Austin grunted. “Me, too.”
There was a long quiet moment before Ben finally kicked back, crossed his arms over his chest, and raised a brow.
Austin’s cheeks might have reddened a bit, but he met Ben’s gaze fiercely. “I’m wondering where we’re at with Delilah. I mean, I thought the timetable might have got off course. Otherwise I wouldn’t be talking about it.”
Ben nodded. “It did get off.” He eyed his friend. When the three of them had developed this insane plan two months ago, Ben hadn’t considered what it would feel like to have the urge to punch his friends for even thinking of wanting to be with Delilah. His woman.
Shit.
“I’m taking one more week with her.”
Ben thought, technically speaking, he could actually take two more weeks with Delilah. The plan had accelerated when Linc backed out early. Ben had started his woo-Delilah-into-Ultimate campaign that very next week, thinking it might take a few weeks to hook her.
Then she’d shown up, not even two weeks after Linc had called things off. It had taken two more weeks to get Delilah to Ben’s bed.
He wanted, dearly, this one more week to secure her. He’d been honest about the fact that he’d have to give her up. Hopefully, that would mitigate the hurt when he had to let her go.
He didn’t think two weeks would be better. In fact, if anything, two weeks would likely just make it harder. A week seemed like a sweet romance, like a lucky pair might stumble into on a vacation.
Two weeks felt more like a commitment, a thing he might not be able to let go of. Hopefully, she would let him have the week.
He wasn’t sure whether hope about that was realistic or not. To him, having her for a week would be pure pleasure and, beyond that, a chance to grow their love, to let both of them discover their feelings, to learn and absorb them. It would be a way to cement their future. When he was able to come back to her, after the month Austin would take with her, he wanted her to remember what they’d had. Not just for a night. Not something she could chalk up to hot lust. But as much of a loving relationship as he could put into a week.
But she wouldn’t see it that way. She wouldn’t be seeing its potential for their future. From her perspective, she’d be having to settle for a week of, oh, fuck, that idiotic friends-with-benefits thing.
Because he couldn’t, honorably, offer her more.
“That’s it?” Austin was obviously surprised. And pleased, the bastard.
“I’m saying good-bye to her on Sunday.” If she let him see her by then.
“So, a month after that…?”
“Whatever. I connected with her just a couple weeks after Linc threw in the towel. I don’t know if it matters if it’s a whole month between or not.”
He’d be perfectly happy, in fact, if Austin approached Delilah when all she had in her head was how much she loved and missed Ben.
If only he could get those thoughts into her head.
Since Austin wasn’t an idiot, he could probably figure that out on his own. Damned if Ben would help him.
“All right, then,” Austin said. “I’ll take Sunday as firm. We won’t talk about it again until I’ve finished my month with her.”
“Fine.”
Fine? This fucking sucked.
* * * *
Ben’s knock on the door came so precisely at eight o’clock that Delilah thought he must have synchronized his watch with hers. She supposed he didn’t want her to possibly confuse his presence on her doorstep with anyone else’s.
Unfortunately, the right time wasn’t the same thing as enough time. And apparently, eight o’clock on Monday was not enough time for her to have come to a decision.
Should she let him in? Or should she let him camp on her doorstep—every minute of every day until Sunday when, like Cinderella’s horses, he turned back into a rat. Okay, maybe it was a cute little mouse named Gus.
In this case, rat was more fitting.
She’d slept on it. She harangued Sarah about it.
Once she accepted the premise—that whatever was between them would be done in six more days—then the only options left both sucked. She could cut her losses and tell him to shove it. There would be little lost then—her pride, at yet again having wild monkey sex for a weekend, with a man who had no interest in anything further. Her hope, dashed yet again by her naïve willingness to be sucker punched by a hot, shallow man. Maybe her self-respect, for being so foolish after she just got done being so foolish.
Or, she could take the week for the pleasure there was in it. Her friendship with Ben, which, when she was feeling charitable, was warm and sweet and meaningful to her. And the whole hot sex thing. There was both comfort and distress to be had there, excitement and sorrow.
Together with Sarah, she came to conclude that the real question was, in six days, which of those choices would leave her feeling better? Turning him away, maybe saving face, and avoiding the risk of coming to care even more for him and then having to let him go? Or enjoying the week, having that moment in time, holding it close to her heart, valuing it for what it was?
The only answer she’d come up with was that the premise sucked. Or at the least, the fact that she didn’t know what was behind the premise sucked. Though, finally, she decided she had to let that one go. Unlike her suspicions with Linc, she trusted Ben’s vow that he wasn’t involved with another woman. So in the end, whether he was going to Mars or wintering over at the South Pole research base or whatever, the result was the same.
She could have him for a week. Or not at all. Delilah paced, wishing she had more time.
Well, she did have more time. He said he’d wait. In fact, she didn’t have to decide at all. If she put off going to her door long enough, it would be Sunday, and the problem would be solved.
It would be a long, lonely stretch to Sunday. Versus six days of companionship and pleasure. Shit.
An hour passed. She spent it on edge, thinking of him out there on her porch, his thoughts on her just as hers were on him.
He said he’d stay for an hour. Or longer.
Delilah picked up her phone and dialed her neighbor. Nabendu Gupta lived in the next condo over. They’d struck up a bit of a friendship. Delilah had taken care of his cat when he visited his family in India, and they’d shared a cup of tea a couple times.
She’d heard remarkable details about his efforts to find true, gay love. His unit had the bigger front porch, closer to the street than hers was. “Nabendu, is there a guy on my front porch?”
From the corner of his side window, he’d have a good vantage point.
She could tell he was intrigued already, as he hustled over to take a look. “I’m turning off the lights,” he said as he went, “so he won’t see me peeking.”
Delilah waited.
“Oh, honey. If you don’t let him in, I will.”
“What’s he doing?”
“Hmm. Sitting on the top step. Leaning those broad shoulders against your porch rail. Waggling that long leg—come on, cutie, a little more. Let’s see what you have.”
“Thanks, Bendu. He’s mine.”
That settled it. It wouldn’t be right to leave Ben down there being ogled.
Decided, or maybe deluded, she went down the stairs. He sensed her coming and turned his head, watching her through the glass panes of her door. As she reached the landing he stood and faced her. For a long moment, they looked at each other, separated by the door.
Finally, she opened it.
He stayed where he was. “Your neighbor looks like he wants to jump me.”
She smiled a little. “Not in a hostile way.”
A grin lit his eyes. “I wasn’t sure.” He watched her carefully. “Can I come in?” Delilah nodded, and they both knew she was saying yes to more than that.
He accepted it with grave acknowledgment. “Thank you, Delilah.”
Then he stepped through, closed the door behind him, locked it, and took her in his arms. He just stood there, his h
ead burrowed into the crook of her shoulder, and breathed her in.
She did the same. Her arms circled around his back, her face pressed against his neck, and she took in his scent.
It felt good. This was what she wanted.
Chapter Eight
Ben hadn’t come close to giving up on her. The hour had passed slowly, and he was beginning to wonder if he wasn’t on a fool’s errand when the neighbor had started eyeing him, peeking through his blinds. He figured then Delilah was behind it, and realized that he’d in no way considered getting up and leaving her porch.
And this was the reason. The blessed relief of having her in his arms. It was very, very, extremely gratifying, the way she nestled into him. They stood that way for a sweet, long time.
Finally he kissed her temple. “Have you eaten?”
“Yes,” she said. “You?”
“Yeah.” He had a major boner, and there was no way she hadn’t noticed, but he was trying to be gentlemanly about it. “Is there something you’d like to do? I could help you with your wickers, or whatever.”
“Withes.” He could hear her indulgence. “But I thought we could just go to bed.”
He wanted to fall at her feet in fucking gratitude. “I want that, Lilee. But it’s not all I want.”
She looked up at him. “I know. Still, it’s a good start, yeah?”
He kissed her once, softly. “Oh, yeah.”
She took his hand and led him up the two flights of stairs to her bedroom. She turned off lights as they went. They were tucking in for the night.
Halle-fucking-lujah.
She had him behind her, so he took advantage of the view of her hot ass as they climbed the stairs. She was wearing loose flannel pajama bottoms that shouldn’t have been at all sexy, but he’d seen her ass, and apparently it had been imprinted on his brain. He knew what was there.
She took him to her bed, and when she turned, he liked the top she wore better. It was a cotton camisole with pretty lace and little left to the imagination. Already he could see that her nipples had peaked.
More than anything, he wanted to show her what it meant to him that she had let him in, that she would give herself to him for the week.
He kissed her, rubbing his lips against hers until she opened. He found her moistness with his tongue, savoring the taste of her. “Oh, Lilee.”
Groaning in pleasure, he lifted her up. She clung with her arms around his shoulders and wrapped her legs around him.
He held there for a long moment, relishing the feel of her center pressed right up against his cock. He rocked with her, tasting her skin, nudging his chest along her breasts. Their mouths found each other again and took.
He’d started humping against her and was afraid he was going to lose it before he even got her out of her clothes. Or let his cock out of his jeans. Determined to do better, he put a knee up on the mattress and carried her to the center of the bed.
He laid her down and went back to his knees to look at her.
She was fucking hot. Her eyes were dark, flashing heat. Her lips were already red, chafed by his. Her tits stood up, stretching the knit of her top, her nipples poking out hard. Her breath was fast, rough.
Crouched there between her legs, he adored it all.
He tore off his polo and tossed it behind him. Then he opened his jeans and let his cock free. He held himself, stroking a little as she watched, circling his thumb into that little drop of dew.
“Take your top off,” he instructed.
She took her gaze away from his cock to meet his. Slowly, she crossed her hands in front of her, took hold of the hem of her cami, and lifted it. Just a little.
Her flannels rode a bit low, so when she raised the shirt her belly button came into view. It was there, a sexy little innie along the firm slant of her abs. While he watched, the bitch touched it with her pinkie, circling around and in. Then she slid her fingers lower, tucking a couple of them just inside the drawstring waist of her pants. She drew them back and forth over her smooth belly.
He was lucky he didn’t splat on her right then and there.
“Fucking whore,” he growled. He nudged one knee hard up against her pussy. “Show me more.”
She minded, but not with any haste. She slid her top a little higher, taking it a damn millimeter at a time. Finally he got to see a little breast, those full, lower curves. He held his breath, waiting for her to take it further. When he lost patience, he prodded her pussy a little with his knee again.
He got a glimpse of the dark circles of her areolas and started panting, all hot about those raspberry nipples. She pulled the shirt tight across her, the edge of it catching on those two nubs.
He was about to come with it, and she fucking stopped. Her top just held there, her nipples on the verge of springing free, like freaking torture to him.
“Delilah, goddammit.” Whore. Bitch. He was saying it all in his mind, just barely keeping the words behind his teeth. “You fucking tease.”
Apparently, she was satisfied having reduced him to a slavering idiot. Watching him watch her, she tugged a bit until her nipples popped free, then tore the whole thing up over her head.
He went in for her like a truffle hog. He used his hands to push her tits together and stuffed his face right into them. He rooted between and from one to the other, finding those damn nipples and pulling hard on them.
If he was too rough for her, she didn’t complain. In fact, she seemed to like it. She moaned each time he gave her a good tug and started rocking her pelvis to ride his leg with her pussy.
She was damn near coming with just that. Well, he wouldn’t have it.
He sat back on his haunches. Watching her, standing up to that annoyed glare she gave him—grinning into the face of it, even—he tugged loose her drawstring and stripped her bottoms off. Then he grabbed her feet and pushed them up hard, pressing her knees up toward her shoulders. He took his time, looking at her bare, glistening pussy, then at her cranky face.
Daring her to object, he took a foot and propped it on his shoulder, and then the same on the other side. He pushed up hard, so her ass lifted up off the bed. Then he dropped his head and ate her.
She was all open to him, exposed and entirely vulnerable. She was already so hot she squealed the second he got his mouth on her. Her clit was swollen and throbbing for him. He stroked her with his tongue like an ice cream cone, and she freaking melted.
She worked a little for her come. Her feet pressed against his shoulders so she could grind her pussy into his face. He fingered her, and she liked that, too, rocking up for more.
Panting and moaning, she grasped for that peak. He let her have it, working her clit and fucking her with his fingers. She blasted off, thrusting her cunt against him, begging for more.
She howled with it as she came apart, her body spasming, jerking against him. He wanted to howl, too, it was such a freaking turn-on, but his mouth was busy. He kept at it, driving her higher, until she begged for it to end.
He let her legs down then and sat back and looked at the mess that was his Lilee. Her face was blissed out, practically comatose. Her tits were firm mounds topped with those reddened nipples, lifting with each strenuous breath. Her pussy gleamed with her juices and his spit.
Now there was a thing that needed a good fucking.
* * * *
“Roll over.”
Delilah suspected it wasn’t the first time he’d said it, given the little nudge to attention he gave her with it this time.
“On your knees.”
Her head was still ringing, and he acted like there was something more important to do than just lay there waiting for her senses to come back, for her body to find its way home again.
“Ben.”
“Baby,” he said, no patience now. “Roll over.”
She managed it—or, more like, he did, and she just went along. He had her on her knees and used his own to spread hers wide.
He was behind her, and she was totally exp
osed to him. He pressed her chest down onto the bed and had her knees so wide that they were practically at her shoulders. That left her ass right in his hands.
He took advantage. He palmed her, massaging and then pinching. He lifted her up, pulling her open so she could feel the stretch of her pussy.
“You know what I’m going to do to you now, don’t you?”
Maybe. Her head was just getting back in the game, but she remembered that wicked hard-on he’d been playing with a little bit ago. She figured it was going to have to go somewhere.
“Ah…”
In her pussy. That was a relief, even if she didn’t say so. She hadn’t been wrong about the size of that cock.
He pressed into her, that big cockhead right at her entrance. She was slick, but, still, he was so big that her breath skittered out as he pressed in.
He held there, a bit of evil torture, letting her feel that maximal stretch. “I’m going to fuck you, baby.”
Yes. Yes, he was.
“Hard. Fucking hard.”
“Ben.” She couldn’t have said if that was protest or encouragement.
Either way, he took her in one deep, impaling thrust, and held there. She was filled with him, containing him, his.
“Oh, fuck. That’s so good, baby. Your cunt is so fucking good.” He leaned over her. “Hold on, baby.”
He pressed his knees under her, spreading her wide. Then he came over her, tucking his elbows alongside her knees. When he got tucked in close there, he reached his hands under and grasped her nipples.
He held them hard, trussing her up between his grip there and his cock up her pussy. “That’s good, baby. You’re going to feel it here”—he tugged at her tits—“every time I fuck you.”
He showed her once what he meant. He pulled out and slammed back into her. It was a hard fuck, the whole length of him shoving into her pussy, stretching and filling her. In addition, the force of it rocked her, knocking her body up along the bed.
Except that he held her by her tits. His grip was tight and held her in place. But the movement of it caused a hard pull on her nipples.
Three Men and a Woman: Delilah (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour) Page 13
