” He sucks in air through his teeth. “We’re playing with fire.”

  I cup the firm globes of his ass and moan from how good he feels under my hands. How many times have I imagined what his ass would feel like in my hands? The reality is a million times better than even my best fantasy. “Do you want to stop?”

  His answer is another rough thrust forward. “Never. Couldn’t if I tried. You’re irresistible,” he says with such meaning I feel it in my chest.

  Those dark eyes stay fixed on mine for seconds before he kisses me with so much feeling, tears spring to my eyes. What the fuck is wrong with me?

  I’ve never cried during sex. I’ve heard of women who do and wondered how something so physical could translate into something emotional enough to make a person cry. But I get it now. Could it be my tightly strung body that’s short-circuiting my emotions? Or the tenderness in how he touches me, as if I’m someone who could be broken or might spook? Whatever it is, I try to suck the tears back, but I’m not quick enough. A single tear falls down the side of my face. I break the kiss so I can turn my head away, wiping the tear onto Ben’s pillow before he notices.

  I should know better than to think he would miss anything. Unlike most men, Ben seems keenly aware of my feelings.

  His body freezes on mine. “Shit, Ash, am I hurting you?” He moves to roll off me, but I wrap my legs around him. He tilts his head and swipes the stupid tear at my temple with his thumb. “Talk to me.”

  I shake my head. “It’s stupid.”

  “Nothing from these captivating lips is stupid.” He punctuates his words with a quick and gentle kiss.

  I roll my eyes and feel another tear fall.

  Rather than wipe this one away he dips down and kisses it away.

  “If you want me to pull it together, you’re going to have to stop being so sweet.”

  He pulls back, his eyebrows pinched together.

  I cover my face with my hands. “I’m sorry, I’m ruining this. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I think I’m going to
start my period.”

  He pries my hands away, and when I look at him, he’s grinning. “Hey, you’re welcome to cry in my bed.”

  I unhook my legs from his waist, and with a heel to the mattress, he allows me to push him onto his back. I straddle him, my breasts so close to his face all he’d have to do is lift slightly put his mouth to them, but he doesn’t. He keeps his eyes on mine.

  “You’re such a good man, Ben Langley.”

  He tucks my hair behind my ears. “You always say that.”

  His words break off on a moan as I rub against him. His erection is a thick, solid ridge lying flat against his belly and I focus on the tip, moving my hips in waves.

  “You don’t need to be so gentle.” I bite his lip and pull, making him gasp.

  A fire flickers behind his eyes. “How do you like it?”

  “Rough.”

  His hands in my hair tighten, and he pulls hard enough to force an arch in my back, my breasts an offering. The move is possessive, and I get the feeling that he’s not only doing this because I asked for it. His lips cover my nipple. The suction is so powerful, it sends shock waves down my abdomen. I grind down on him harder, loving the way he pulls my hair, the sting of his mouth on my breast, and when he bites, I’m done.

  To keep from waking Elliot, I bite my own lip as an orgasm an hour in the making hits me. I ride him for as long as the waves of pleasure roll through me. I swear it’s been minutes and I’m still rocking against him when suddenly he sits up, crashes his mouth to mine, and groans into the back of my throat. The fabric between us is drenched with heat as he lifts his hips, meeting mine stroke for stroke, until we both still and fall side by side to the bed.

  Breathing heavily, I grin through the delicious aftershocks of a release long in the making.

  “Good thing I’ve got restrictions. Real sex with you might kill me.” His voice is grumbly and so sexy.

  I turn to look at him, his forearm thrown over his eyes, his wide, muscular chest rising and falling faster than usual.

  He pulls his arm away and catches me staring. “You’re uncharacteristically quiet.”

  I’m afraid I’m falling in love with you.

  He rolls to his side, props up on one elbow, and pushes hair out of my face. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

  I smile, because it’s all I can do with what I’m feeling. “Not a single thing.”

  His eyes darken as if he’s not convinced.

  “Am I freaking you out?” I ask.

  He frowns. “A little. Only because I’m afraid you’re thinking of running.”

  Quite the opposite actually. I make sure to hold his eyes. “I’m not going anywhere unless you tell me to.”

  His shoulders relax a little. “Promise?”

  “Promise.” I press his hand to my still-racing heart. “It’s not slowing down.”

  His eyes dance with satisfaction. “Mine either.”

  “What do you think it means?”

  He doesn’t say it.

  Neither do I.

  We hold each other’s gazes, saying a million things without uttering a word.

  * * *

  I set my phone alarm for five o’clock to make sure I was up and out of the house before Elliot woke. When it goes off, it’s still mostly dark outside and I’m alone in the bed. I try not to panic and slip from the bed to go find Ben.

  I don’t have to go far. The sliding glass door from his bedroom to the back patio is cracked, and I hear the quiet strum of a guitar. I take a moment to watch him, his shirtless torso bent over his instrument, his fingers moving against the strings as he looks at the backyard without seeing in the dim morning light. I try to pick up what song he’s playing, but the dark, haunting melody doesn’t sound like any of Jesse’s songs or like anything I’ve heard before. His lips move slightly, but I can’t hear his voice, almost as if he’s mouthing the words.

  I don’t know how much time passes, but eventually the sun peeks over the mountains and I fear if I don’t get out of here soon, Elliot will catch me having a sleepover. At the sound of the door opening, Ben’s eyes dart to me and he stops playing. I catch a glimpse of his soulful eyes seconds before the look is wiped away by his brilliant smile.

  “Morning, beautiful.” He sets down his guitar to open his arms for me and I notice he’s wearing a pair of soft, worn out jeans, no shoes.

  I try not to stare too long at his naked torso and sit on his thigh. “Morning.”

  He scoops my legs up to cradle me against his chest, and I take full advantage, pressing my cheek over his heart. “Sleep okay?”

  “You tell me, I was in your arms all night.”

  He chuckles and kisses my head. “You were out cold.”

  “Good thing I set my alarm or I’d still be asleep and we’d have to explain adult sleepovers to Elliot.” I expect him to laugh, but he doesn’t.

  Ben clears his throat. “Yeah, about that.”

  Oh shit. I’ve overstayed. He’s going to tell me we need to slow down or I need to go home or ask me to sneak out the back gate. Not that I blame him—I’ve been asked worse by men in my past. But Ben is different. Everything with Ben feels different, including his ability to break me with one word.

  He says, “I was thinking…”

  My body tenses.

  “We should go public.”

  I sit up fully and face him. “What?”

  “I’ve been thinking about it, and I don’t want to sneak around with you anymore.”

  “What about the church? Are you allowed—”

  “To date?” He smiles. “I’m a pastor, not a priest.”

  I break out in a cold sweat and pull furiously at my shirt to cool my skin. “And Elliot?”

  He sticks his hand up the back of my shirt and rubs soothing circles on my skin. “She loves you. It’ll be okay.”

  “This seems like a really big step. Are you sure?”

  He sobers. “You think I’d bring it up if I wasn’t one hundred percent sure?”

  I feel sick, but I don’t know why. This is what I want. Isn’t it? I try to give him a reassuring smile. “No.”

  “Let’s take a couple days to think about it, okay? We don’t have to make any big public announcement today. I just want you to know that’s where my head’s at.”

  And your heart? What about your heart, Ben? “I better get going.”

  “Wait, one thing before you go.” He taps my hip for me to stand and grabs his guitar. “I woke up with a song in my head, if you can believe that.”

  “What song?”

  “I don’t know yet.” He strums his guitar. “It doesn’t have a name.”

  “Hold on.” I blink, unbelieving. “The song you were playing out here this morning, you wrote it?”

  “I haven’t written anything yet, but it’s original, yeah.” He strums the melancholy tune again. Close up, I can see it’s even more intricate than I first thought. Yet he makes it seem so effortless. “I have lyrics but—”

  “Sing it.”

  His cheeks turn pink and he dips his chin and shakes his head. “I don’t think I’m ready for that yet.” He continues to play.

  “Ben.” I squat to get his eyes. “I can’t believe you wrote this.”

  The song picks up a little, but the overall sound is dark and a little sexy. Or maybe it’s watching his forearms flex, his fingers pluck the strings as memories of his hands on me flood my mind.

  Mid-song, he moves the guitar, hooks me behind the neck, and brings our lips together. “How can I play when you look at me like that?”

  “Like what?”

  “Like you’re counting down the seconds until you can get your mouth on me.”

  “You read me so well.”

  He growls and kisses me again, hard and quick. “Want coffee?”

  The sun is now above the mountains. “No, I really need to go and you really need to get Elliot up for school and you to work.”

  “Now who’s bossy?” He stands and helps me to my
feet.

  We head back to his bedroom, where the bedsheets are a mess. I grin as I think of him holding me all night. I grab my clothes and reach for the hem of my borrowed shirt only for him to grab my hands and stop me.

  “Keep it,” he says.

  “You want me to keep your shirt?”

  “I do.” He releases me and steps back, his eyes sliding over me from neck to ankle. “I like knowing you’re wearing me home. I know it sounds primitive, but since we can’t have sex and I don’t get the satisfaction of knowing you’re walking away from me with a part of me, aching from me, I like knowing you’re wearing me in some way.”

  I clench my legs together and suck in a stuttered breath. “Keep talking like that and I’ll toss you to the bed and have my way with you.”

  He groans and, with his eyes on me, adjusts his dick in his jeans. “How long will I have to go without seeing you?”

  “I don’t work today, but—”

  “Can I take you to lunch?”

  “I’ve never been on a lunch date.”

  “Is that a yes?”

  “Yes.”

  With my arms full of yesterday’s clothes, I do the walk of shame from Pastor Ben’s house, but I don’t feel an ounce of shame, only excitement to see him again.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Ben

  The graveyard of the soul is where you left me.

  No hope of something more, and yet she found me.

  I pushed, I fought, I kicked and screamed.

  No way I’d ever feel redeemed.

  She ripped through the dark and searched until she found me.

  Her body heals the painfulest of wounds.

  Her lips crack my soul’s untethered tomb.

  Clawed hands pull pleasure from my flesh.

  Her fire ignites within my chest.

  My love for her is never second best.

  I should be signing off on the churches charitable donations, but I can’t stop thinking about the song that came to me this morning. With Ashleigh in my arms, I woke up practically humming the chorus, and the second I played it on my guitar, the lyrics poured from some untapped source in my mind.

  I stare at the lyrics, realizing they mirror the feeling I’ve been wrestling with for the last few days.