“Please, Bennett,” she begged. “I’m losing my mind.”
I lowered my head so our foreheads touched and I finally pushed deep inside her.
“Oh, fuck,” she moaned.
“Say it again.” I was becoming breathless as I began to move in and out of her.
“Bennett—fuck.”
I wanted to hear it again and again. I pulled myself up on my knees and began thrusting into her more steadily, both of our hands still entwined.
“I can’t get enough of this.” I was getting close and I needed to hold out. I’d been away from her too long, and nothing I’d fantasized about while she was away compared to this.
“I want you like this every day,” I growled against her damp skin. “Like this, and bent over my desk. On your knees sucking my dick.”
“Why?” she hissed between clenched teeth. “Why do I love it when you talk to me like that? You’re such a prick.”
I lowered myself onto her again, laughing into her neck.
We moved together effortlessly, sweat-slicked skin sliding against skin. With each thrust she raised her hips to meet me, her legs around my waist pulling me deeper. I was so lost in her that time seemed to stop. Our hands were still tightly clasped above her head and she began gripping tighter. She was getting close, her cries becoming louder and my name leaving her lips over and over, pushing me closer to the edge.
“Give it up.” My voice was ragged with the desperation I felt. I was so close but I wanted to wait for her. “Let go, Chloe, come all over me.”
“Oh, God, Bennett,” she moaned. “Say something else.” Fuck. My girl got off on dirty talk. “Please.”
“You’re so fucking slippery and hot. When you get close,” I panted, “your skin flushes everywhere and your voice gets hoarse. And there is nothing more fucking perfect than your face when you come.”
She squeezed me harder with her legs and I felt her breath hitch, felt her tighten around me.
“Your fucking bee-stung lips go all soft and open when you pant for me, your eyes begging me to make it good and, fuck, nothing is better than the sound you make when you’re finally there.”
That was all it took. I deepened my strokes, lifting her off the bed with every thrust. I was teetering on the edge now, and when she cried out my name, I couldn’t hold back any longer.
She muffled her screams against my neck as I felt her let go, clenching wildly beneath me—nothing in the world felt as good as this, letting the rush build inside and crash over us, together—and I let go too.
Afterward, I moved my face close to hers, our noses touching, breath coming out hard and fast. My mouth was dry, my muscles ached, and I was exhausted. I loosened her grip on my hands and rubbed her fingers gently, trying to bring some of the circulation back.
“Holy shit,” I said. Everything felt different, but completely undefined. Rolling off her, I closed my eyes, trying to block out the tangle of thoughts.
Beside me, she shivered.
“Cold?” I asked.
“No,” she answered, shaking her head. “Just really overwhelmed.”
I pulled her to me and reached down, dragging the blankets over us. I didn’t want to leave, but I wasn’t sure if I was welcome to stay either. “Me too.”
The silence stretched between us as did the minutes, and I wondered if she’d fallen asleep. I shifted slightly and was surprised to hear her voice. “Don’t go,” she said into the darkness. I bent, kissed the top of her head, and inhaled her sweet, familiar scent.
“I’m not going anywhere.”
Fuck, that felt good.
Something warm and wet enveloped my dick again and I groaned loudly. Best. Dream. Ever. Dream Chloe moaned, sending a vibration along my dick and straight through me.
“Chloe.” I heard my own voice and jerked slightly. I’d dreamed of her hundreds of times but this seemed so real. The warmth disappeared and I frowned. Don’t wake up, Ben. Don’t fucking wake up from this.
“Say it again.” A soft, throaty voice broke into my consciousness and I forced myself to open my eyes. The room was dark and I was lying in a strange bed. The warmth was back and my eyes flew to my lap, where a beautiful dark head of hair moved between my open legs. She sucked my cock back into her mouth.
In a rush, the entire night came back to me, the haze of sleep rapidly disappearing.
“Chloe?” There was no way I could be lucky enough for this to be real.
She must have gotten up sometime in the night to shut off the bathroom light; the room was so dark I could barely make her out. My hands drifted out to find her, my fingers tracing her lips around my cock.
She bobbed her mouth up and down on me, her tongue swirling and her teeth raking lightly against my shaft with each movement. Her hand slipped to my balls and I moaned loudly as she rolled them gently in her palm.
The feeling was so intense, the realization of my dreams and reality coming together, that I didn’t know how long I could last. She moved slightly, her finger lightly rubbing a spot just below, and a long hiss escaped my clenched teeth. No one had ever done that to me. I almost wanted to stop her, but the feeling was so incredible I was helpless to move.
While my eyes adjusted to the light, I ran my fingers through her hair and across her face and jaw. She closed her eyes and increased the suction, bringing me closer and closer to the edge. The combination of her mouth on my dick and her finger pressing against me was unreal, but I wanted her up with me, that mouth on my mouth, sucking my lips while I buried myself in her.
Sitting up, I pulled her into my lap, wrapping her legs around my hips. Our naked chests pressed together, I took her face in my hands, looking into her eyes. “That is the best wake-up call I’ve ever gotten.”
She laughed a little, licking her lips to a delicious shine. Reaching down I placed my cock at her entrance and lifted her slightly. In one smooth motion I was deep inside her. Her forehead fell to my shoulder and she rocked her hips forward, taking me further inside.
Being with her in a bed was unreal. She was leisurely riding me, grinding in tiny movements. She kissed along every inch of the right side of my neck, sucking and pulling at my skin. Short utterances punctuated every circuit of her hips.
“. . . like being on top of you,” she breathed. “Feel how deep you are? Feel that?”
“Yeah.”
“Want faster?”
I shook my head, absolutely lost. “No. God, no.”
For a while, she stayed slow, tiny circles, teeth all up and down my neck. But then she shifted closer, whispering, “I’m gonna come, Bennett,” and instead of releasing a string of curse words to describe what hearing that did to me, I bit her shoulder, sucked a bruise into her skin.
Working me harder now, she began to talk. Words I could barely process. Words about my body inside her, her need for me. Words about my taste and how wet she was. Words about wanting me to come, needing me to come.
With each swivel of her hips, the pressure began to build. I gripped her tighter, fearing briefly that I would leave bruises every time I moved my hands, and quickened my thrusts. She moaned and writhed above me and just when I thought I couldn’t hold out anymore, she called my name again and I felt her begin to spasm around me. The intensity of her orgasm brought on my own, and I moved my face to her neck, pressing a loud groan into her skin.
She collapsed against me and I lowered us both to the bed. We were sweaty and panting and utterly exhausted, and she looked fucking perfect.
I pulled her to me, her back pressed against my chest, and wrapped my arms around her, entangling my legs with hers. She mumbled something I couldn’t make out but was asleep before I could ask her.
Something had shifted tonight, and my last thought as my eyes closed was that there would be plenty of time to talk tomorrow. But as the early morning sunlight began to creep un
der the dark curtain, I realized with an uneasy feeling that tomorrow was already here.
Fourteen
Consciousness fluttered on the edge of my sleep-filled mind, and I tried to force it away. I didn’t want to wake up. I was warm and comfortable and content.
Vague visions of my dream passed behind my closed eyes as I snuggled into the warmest, best-smelling blanket I’d ever slept in. It snuggled back.
Something warm pressed against me, and my eyes fluttered open to see a head of familiar messy hair inches from my face. A hundred images flashed through my mind in that second as the reality of last night came crashing down on my muddled brain.
Holy shit.
It was real.
My heart rate quickened as I lifted my head slightly to see the beautiful man wrapped around me. His head lay on my chest, his perfect mouth parted slightly, releasing puffs of warm air across my bare breasts. His long body lay flush against mine, our legs tangled together and his strong arms wrapped tightly around my torso.
He stayed.
The intimacy of our position hit with a crushing force that actually took my breath away. He didn’t just stay, he clung to me.
I struggled to find my breath and not panic. I was keenly aware of each inch of where our skin touched. I felt the powerful thump of his heartbeat against my chest. His cock was pressed against my thigh, semihard in his sleep. My fingers burned to touch him. My lips ached to press against his hair. It was too much. He was too much.
Something changed last night and I wasn’t sure I was ready to deal with it. I didn’t know what that change entailed, but it was there. In every move, every touch, every word, and every kiss, we had been together. Nobody had ever made me feel that way, as if my body were made to fit his.
I’d been with other men, but with him I felt as if I was being carried away by a hidden undertow, completely unable to change the course. I closed my eyes, trying to quell the sense of panic that was building. I didn’t regret what happened. It was—as always—intense and easily the best sex I’d ever had. I just needed a few minutes alone before I could face him.
Placing one hand into his hair and the other on his back, I managed to roll him off me. He began to stir and I froze, holding him close and silently willing him to go back to sleep. He mumbled my name before his breathing evened out again, and I slipped out from underneath him.
I watched him sleep for a moment, the panic receding somewhat, and was once again struck by just how gorgeous he was. Stilled by sleep, his features were tranquil and peaceful, and so very different from any expression he ever wore around me. A thick curl had fallen down across his forehead, and my fingers itched to brush it back. Long lashes, perfect cheekbones, full pouty lips, and a stubble-covered jaw.
Christ on a cracker, he’s pretty.
I started to make my way to the bathroom but caught my reflection in the mirror over the bedroom vanity.
Wow. Freshly fucked. That was definitely how I looked.
Leaning in, I examined the small red scrapes that were scattered along my neck, shoulders, breasts, and stomach. A small bite mark was visible on the underside of my left breast, a hickey on my shoulder. Glancing down, I ran my fingers along the red marks on my inner thigh. My nipples hardened as I recalled the feeling of his unshaven face brushing along my skin.
My hair was a wild and tangled mess, and I bit my lip as I remembered his hands twisted in it. The way he pulled me first into his kiss and then onto his cock . . .
Not helping.
I was jolted out of my thoughts by a voice thick with sleep. “Awake and freaking out already?”
Turning, I caught a glimpse of his naked body as he twisted in the sheets and sat up before pulling them over his hips and leaving his torso bare. I didn’t think I would ever get tired of looking at—and feeling—his broad, muscular chest, washboard abs, and tantalizing happy trail that led to the most gloriously hung man ever seen. When my eyes—finally—reached his face, I scowled at his lopsided grin.
“Caught you looking,” he murmured, rubbing a hand over his jaw.
I wasn’t sure whether to smile or roll my eyes. Seeing him rumpled and vulnerable in his half-awake state was disorienting. We never bothered to close the heaviest drapes last night, and now sunlight streamed in, blindingly bright against the tangle of white linens. He looked so different—still my asshole boss, but also someone else now: a man, in my bed, looking like he was ready for round . . . four? Five? I couldn’t keep track.
And as his eyes raked over every inch of me, I remembered that I too was completely naked. In this moment, his expression was as intense as his touch. I briefly wondered, if he continued to look at me like that, would my skin ignite? Would I feel his touch on my flesh the same as when he put his hands on me?
I fixed my expression into something I hoped camouflaged that I was mentally cataloging every inch of his skin and bent over to retrieve his white undershirt off the floor. It had been in front of the air conditioner all night and was a little cold but, thankfully, mostly dry. When I slipped the soft cotton over my head, I inhaled the sagey scent of his skin and then emerged, catching his dark stare.
His tongue darted out to wet his lips. “Come here,” he growled quietly.
I moved to the bed, intending to sit beside him, but he pulled me so I straddled his thighs, and said, “Tell me what you’re thinking.”
He wanted me to condense a million thoughts into a single sentence? The man was insane.
So I opened my mouth and let the first thought out: “You said you haven’t been with anyone since we were first . . . together.” I stared at his collarbone so I wouldn’t have to look him in the eye. “Is that true?”
Finally, I looked up.
He nodded and slipped his fingers beneath the undershirt, running his hands slowly from my hips to my waist.
“Why?” I asked.
He closed his eyes, shook his head once. “I haven’t wanted anyone else.”
I wasn’t sure how to interpret that. Did he mean he hadn’t met anyone he wanted but was open to it? “Are you usually monogamous if you’re sleeping with someone?”
He shrugged. “If that’s the expectation.”
Bennett kissed along my shoulder, to my collarbone and up my neck. I reached around him, grabbing the complimentary bottle of water on the nightstand and taking a sip before handing it to him. He finished it in a few long swallows.
“Thirsty?”
“I was. Feeling a little hungry now.”
“Not surprising, we haven’t eaten in like—” I stopped as he wiggled his eyebrows and grinned.
I rolled my eyes, but they fell closed as he leaned forward and kissed me once, sweetly, on the lips.
“Is monogamy the expectation here?” I asked.
“After what happened last night, I think you need to tell me.”
I didn’t know how to answer that. I wasn’t even sure I could be with him like this, let alone be monogamous about it. The idea of how that would work made my head spin. Would we actually be . . . friendly? Would he say, “Good morning,” and mean it? Would he feel safe criticizing my work?
He spread his fingers over my lower back, pressing me into his side and pulling me out of my rambling thoughts. “Never take this off,” he whispered.
“Deal.” I leaned back to give his mouth better access to my throat. “I’ll wear this and nothing else down to the poster session this morning.”
His laugh was low and playful. “Like hell you will.”
“What time is it?” I asked, trying to see behind him to the clock.
“Don’t give a shit.” His fingertips found my breast, and slipped back and forth over the soft underside.
But in the process of leaning away from him, I’d exposed the skin just above his hip. What the hell?
Was that a tattoo?
&
nbsp; “What is—?” I could barely form the words. Pushing him away slightly, I looked up to meet his eyes before returning them to the mark. Right below his hipbone was a string of black ink, words written in what I guessed was French. How the hell had I missed that? I thought back briefly to all the times we’d been together. We’d always been rushed, or in the dark, or in only a state of semiundress.
“It’s a tattoo,” he said, bemused, pulling back a bit and trailing his fingers over my navel.
“I know it’s a tattoo, but . . . what does it say?” Mr. Serious Business had a fucking tattoo. Another piece of the man I thought I knew fell away.
“It says, ‘Je ne regrette rien.’”
My eyes flew to his, my blood heating at the sound of his voice dissolving into a perfect French accent. “What did you say?”
He definitely smirked. “Je ne regrette rien.” He spoke each word slowly, emphasizing every syllable. It had to be the sexiest fucking thing I’d ever heard. Between that and the tattoo and the fact that he was completely naked under me, I was going to spontaneously combust.
“Isn’t that a song?”
He nodded. “It’s a song, yes.” Laughing quietly he said, “You might think I’d regret that one drunken night in Paris, thousands of miles from home, without a single friend in the city, I decide to go get a tattoo. But no, I don’t even regret that.”
“Say it again,” I whispered.
He moved closer, hips rolling against mine, his breath hot in my ear, and whispered it again. “Je ne regrette rien. Do you understand?”
I nodded. “Say something else.” My breasts were heaving with each labored breath, my sensitive nipples grazing against the cotton of his shirt.
Bending slightly, he kissed my ear, saying, “Je suis à toi.” His voice was strained and gravelly as he held himself up for me and I put us both out of our misery, sinking down over him with a groan, and loving the depth of this position again. He whispered a single, profane syllable over and over, staring up at me. Instead of clutching my hips, his hands fisted the shirt at my sides.
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