What Comes After Dessert

by Ren Benton

  That’s why she’d let him go — to protect him from a future worth so much less than he deserved. “Take care of me now.”

  She rose up on her knees to give him room to manipulate his zipper and the condom. When she would have moved away to dispense with her underwear, his hand on her hip stopped her.

  “Just... stay.”

  He pulled aside her panties, and the head of his cock took the place of his knuckle, grazing along her slick folds, again and again.

  She issued a weak mewl of protest when her hollow ache went unfilled. “Ben.”

  “Tell me what you want again.”

  I want to be the right woman for you.

  But she would settle for what was attainable. She wrapped her hand around the fist holding his cock and guided him where she throbbed. “I want you in me.”

  He let her have just enough to tease, leaving her empty, forcing her to grind on the edge of his hand with his thumb pressing against the side of her clit to get even a little relief.

  She hadn’t known what frustration was until this moment. If she had longer nails to dig into the back of that barricade, she’d hurt him to get what she wanted. “More. All of it. Now. Please.”

  As though he’d been waiting for the magic word, he removed the blockade. She sank onto his cock, stretching to accommodate one luscious inch at a time. The barest pulse of her hips created enough push-pull to send great, shuddering gongs of pleasure radiating through her body. God, everything felt good with him. She could come just from being full of him.

  His head rested like a dead weight against her shoulder. Other than his fingers tight on her hips, he was no longer participating.

  Panic flared. No good. He would need more than this. “Let me—”

  “Easy.” His hands fanned across her rigid back. “Is this still how you want it?”

  “Is it bad?”

  “Jesus, what a question. No. Hell no.”

  “Do you want something else?”

  His hand smoothed up her spine to curl around the back of her neck. “Couldn’t tell you one other thing I’ve ever wanted, but this is work for you, and you work so damn hard already.”

  Ben cared how much effort sex demanded of her. Ben didn’t expect acrobatics, costume changes, an aria to herald his prowess, or any other type of performance. Ben had modest aspirations she could meet without a script, rehearsals, and a mental litany to not make a mistake. Ben was more concerned with her pleasure than his own.

  He was nothing like the men she was used to.

  Her apprehension would ruin this for both of them, not just for her.

  She emptied her lungs as if they were full of poison and took a new breath full of hot, damp skin, drawing him into her.

  “It’s not work” — she lifted up on her knees and slowly eased down, extending the push-pull to an agonizing degree — “if you love what you do.”

  She rode him like that until she lost the rhythm, striving for the reward she feared would disappear before she reached it. Pressure — his tongue flattening her nipple, his palm on her ass, his thumb against her clit — all at once boosted her into capture range, and she wrapped her arms and legs around it and squeezed while victory shivered through her.

  He fell backward, and she wilted onto his chest, which threatened to roll her off with every labored breath he took.

  She mumbled against his skin, “You done?”

  Her pillow hitched with laughter. “Have I not done enough?”

  “No. I mean yes. I mean—”

  “I know. I lost it the seventeenth time you said my name.”

  Her face grew feverish. “I did not.”

  “Did so. I counted. Up to seventeen, anyway. Then I died for a while. I’m not surprised you couldn’t hear yourself. One of us was making feral cat noises.”

  “It might have been the feral cat.” She hoped so. She’d hate to be the one to cheapen the best sex of her life by acting like an animal.

  “And the chorus of angels was insufferably loud.” His breathing slowed to keep pace with the long, lazy strokes of his fingertips from her shoulder blade down to where her ass met her thigh and back again. “How’s your shoulder?”

  Well enough that it took her a few seconds to remember what he was talking about. She’d had much worse injuries. “Just a bruise. No permanent damage.”

  “Something can hurt like hell without leaving a scar.”

  Her bra strap had bothered her more than his feathery touch. This was not how she was going to get hurt.

  Her knees were sore and probably full of splinters. His back had to be killing him. Who knew what manner of filth was migrating from the deck to colonize them. But she, who usually couldn’t disengage and wash away the evidence fast enough, had no will to move. Better uncomfortable and in Ben Fielder’s arms than anywhere else in the world.

  She traced his name on his shoulder with a fingertip, resisting the juvenile urge to draw a heart around it. “When my mother gave me the sex talk, she said men would hump and grunt over me and get me pregnant and ruin my life and run off.”

  His whole body tensed beneath her. “Was plan E making you a nun?”

  Not even Mother Teresa was famous enough to suit her mother. That talk had been just one of many manipulations to convince Tally mommy was the only one with her best interests at heart, keeping her isolated from anyone who might suggest otherwise. “I eventually learned, apart from the miracle of self-administered birth control, she wasn’t lying. I was glad I didn’t do that with you because I didn’t want to remember you like that.”

  He brushed the hair from her forehead and pressed his lips there. “What the hell kind of men were you with?”

  The kind who treated her like a hole to stick a dick in and learned their lovemaking techniques from porn. With them, she’d had a good idea how the bored-looking women questioning their life choices in those study guides felt. “Right now, I regret waiting this long.”

  She would have known before now that everything from the casual contact of fingers to taking a man as deep inside her as he could be was supposed to feel good. Could feel good. She would have known that she wasn’t incapable of enjoying a man’s touch.

  She would have known not to waste her time on anyone who didn’t make her feel like this. Her body had been conditioned to not respond without a direct order from her heart, and her heart was stubbornly loyal to one man.

  “It wouldn’t have been like that with us.”

  “Because you were amazing in the sack even as a teenager?”

  “Because I loved you.”

  She stopped breathing. No. Don’t say that again.

  Either he didn’t notice the petting was no longer working on her or he was doing it to soothe himself. “I like having firsts with you. There are lots of things to look forward to.”

  For a week.

  She plucked at the waistband of his jeans riding low around his hips and kept the conversation where it belonged. “First time with all our clothes off.”

  “First time in a bed.”

  “First wake-up sex.”

  “First time getting your legs wrapped around my head.”

  Her legs grew restless, eager for the sting of whisker burn a heartbeat before parts north got the implication and roused from their nap, too. There were other things she wouldn’t mind trying again with someone who cared if she enjoyed them.

  With Ben.

  If they did nothing but fuck like rabbits for the rest of the week, they might get all of them done before he went back to Seattle.

  Chapter 21

  Ben wanted to whimper when Tally took away her weight and heat. He did, quietly, when she strapped her bra back on, not because he mourned the view of her breasts but because it signaled the end of the interlude.

  But what did he expect when he blurted love? If she’d gone any colder, he’d have gotten frostbite. Just like old times.

  Half a second later, he knew he was the same coward, too, afraid to push, m
ake her uncomfortable, lose her. Keep it light. No pressure.

  She’d stayed in his arms almost a whole minute after that before squirming away.

  Without her surrounding him, her warmth and sweetness making up his whole world, the boathouse was too much a dusty, rotting shack that stank like a litter box.

  He really knew how to show a girl a good time. Maybe that was a factor in her escaping like a mermaid hauled into a fisherman’s boat, diving overboard the instant the net was cut.

  He zipped his fly and slipped into the water after her.

  She stood at the edge of the lake like a nymph, wringing water out of her braid. “Notice anything different?”

  He inspected the shadow along her shoulder blade, the ridge of her spine, the flare of her hip, the perfect crescent of cheek peeking under the lacy edge of the underpants that offered no protection whatsoever against lustful advances. “Not offhand, but I’d be happy to take a closer look.”

  He waded nearer to press a kiss against her exposed nape.

  She favored him with an arched brow and pointed with a flourish at... nothing.

  “I don’t see any— Shit.”

  Nothing had taken the place of the car.

  He approached the spot where it had been parked, stepping cautiously, as if there was actually a chance aliens had used a cloaking device on the Buick and he might stub his bare toes on a tire.

  He swore again when he walked through empty air.

  Her voice shook with suppressed laughter. “Didn’t you lock it?”

  “We’re in the middle of nowhere!”

  “Also known as the best place to not get caught stealing a car.” She sauntered toward him, her mostly naked body gleaming like satin by the light of the moon. “On the bright side, they were probably too stoked about the easy pickings to record us having sex and upload the video to the pornonet.”

  Probably. That wouldn’t even be a possibility if he’d taken her somewhere halfway decent. He raked his hands through his hair. “Shit.”

  “You’re taking this really hard, aren’t you?” The mirth crinkling her eyes belied any implied sympathy.

  “I think my reaction is appropriate to having my car stolen.”

  “First of all, it’s not your car. Second of all, it’s most likely the Townsend kid and one of his stoner buddies. They’ll take it for a joyride, not to a chop shop. They’ll leave the tank empty and you’ll never get the pot smell out, but it’s not the end of the world.”

  They had his wallet, his keys, his phone, all of her clothes. “We’re miles from home and you’re practically naked. You should be more upset.”

  “One of the many benefits of my sordid past. I’m used to being practically naked miles from home.” She set off down the smudge of a path.

  “What are you doing?”

  “It’s called walking, Fielder. It’s how our ancestors got around before horses were invented.”

  “Practically naked!”

  She took a few steps backward, the better to taunt him. “If I get pulled over for indecent exposure, what I’m not wearing will get me out of the ticket.”

  One corner of his mouth gave a reluctant upward twitch. She was doing it again, beaming light into his gloom. When everything went well, she looked for doom all around. In an actual crisis, she cracked jokes and soldiered onward like there was nothing to worry about.

  She’d spent too much of her life waiting for explosions. It was probably a relief when one finally came and she had a minute to breathe before she had to pick up her shield and prepare for the next one.

  “Wait up, Tal.” He located his shoes in the weeds where he’d toed them off, crammed his feet inside, and trotted to catch up with her. He presented his back. “Hop on.”

  “I can manage.”

  “No telling what you’ll step on out here. Think of the infection. Tetanus. Ticks.” Before she could argue her invincibility, he added, “How’s your health insurance?”

  Her mouth snapped shut. She clamped her hands on his shoulders and hopped on his back. Her arms crossed over his chest. Her thighs squeezed his hips. Her bare belly pressed against his bare back, sticky in the heat.

  The stolen car might not be as much of a disaster as he initially thought.

  He hooked his hands behind her knees to support her weight. He made a mental note to do more cardio at the gym so he wouldn’t get winded after ten steps next time.

  Wrapped around his lungs as she was, she couldn’t help but notice his labored breathing. “Let me know when it’s my turn to carry you.”

  “This would be easier if you were built like a ballerina.”

  She hummed against his ear. “But I wouldn’t bounce while I’m riding you like a racehorse.”

  His step faltered. Not sexy, his ass.

  “Okay there, buddy?”

  “A little lightheaded.”

  She pressed her mouth against his shoulder.

  “Are you smiling?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Good.”

  “Probably actually really bad that your discomfort is the source of my amusement.”

  “I’ve done more painful things to make you smile.”

  Like choking down his heart so it didn’t scare her away.

  She squeezed him tighter, but not tight enough to account for the crushing pressure in his chest. All he’d wanted since the first time he saw her was to make her happy, and they’d ended up like this because of his stupidity. “I’m sorry about back there.”

  “You were a bit of a crybaby, but the heavy lifting restores most of your lost manhood.”

  “Oh, I’m not done having a tantrum about the car. I meant about the boathouse.”

  Her hands fell away from his chest. “You’re sorry.”

  “It was dirty and cheap.”

  They arrived at the gate. The thieves locked up after themselves like responsible hooligans. They’d have to climb over.

  Tally dropped off his back, swung one leg after the other over the gate, and marched off down the road.

  “Your feet are still bare.”

  “Who cares? They’re dirty and cheap.”

  There was no limit to the ways she knew to knock the breath out of him. He used up the little bit he had left vaulting over the gate and running after her. He caught her arm, only to have his hand slapped away. He tried again. “Tally.”

  She spun around and punched him in the chest. “Not a judgmental asshole, huh?”

  He cupped her burning cheeks in his hands. “The moldy, vermin-infested building, not you. Never you. You are warm and sweet and smart and funny and wonderful, and you deserve better than a quick grope in a truck or a filthy shed.”

  “That’s what we’ve always done.”

  He deflated even more. “You’ve always deserved better. When I was a stupid kid, I didn’t know any better.” He’d wanted her whenever, wherever, however he could get her.

  He swept his thumbs beneath eyes glistening with tears he’d put there. “I know better now, but I still act like a stupid kid with you. That you could think for even a second I would ever call you... that” — he couldn’t even say it again — “proves I haven’t treated you anywhere near well enough. The only way to save this crappy day was seeing you, and I mean seeing you. You have always been the best thing about this town. I don’t ever want to be one of the things that hurts you.”

  She closed her eyes. A fat tear squeezed from between her lashes and burned his thumb like acid. “You never were. That’s why it stung so much.”

  “Not what I meant.”

  She nodded acceptance.

  He folded her in his arms as if she’d break. The brittleness gradually ebbed. Her arms looped around his waist, and only then did he dare hope his tactless tongue hadn’t done irreparable damage.

  She wasn’t fragile. She did whatever it took to get shit done, even while under fire. She was a survivor, strong and resilient. But that bulletproof exterior hid a core of festering pain that had to
be treated with more care than she would ever let on she needed.

  She mumbled into his chest. “I’m sorry I hit you.”

  “I deserved it.”

  She stepped back, vehemently shaking her head. “Nobody deserves to be hit.”

  How did he agree without making her feel like a monster? “I wish you’d told that to my coaches.”

  She brushed her hand over his chest where her knuckles had made contact, and he spent the balance of his will not grabbing it and holding it there, over his heart. “I watched you at football practice once when my mother was too drunk to pick me up for dance. Jules and two other cheerleaders had to hold me back to keep me from charging onto the field and going mama bear on the moose that tackled you.”

  If he had held her hand, he wouldn’t be the only one feeling his heart bounding around in his chest. “You never told me that.”

  “I didn’t want to emasculate you by implying you couldn’t hold your own.”

  “My manhood is sturdy enough to withstand a little sympathy from my favorite girl.”

  “It was before I was your favorite.”

  She had always been his favorite. Always. And at some point before he told her how he felt, she watched him and wanted to protect him. Maybe the feelings hadn’t been as one-sided as he’d always thought and she’d simply been as tight-lipped about them as everything else.

  She had cared. Once.

  She was here with him now. Nothing else mattered. “Ready to ride?”

  “I have to walk. I have to... do something.” The restless twirl of her hands wasn’t enough movement to dispel the anxiety casting new shadows under her eyes.

  She was incapable of being still without tension overtaking her. How did she ever sleep? “Okay. We’ll walk.”

  He scouted the road ahead, on the lookout for anything that might hurt her feet. All he could do to protect her from mosquitoes was smack the ones that landed on him before they moved on to the prettier course beside him. Under the circumstances, her near-nudity was more vulnerable than sexy.

  The back of her hand bumped his and lingered. He hooked his pinky with hers. Had he ever held her hand like this before? It felt like another first.

  It felt like something he never wanted to stop doing.