Hannah tugs on my shoulders, but I stay where I am, beside her. Abruptly, she leans back and opens her eyes.
“What’s wrong?”
I blink at her. “What do you mean?”
“Why did you stop?”
“We didn’t stop. We haven’t stopped.”
She narrows her eyes at me. “Ben, you know what I mean. What’s going on?”
“I, um, I just don’t want you to think—”
“You know I’m not a virgin, right?”
Wait, what? Holy shit. “No,” I say, strangled as the possibilities flit behind my eyes and make my dick twitch. “I didn’t.”
Hannah scoffs. “You just assumed because what? I look innocent?”
She’s right, of course. You’d think I’d have learned by now never to assume I have her figured out. She’s not a virgin. Shit, she’s not a virgin. “I thought…you seemed…”
“I think I seemed pretty eager. Because I am pretty eager.”
I gulp so hard it’s audible. “You are?”
Her frown disappears, and a smile teases around the corners of her mouth. She slides one palm slowly up the back of my neck and threads her fingers into my hair. My whole spine shudders. “You can’t tell?”
And damn, it’s that voice again, that low, sultry, reading-out-loud voice. “Yeah, but I didn’t want to rush you.”
She leans up until her mouth is an inch from mine. “You’re not rushing me, Ben. In fact, I’m about to climb on top of you and take matters into my own hands.”
Okay. We’re done here. I slam my mouth down on hers and roll onto her. She moans, a soft, sensual sound that’ll be the fucking end of me. I shift between her legs again, and her heels hook over my thighs. I push her hoodie up— I want it off. Her shirt and the bra, too. I don’t even care where we are anymore. If she wants it, I’m there. We’ll do it on the couch, on the floor, any flat surface that holds still for us.
I can’t get her clothes off without breaking the kiss, but I get her shirt up and her bra unhooked. I slide my hand under the silky fabric and cup her breast— And my phone vibrates on the coffee table. I collapse onto her, groaning into her hair. She laughs.
I grope one-handed to the side for my stupid, fucking phone. “I’ll just put it on silent.”
She starts wiggling out from under me. “You might as well answer now. The moment’s gone.” She leans forward, grabs my phone, and holds it out to me, frowning. “It’s a Chicago number.”
My stomach bottoms out— It can only be one person. Richard Parker’s been emailing me since Thanksgiving about the law program at the Chicago College of Law, and if he’s calling me now, it can’t be good.
Because I sent the application in.
It was Christmas Day, and Dad wouldn’t shut up about it, so I just did it, half-assed, daring them to reject me. That’s not how this game is played, though, because Dad’s got an in and that in is now calling me. There’s so much inappropriate nepotism happening here that I feel ill, but this is the way it works in Dad’s world. It’s all about who you know, who can do you a favor, who can give you a leg up.
I glance at Hannah before pressing accept as I stand up and turn away.
“Hello?”
“Ben? It’s Richard Parker.”
My heart sinks. Why did I even answer?
“Hi, Richard. What’s up?”
“I’ve got some great news. I’m calling in an unofficial capacity here, but I wanted you to know that the admissions committee has accepted you. Congratulations and welcome to the Chicago College of Law!”
I swallow hard. Some rapidly shrinking part of my mind is horrified. But the rest is just…blank. I’m too stunned to feel anything.
Richard keeps talking to fill the awkward silence. “Your personal statement was a little weaker than some applicants, but that was made up for by your excellent LSAT scores.”
My personal statement sucked because I wrote it in twenty minutes on Christmas Day. The fact that they took it seriously makes a mockery of this process. And I took the LSATs last spring to get my dad off my back when he first started cracking down about my major. I figured I’d bomb it, thereby displaying my lack of law aptitude, but I aced it. Unfortunately. So here I am, doing my best to fail at this and somehow not.
Six months ago, law school in Chicago seemed as likely to me as studying marine biology in Beijing, but now it’s looking terrifyingly likely. I glance at Hannah, sitting on the couch, one leg folded up under her, watching as I pace around the room. I haven’t said anything specific, but she’s not dumb. She knows something’s up.
“That’s um…thank you,” I mutter.
“Like I said, this is just an unofficial call. You’ll get an official offer in the mail in the next day or so. Make sure you sign and return it right away. There’s a long wait list, so they need to lock in the incoming class as soon as possible.”
“Sure thing. Thanks, Richard.”
“No problem, Ben. Say hi to your dad for me.”
“Will do.” I haven’t spoken to him since Christmas, and I’ve ignored every harassing text he’s sent me.
I end the call and stare at my phone. What the hell am I going to do?
“What was that about?” Hannah asks.
I don’t want to burden her with my shit. We’re still in this vague phase where we’re able to have fun without knowing where this is going or feeling like it has to go anywhere. So I keep my response offhand. “Just this friend of my dad’s. He’s still hassling me about law school.”
She sighs and shakes her head. “When are you going to tell him about grad school?”
“I don’t know. It’s complicated. He’s making things difficult.”
“If you just talk to him—”
“I can’t, Hannah. You know why I can’t.” My voice is sharper than I intended, and she draws back a little. I drop down onto the couch and pull her into my arms. “Sorry. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you. It’s just—I mean, you get it. You haven’t told your dad, either.”
She lays her head on my shoulder. “And we both know I’m being a total baby about that.”
Despite the anxiety making me nauseous, I chuckle. “Is that your way of calling me a baby?”
She giggles, but after a moment, she lifts her head and looks me in the eye. “No, it’s my way of saying we should man up together.”
I stroke a hand up her thigh. “That’s a new word for it.”
She slaps at my chest. “I’m serious. Maybe I won’t be so freaked out about talking to my dad if I know you’re doing something just as scary at the same time. Like in Titanic. ‘You jump, I jump.’”
I roll my eyes. “You did not just quote Titanic to me.”
“Yes, I did. Shut up, you big snob. So?”
“So you want us to sign a pact or something?”
“No, we just go and do it. This weekend. Get it over with, like ripping off a Band-Aid.”
There’s something appealing about her idea. The thought of Hannah dealing with her dad while I’m dealing with mine… Weirdly, her bravery makes me brave. I don’t even know what the repercussions of my actions will be, but it’s about time I found out. I can’t keep living in this limbo, trying to keep all the balls in the air, knowing at some point I’ll have to let one drop.
“Okay, let’s do it. We’ll both go home and face the music.”
Hannah swallows, worry clouding her eyes. For all her bravery, she’s not fearless, but she still says, “Deal.”
We haven’t done anything yet, and who the hell knows what’ll happen when we do? But just deciding to act makes me feel lighter than I have in months. Like I have the power to shape my future.
I gently lift her chin. “It’ll be okay.”
“I know. I feel better knowing I’m doing it with you.”
I smile and run my knuckle down the curve of her cheek. “Same.”
She hooks her hands behind my neck and leans in, until she’s so close I can feel her br
eath on my lips. “So… That thing we were discussing earlier? Is it too late to recapture that moment?”
“Actually, I kind of feel like celebrating right now. Is that weird?”
“If your idea of celebrating involves lots of kissing and not a lot of clothes, I’m totally on board.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Hannah
We kiss for a while on the couch until I’m straddling his lap and his hands are under my shirt again. It’s like when we were in his car in Cleveland— Except we’re not in a car. And we’re alone.
Ben kisses under my jaw and down my neck. “Do you…” He clears his throat and his words vibrate across the sensitive skin of my neck. “Do you want to move to the bedroom?”
My stomach clenches with a combination of nerves and anticipation. Mostly anticipation. I slide back off his lap and take his hand, smiling at him. His dark eyes are half closed, and he smiles back at me, then kisses my fingertips. For all the intense making out and grinding, the feather-light kisses on the pads of my fingers make me melt.
When he stands, he curls his free hand around the back of my neck and kisses me again, a long, slow exploration of my mouth that catches fire. I dig my fingers into his hair, holding him tight to me, and he wraps an arm around my back before pulling me up onto the tips of my toes. God, I love how tall he is. When we’re together like this, it’s like he enfolds me.
We stumble toward his room, Ben walking backward, unable to stop kissing long enough to get there properly. He backs into a table, nearly sending his laptop to the floor, but he catches it, and then we laugh, all the nerves and excitement making us a little giddy.
After saving his laptop, Ben keeps backing into his room, tugging me by my hands, but not kissing this time, so we don’t run into anything else. Which works until he trips over a pile of laundry on the floor just inside his room.
Ben’s room is a mess. Not in a gross way, but he doesn’t put his clothes away in the closet or the dresser. There are piles on the floor, some clean, some dirty, and he sorts it out that way. The bed is perpetually unmade. There are books piled everywhere. I keep one book on my nightstand— Ben has nine, and another pile on the floor next to the bed. His bookshelf is stacked two-deep, and more sit on the floor in front of it. But aside from that, he doesn’t own much. Despite his family’s money, there isn’t a fancy stereo or electronic gadget. Just whatever he needs to live and books.
“Maybe we should sit.” I skirt around him and the clothes, shrugging out of his hoodie as I go, and perch onto the edge of his bed. His eyes take me in, sitting here, waiting for him, and the look on his face— I flush hot and cold all over.
“Come here,” I whisper.
Ben sits and angles into me, one hand braced on the bed behind me, the other dragging a knuckle along my jaw.
“Hey,” he murmurs.
I trace his lips with my fingertip. “Hey, yourself.”
“We don’t have to—”
I press my finger against his lips. “I want to.”
I take his glasses off and lean past him to set them onto the stack of books beside the bed. When I straighten up, his eyes are different—darker and intense—and his lips are slightly parted.
He takes my face in his hands and pulls me into his kiss. No gentleness this time. This kiss is hungry, hot, and a little desperate. He nips at my bottom lip and I moan. Then he leans into me, pressing me back onto the bed. He rolls, and I’m under him, his knee between my thighs, and I ache as I press against him. I’ve never wanted anything as much as I want Ben right now.
I’m lost—in kisses that last forever and his hands tracing my face, my neck, and shoulder, waist, and hip. I’m lost in the weight of his body pressing me into the mattress, his leg tight against me, winding me up to greater and greater heights. I’m lost in the sounds we’re making, the deep labored breaths, quiet sighs, and tiny moans every time one of us touches someplace new.
“Hannah…” He kisses the side of my neck, his lips pulling on my skin and making me weak in the knees. I fist the back of his T-shirt, and his hand shifts to my waist, under my shirt where his fingers spread over my ribcage.
“Are you sure?” he mutters into my skin.
I pull back enough to look at him, and I hold his face, so he looks at me. “Shut up and stop worrying.”
He grins and kisses me again. The air shifts around us as this moves from a serious make out session to real foreplay. This time when I fist my hand in his hair, his hips flex into mine, and his hardness presses against me, making me moan.
Slowly, he works my shirt up until he can’t get it higher without breaking our kiss. He leans back and looks into my face, his dark eyes full of emotion as he watches me. His Adam’s apple bobs and he’s still hesitating, still afraid of rushing me, which is sweet but unnecessary. I grab the hem of my shirt and strip it over my head. His eyes fall immediately to my bra. I never thought my breasts were all that much to shout about, but Ben’s looking at them like he wants to worship at their altar. It makes me feel sexy and brave, so I arch my back and unhook the clasp of my bra.
His eyes flash briefly to mine, and I smile, so he draws the straps slowly down my arms. When I’m naked from the waist up, he just looks at me again, and not just at my breasts. His gaze skates over my face, my arms, my chest, and then his hand follows the same path, cupping my cheek, tracing a line down the side of my neck, over my shoulder until his palm lands on my breast.
He drags in a shaky breath. I’ve stopped breathing altogether.
“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers and kisses me again. I melt as he kisses and touches me. Then he dips his head and draws my nipple into his mouth. I gasp and try desperately to hold still under him, but it feels incredible. I’m on fire, all tingling nerves and tense muscles. His soft hair brushes against my chest, a different sensation than his mouth, but no less powerful. He runs his hands along the length of me, from my knee, to my thigh, over my hip, along my rib cage, and up to cup my breast, holding it still as his mouth works its magic.
I need so much more than this. Tugging at his shirt, I make him pause long enough to strip it off, and then we’re bare chest to bare chest. His skin is so smooth, so warm, and he slides one hand between my shoulder blades. He holds me like I’m precious. Like he’ll never let go.
I slip my hand between us to unbutton his jeans. He drops his head into the crook of my neck, breathing heavily as I drag the zipper down, brushing against him as I do.
“I’ll die if you touch me right now,” he mutters.
“Should I stop?” I tease, arching an eyebrow when he lifts his head to look at me. His hair is a tousled mess, and he’s grinning adorably.
“Maybe just wait until I can touch you, too.”
Then he rears off me, stands by the bed, grasps my jeans at the hem, and tugs them off. There’s no way it’s not awkward, even with both of us working together, but despite the laughter, he frees me from my jeans. His go next and they’re a lot easier. Then he’s standing by the bed in just his boxers, his hand on my knee, his eyes on mine. With the soft light from his bedside lamp illuminating his body, long, lean, and lightly muscled, he’s beautiful.
When he lowers himself back down on top of me, all traces of humor are gone. He looks serious, almost reverent. I lift my knees, allowing him to settle between my legs, and we kiss—long, slow, deep kisses, rocking into each other as we do. There’s just my underwear and his boxers between us, and they’re not doing anything to keep his hard ridge from pressing against me. Each shift of our bodies creates an addictive friction. Everything is warm and heavy.
This is already the best sex I’ve ever had, and we’re not even having it yet. Except it feels like we are, like this is more than just a collection of body parts slotting together. It feels so much bigger because I love him.
He brushes my hair out of my face as he presses slow, soft kisses to my lips, my cheeks, my chin. “I love you, Hannah,” he whispers, and my heart feels like it’s ex
panding, too full of emotion. My eyes water. I pull his face back to mine and pour everything I’m feeling into my kiss.
“I love you, too.”
Ben’s hand moves to my thigh and slowly strokes up and down. His fingers curl around the back of my knee to pull it up. He settles more firmly against me and moans quietly. When his fingers come back up and brush against the edge of my underwear, he looks me in the eye and raises his eyebrows in question. I nod, and he hooks his finger onto the side of my underwear and tugs them down. I take over, getting them all the way off while he deals with his boxers. He leans away to the bedside table to grab a condom.
When he comes back to me, he runs his hand down my face again, tracing my lips and down over my chin to my neck.
“I do love you,” he says. “So much. No matter what happens.” He kisses me again as his body settles over mine. I lace my fingers behind his neck and pull him down until our lips are brushing together.
“I love you, too,” I whisper, the repeated words like an incantation, more real every time we say them.
He pushes into me and gasps my name. The pressure of him filling me takes me by surprise— He’s bigger than I expected. But it feels good, overwhelmingly good, and I sigh as he pushes deep inside. When he moves, the rhythm shocks me— I don’t remember it ever feeling like this. The handful of other times, it was like following instructions in a kit—step one, step two—just to get to the finished product, which never really happened for me anyway. But with Ben, it’s entirely different. Every move we make together feels instinctual. Every time he touches me, I respond on some elemental level. It’s like my body isn’t even my own anymore.
He kisses my shoulder, his lips pressing against my sweaty skin. He’s breathing heavily as he whispers, “God, you feel so…”
“I know.” I fist one hand into his hair and wrap my other arm around his back. “You, too.”
This Book Will Change Your Life Page 12
