Writing for Ben (RiverHart Book 4)

by Adira August

  Ben was a charming host, and they talked about incredibly inconsequential things while they ate, as if RedDeer Publishing had never existed at all.

  Ben finally opened the wine. He poured two glasses but held up a hand when she started to drink. "Hang on, I want to make a toast." He lifted his glass to her. "To Janet Julia Johnson, without your talent and dedication, I would be getting a C minus." He took a drink and then motioned her to join him.

  Janet sipped. "Okay. Let's be serious. This meal didn't come from a grocery store and that wine didn't come from a discount bin. You live in your uncle's storeroom. Did you come to bribe me or crack the writing whip, or what?"

  He took another sip of wine, but didn't answer. "I'm telling you, Ben, whip cracking or food bribery won't work. I'm … empty. Okay?"

  "C'mon," he said, "show me where you are, anyway. I promise I arrived whipless."

  She sighed and went to her desk. A shake of the mouse woke up her laptop and the page she'd been trying to work on filled the screen.

  "That's it," she shrugged. "Two paragraphs and half a sentence."

  He was behind her, reading over her shoulder. He reached past her and set his wineglass on the desk. His shirt brushed lightly against her hair and his warmth enveloped her. My god, he smells wonderful. Something like fresh snow and soap and - can warm have a scent? She wanted so much to let her head fall back against his abdomen and feel his hands and - he touched her.

  He put a hand on her shoulder and squeezed gently for a bare second. "Hang on, let me grab a stool." And he was gone and she began to breathe again. The heat spread from the place his fingers touched her, over her chest and breasts.

  He dragged the stool from the counter over and set it directly behind her chair. She was sitting upright, her forearms on the desk edge, her fingers on the keyboard. He slid onto the stool and put both hands on the armrests of her desk chair.

  The stool was taller than her chair and Ben was at least ten inches taller than she was. With his big hands on the armrests, he naturally leaned forward. He engulfed her without touching her. She was acutely aware of the veins along the backs of his hands snaking up and under the still-rolled sleeves of his shirt. A low moan of wind from outside as the storm picked up, faded under the sound of his breathing and the accompanying pounding of blood in her ears.

  "Tell me about this story." His voice was low and had taken on an air of authority. Boss to employee. "Tell me what you wanted to happen right here."

  Janet licked her lips and cleared her throat. She reached for the wineglass and hesitated - it was his. She'd left hers on the counter.

  "Go on, it's fine," he told her.

  She drained half the glass. "Chloe is waiting for Marshall in a private dining room at a luxury hotel. He's supposed to meet her there. She's going to break up with him, and he's going to try and talk her out of it. He'll remind her of the first night they spent together. A sexy flashback. But … " She shook her head, wishing again she could lean back. "I just can't think of one more seduction."

  His hands left the chair for her upper arms. He held her lightly, but very definitely. Muscles low in her abdomen tightened.

  "I think the problem is too much theory, not enough practice." His hands slid down to cover hers. He lifted them from the keyboard and pressed them down on the chair seat on either side of her hips.

  "You have to have input, experience, to bring to your process. Raw material to create with." His lips brushed against her ear and he dragged her hands back over the chair seat to curl her fingers under the bottom edge of the back. "Don't let go, Julia," he told her.

  Oh god, is he really doing this? Now? She was panting slightly, her thighs squeezed together over the heat building between her legs.

  "What if he doesn't talk?" Ben asked. "What if he comes up behind her and …"

  Hands. Big and warm, firm against her sides, roamed over her hips and across her belly and down. He opened her robe and gathered up her nightgown, bit by bit. Elegant fingers slipped down between her thighs and pressed outward. Slowly, inexorably, he spread her legs.

  Oh, fuck! Her clit throbbed hot and her knees tried to press together. But she was little and could barely think and he was strong. He easily opened her further even as she tried to close her legs, until the sides of her thighs met the arm supports. She whimpered in her throat and the heat and tightness spread up through her core.

  "Just like that," he breathed against her neck. "Good girl, just like that. Hang on and don't move." Her eyes were closed against the sight of herself not at all as she imagined, in her not-sexy flannel gown exposing her not tight, firm thighs. She felt him stand and move. He turned the chair and pushed forward. She struggled against her instinct to sit up and put her feet flat on the floor.

  She did open her eyes. He had shoved the exposed front edge of the seat against the inside corner of the desk. One of her legs was inside the kickspace, the other along the drawer front. He sat directly behind her, his body pressing the back of her chair into the desk edge. She realized that now, she couldn't close her legs. She couldn't push away.

  Then his arms were around her, trapping her upper arms against her body and she couldn't free herself even if she did let go of the chair back. He'd effectively restrained her. He crossed his forearms over her chest and slipped his hands under her robe, cupping each breast with the opposite hand. She felt the beginnings of panic.

  Then his head was next to hers, his mouth at her shoulder, lips on her skin, nuzzling her neck, seeking beneath the fall of her long black hair and taking her earlobe gently between his lips. His hands on her breasts were still, just holding them through her nightgown. She began to relax as he moved to the other shoulder, and finally did lay her head back against him.

  "That's my beautiful girl," he said. "What if he doesn't remind her by telling her? What if he makes her body remember how he touched her? How he'd given her what she'd always craved and hardly knew herself that she wanted?"

  He began describing what Chloe was wearing that night from the brief lines on the monitor he'd read. The simple silk off-the shoulder dinner dress. She closed her eyes and imagined the scene, the elegantly appointed room, candles in silver holders on rich white damask.

  His hands gently massaged her breasts that swelled over the low-cut edge of fine silk. Ben's voice was hypnotic, a rich bass purr from deep in his chest. She could actually feel the vibration translated through his body to hers.

  "He won't give her a chance to say what cannot be taken back. He knows she wants him. Her face is flushed, her lips parted, wet and red. Her small hard nipples apparent against the thin fabric of her dress." As he spoke, his thumbs move over the tips of her breasts, first right, then left, over and over. The flesh between her legs burned and her opening ached. But her legs were spread and her arms behind her and she was helpless to do bring herself to the climax she craved.

  Ben's hands left her breasts and he stroked her neck upwards under her chin, tilting her head back further, running one thumb over her lips. His other hand pulled the ends of the satin ties that held the top of her nightgown closed. Her attention focused on his hands, her vulva calmed, her need not as acute.

  He took the top corners of her nightgown in his fingers and folded them back, exposing her breasts. She felt the soft flannel stroke her nipples and gasped. But his hands were on her, each nipple trapped by a thumb and forefinger, cool slightly rough skin on hot hard buds. Her back arched pushing her chest forward, needing pressure, even pain.

  "No, no, not yet, Little Sub," he said and she whined deep in her throat and her hips flexed and twisted. "I decide when. I decide how. And how much. Do you understand?"

  The respite was over. She felt her own wetness on her panties, her clit a fiery throbbing torture to her. Her knees pressed so hard against the desk she thought she'd bruise. She was trying to push back, but he was a wall she could not breach.

  "Answer me," he ordered, his voice cold and hard.

  And like comin
g up for air, she suddenly surfaced from the dense gravity of her arousal. "I - oh, no, I don't - " And the anxiety that had been riding just beneath the surface of her body's need broke through.

  Her hands came up and she grabbed her robe and yanked it closed, "Stop, stop! Let me go!" She shouted and a sob tore through her.

  She pushed her legs against the desk and the chair moved back easily on its casters. She turned, yanking down the skirt of her gown and robe and there was Ben - in the kitchen, back behind the counter, a look of concern on his face.

  "I'm going to get some ice water for you," he said in a perfectly matter-of-fact tone. She watched as he found a clean glass, heard the whirr of the ice dispenser and the clink of cubes against glass. There was an electronic hum as he filled it from the fridge door. She watched him. Like a cat under a bush watching a dog to see if it would catch her scent or pass harmlessly by.

  He set the glass on her side of the counter and leaned back against the stove. "It's good if you can drink it, it helps chase the cobwebs away and bring you back," he said.

  She didn't move.

  "I'm going to go to the front door and switch on the overhead lights, is that okay?" He asked but made no move toward the front of the apartment. She nodded. Ben walked slowly to the front and flipped on the lights. She blinked against the glare. Then he found the pull and opened the drapes.

  White out. It was a blizzard in full force.

  "I'm sorry," she said. Her throat tightened and tears threatened.

  "Can I bring you the water? It really does help," he asked.

  Janet stood. "No, don't be - I mean, I'm fine. Sit down, please." She went to the counter, passing the chair he'd been sitting on, not looking at it. Her back to him, she straightened her clothes more completely and retied her nightgown and the belt of her robe.

  I'm fine. It's all fine. She took the glass and drank. It tasted wonderful. Carrying the water with her, she sat in the armchair next to the sofa.

  "I don't know why that happened. And I don't understand, why now?"

  He sat very still. "Why you panicked now or why I chose today for- "

  "The second," she interrupted him. "Why today and what happened to me? It was like being underwater, sort of. Only not exactly. It was like I disappeared."

  He nodded. "Yeah, subs describe it like that. Also like entering a different dimension. Their vision can be affected, hearing muffled to everything but their Dom's voice." He ran his hands through his hair. "Look, I think it just escalated too fast. I knew we wouldn't be fucking, so I wasn't concerned about the safety conversation. And I knew it would be simple, so I wasn't worried about the limits conversation. But now, I think we should have had some conversation. I'm sorry. I just - "

  He stole a quick look at her face and then looked at the floor, hands clasped between his knees. "You're so incredibly responsive, and, you went very far, very quickly." He shifted toward her, but slid back slightly. "Know that nothing would ever happen that you didn't want to happen. Not with me, not ever."

  He lifted his head slowly and looked at her, his concern obvious. "I know you know the safe words, your characters use them. Did you not know that all you have to say is 'red' for everything to stop? Or say 'yellow' if you need to slow down and talk to me or just have time to adjust. Okay?"

  "Okay." She wondered if this meant he wanted to try again. She wondered if she wanted him to. "But what happened? How did you do that? It wasn't just me, you did something, I know you did."

  "I triggered you," he said. "With words and actions, but mostly with words. It's like 'ready, set, go' for a Dom-sub relationship. Your sexual self recognizes me as your Dominant and moves into submissive mode. It just happens. I don't know why.

  "I saw it the first time I met you, after class," he went on. "Only you were doing it to me. You went so still, so relaxed. Your hands were open at your sides and you were staring at my body, but not raising your eyes to me. The look on your face. Your nipples got so hard. I thought my dick was gonna break in half in those jeans. It was all I could do not to throw you down on your damned desk."

  Janet finished her water and set the glass on the coffeetable. "You were seventeen years old."

  He shrugged. "Not sure how much age has to do with this. Experience, maybe. I'd been an active Dominant for almost two years when we met."

  "Two - ?" No wonder he'd seemed older. Janet took her glass to the kitchen and brought back a refill and a fresh glass of water for Ben. She handed it to him and sat on the couch next to him, but with clear space between them.

  "That was what they call 'subspace', right?" He nodded. "It's an interesting thing. Now that I feel 'all the way back' - from wherever I was - all the anxiety is just gone."

  "Good. I hate the thought of you being afraid of me. Or afraid of what you want," he said.

  "Well, we'll see. Right now, I'd like to hear why you picked today."

  He rolled the glass between his palms and blew out a breath. "I turned the project in for grade before the break."

  "That's months early," she said.

  "I know, but there was no reason to wait. The results are incontrovertible at this point, the thing's a juggernaut. I brought two more writers on board. Maybe three if I can convince this guy after New Year's when he's back from vacation. I'm looking at office space, trying to figure out where it's best to set up physical shop. The website is being redesigned. Renamed. I'm setting up a new company. The truth is, J.J., I don't have time to go to school, anymore."

  "You're dropping out with a semester left?"

  He looked horrified. "No! This project, RedDeer and Reading Romance, fulfilled requirements in three classes. And will take care of a fourth I set up as an independent study project on remote employees. Telecommuting."

  He got up and went to the kitchen, draining his glass. As he talked, he cleaned up their dinner.

  "I planned it this way last year," he said.

  Janet hugged herself. The apartment was warm, but she was sitting two feet from a thin sheet of glass that separated her from horizontal blasts of thick snow.

  "Ben, are you saying you're leaving? Is that why you picked today?"

  "That. And the blizzard. I came in here all bundled up with my head down. No one saw me and this isn't even a university neighborhood. And no one is moving for at least two days." He shrugged. "I wanted to spend time with you."

  He flashed her the dimple-maker. "I thought being trapped in a blizzard was kind of romantic. We could make hot chocolate and popcorn and watch movies and I can give you orgasms." A clouded look. "Or not. Whatever you want."

  He went back to rinsing dishes and filling the dishwasher. She took him her glass and leaned on the counter. "What I want is to take a shower and put on comfy sweats and thick socks. Popcorn and hot chocolate sound great," she said.

  He gave her a cheerful nod, but she knew he was disappointed. She took a deep breath and went around the counter to stand in front of him. Close to him.

  "Is it okay if I put my arms around you?" she asked.

  "Sure," he said. He put the towel he was holding on the counter but didn't open his arms. He waited for her.

  Janet finally did what she'd longed to do from the moment he'd first stood at her desk. She put her palms flat on his sides, slipped them around to his back, feeling the firm rise and fall of muscles and ribs and the dip to his spine. She let her forehead fall onto his chest. And then she stepped in - her breasts against his abs, her belly against his crotch. She tightened her arms and felt his cock stirring. Lifting her head, she found him looking down at her, his eyes deep black pools.

  "I think it was just too sudden," she said. "Unexpected. That transition from boss/student to lover and then not just lover but - "

  His mouth set, she could tell he was fighting the urge to speak words that had the power to - what? Ensnare me? … Release me?

  "I'd like to tell you what I want," she looked questioningly into his eyes, not sure if the Dom/sub thing allowed that.
<
br />   He smiled and brushed her hair back on one side, but didn't touch her any other way. "You should always tell me what you want."

  "Okay," she swallowed. And leapt. "I'd like you to come with me into the shower and - could we leave the other stuff outside? At least right now?" She closed her eyes. Again she felt her throat tighten and tears threaten to spill. She really wanted him to say yes.

  He tipped her head back gently with one finger under her chin. He was smiling. One dimple. One eyebrow raised. "Vanilla is the most complex flavor there is," he told her. "Please. You lead the way."

  Reaping the Profits

  Perfect. Ben was perfect.

  Leading him by the hand into her small bathroom was the last leading she did. While he did leave the Dom portion of his personality outside as she asked, he was still all Alpha male. He pressed her fingers to his lips and asked if he should undress for her or if she'd like to do it.

  "How about a joint venture?" Her voice was soft and breathy with the anticipation of seeing him nude. She unbuttoned his shirt and he slipped it off. He pulled off the black leather cowboy boots under the wool trousers and she undid his belt and the buttons at his waistband. She pushed his slacks down off of his hips and then stopped. One step back put her against the door.

  "You do the rest," she whispered.

  Then he was naked before her. Dear god, I never saw a man so beautiful. She didn't touch him, yet, because looking at him this close was enough to cause her breath to hitch and her vulva to heat. He was a sculpture. Not "sculpted" as in cut from a gym workouts, but sculpture. All the muscles smoothed and flowing across his broad chest and down over his stomach and abdomen to his lovely thick cock, lengthening before her eyes, lifting out from his body.

  His thighs were solid columns and when he turned away to start the water running, when he stretched and reached and twisted, the play of shadow along his back and sides, buttocks and thighs was balletic. Bewitching.

  I'm going to feel him against me. She dropped her robe.