He brings his lips to my ear. “Sweetheart,” he murmurs. He presses a string of featherlight kisses down the side of my neck to the hollow of my throat. “Honey.” He nips and pecks up the other side until his breath tickles the shell of my ear. “My little . . . pumpernickel.”
I can’t help laughing, though my nipples are standing at attention. “God, we’re disgusting. And you’re distracting me,” I admonish. I grab him by the placket of his shirt and peel it off, sucking in a breath.
It’s like I’m seeing him for the first time. He’s a mirage in the desert. All cuts and angles and hard lines, every segment of his body chiseled and perfectly defined. He’s a ride I need to hold on to with both hands. His chest is the most expansive surface area I’ve ever seen. I want to drape myself across it sixteen different ways.
“What’s the matter?” he asks when he sees I’m overcome. My breaths are coming out in little huff-pants.
“You. You’re my new personal trainer. How do your shoulders even get this big?”
“All the cow tipping, probably. Though I have a few ideas on how to build your stamina . . .”
“Mmm, me too.”
I resume my exploration, running my hands down the bare skin of his torso. It’s warm, like every place I’ve ever touched him. I slide lower, fingers splayed out toward his obliques, and squeeze. His sharp intake of breath cracks open my chest.
He brings a hand up to cradle the back of my neck and threads his fingers through my hair. “I’ve thought so much about your hair. What it would feel like . . .” He brings a handful to his face and does some inhaling of his own, then lets it sift through his fingers like sand.
A tremor shudders through me and I grip his arms to steady myself. His muscles are hard, but his skin is smooth as silk. How can someone be so hard and so soft? What will it feel like to have all this skin on mine?
I smooth my hands down his biceps and triceps, tracing a raised vein from his elbow to his wrist, then vault my hands back to his stomach, trailing my fingertips through the light smattering of hair gathered near his waistband. The hair that leads to the promised land.
He reaches for me. “My turn now.”
I don’t argue. My lips curve in a tiny smile as I remember my surprise and I do a quarter turn, lifting my arms above my head. “The zip’s right here,” I volunteer, peeking up at him from beneath my lashes.
His breathing audibly shallows as he reaches for the zipper at my side, pausing first to sweep my hair over my shoulder. He kisses the nape of my neck and his hot breath ghosts over my spine. A frisson of electricity crackles through me at the realization that I’m finally going to be nude in front of Ben.
He lowers the zipper carefully, taking pains not to snag my skin. His thumb grazes my flesh all the way down, leaving goose bumps in its wake. I work the straps off my shoulders, letting the dress fall to the floor and puddle at my feet. I step out of it and stand before him, fully naked save for my emerald green lace panties and heels.
The sound he makes is a garbled grunt, like unf. He stares at me, lips parted, eyes feasting on every curve of my body like a man starving. I take a step toward him before he stops me.
“I want to look at you.”
It’s a little like being on display at a museum, the way his eyes devour me like a priceless work of art. No one’s ever looked at me the way he does. I’ve never been particularly brazen, modest in locker rooms and reserved in past relationships, but with Ben I’m like a new person, a woman in every sense of the word. I feel completely uninhibited for the first time in my life. I want him to see every inch of me.
A small eternity passes before he steps forward and tugs me to him by the hips, his large hands spanning my entire waist. In my heels I line up almost perfectly against his groin, and the rock-hard erection that’s tenting his pants strains against my pelvis, heavy and demanding. He slips a finger inside the elastic of my skimpy underwear and my knees quiver.
“You wore these for me.” His voice sounds strained, like he’s running short of air.
“I did. And it’s not as easy as you might think to source green underthings. I had to search for these. For a minute there I worried you’d never get to see them.”
“And what a sacrilege that would have been.” He runs his finger along the lace edge. “Rather presumptuous of you to assume I’d be seeing them tonight. Guess I’m a sure thing.”
“You’re the opposite of a sure thing. But I figured I’d take a page out of your Boy Scout handbook and be prepared.”
The contrast of his huge, strong hands against my bare skin and the delicate lace makes the pulsing heat between my legs throb harder. It’s coarse versus soft, masculine against feminine, the juxtaposition of male to female at its most primal. He rubs a thumb against the gossamer-thin threads and exhales like he’s in pain. This tiny wisp of fabric cost way more than it should, though I’d pay it three times over for the look on his face.
His fingers skim around to my backside, grabbing dual handfuls of flesh and lightly squeezing. He groans, his forehead falling to mine.
“I’ve been thinking about this for so long. Too long. It’s . . .” He shakes his head, unable to continue.
“I know.”
His eyes have gone a bit feral. The pupils are so dilated I can barely see any green, yet they hold a bright gleam, like a wild animal in the moonlight.
“Is this when you go full caveman on me?”
His eyes glow brighter. “No, this is when I savor you.”
He tugs me over to the bed and sits on the edge, facing me. I slip my heels off, immediately losing a few inches of height, and when I take his outstretched hand, he pulls me in between his legs.
And then he takes my breast in his mouth.
Now I’m the one who’s groaning, eyelids fluttering closed, knees turning to jelly. I grip his shoulders and hang on for dear life. He licks and suckles and teases, first one breast, then the other, while his hands knead my ass. I arch into him, wanting to get closer, be closer, the minuscule amount of distance between us still too much. He hums against my sternum and it vibrates straight to my core. It’s an onslaught of sensations: his tongue on my nipple, the soft, wet sucking sounds, his hot skin pressed to mine, his pine-cinnamon-soap scent, intoxicating and so very Ben. My body’s so taut with want, I can barely stay upright.
I’m so focused on not slithering to the floor that I barely notice his hand has moved until he slips a finger inside me.
I surge against him, my body tightening around him even as my knees buckle beneath me. He grabs me before I can fall, winding his free arm around my waist.
“I’ve got you.”
“I’ll come,” I warn him desperately. “I’ll come right here, I swear to God.”
“I believe I’d like to see that.”
“I would not like to see that. Please, Ben, not yet. I want you inside me the first time. I’ve been waiting so long . . .”
He smiles mildly against my ribs, his finger continuing its languid rhythm of swirling and stroking. “I am inside you.”
“Please please please,” I beg, even as my hips start rocking against his hand. I throw my head back and moan.
“Please . . . keep going?”
My answer is another keening moan.
“I love seeing you like this. Coming apart for me and I’ve barely lifted a finger.”
I’m dangerously close to doing just that. I try to wriggle out of his grasp but he tsks and adds a second finger. I groan and shudder and clench around him, and his fingers swirl faster. I’m dissolving into his hand.
“I know you didn’t wear these panties so I’d go easy on you.”
“You’re not playing fair,” I gasp out. “Your pants aren’t even off.” I grope blindly for his belt.
“Wait.” He moves to catch my hands, letting go of me in the process, and I collapse onto his l
ap.
“You wait. You think you’re the only one who gets to tease?” I pin my knees on either side of his thighs and struggle to free my hands from his grasp. I’m frantic with lust.
“Hang on, babe. Just . . . let me.”
He lifts me off his lap, setting me next to him on the bed, then stands and starts unbuckling his belt. No fair, I wanted to do that. I’m leaned forward on the literal edge of my seat as he slips his pants down his muscled thighs and off, and then he’s naked down to his charcoal-hued boxers. The already impressive bulge looks even more promising.
I’m nearly levitating with anticipation. He smiles, keeping his eyes trained on me as he pulls down his boxers and springs free, and
He.
Is.
Massive.
I blink a few times. It’s still there. Miles longer and inches thicker than I’ve ever seen.
“You still with me?”
I gape at him.
“You’ve got your aneurism face on again.”
I finally recover my voice. “Holy fuck.”
“This is what it takes for you to curse?” He smirks as he kicks off his boxers and takes a step toward me, looming even larger.
I reach out and take him in my hand, testing his heavy weight, grazing my fingers over his length. He’s hard but smooth, the skin here as soft and satiny as the rest of him. He fills my hand and then some. He fills two hands. I stroke lightly up and down his shaft and he groans, pressing deeper into my hand.
He’s magnificent. He’s a god among men. This specimen of physical perfection is at my mercy, sheathed in the palm of my hand. If I wasn’t sure before, I’m now certain—I’m about to have the most earth-shattering sex of my life. I need him inside me. I need him so badly I’m trembling with it.
“I can’t believe you waited until now to spring this on me. Literally. Pun intended.”
“I thought about sending you some dick pics in the interoffice mail, but I wasn’t sure how it would go over.”
“You could’ve slipped some into the Kate file. Just saying.”
He’s laughing against my mouth, and I don’t think I’ll ever tire of this feeling, this drive to meet his wit and intelligence with my own. It’s one of my favorite things about him. About us.
I pull him back onto the bed, then climb over him so I’m straddling his lap again, knees pressed to the mattress on either side. His arousal presses hard and insistent against me, but for the moment, I ignore it; there’s something I need to say. I cup his neck and stare into his eyes. My heart is exploding with love for this man.
“I never thanked you for putting my needs above your own.” He tries to speak but I won’t let him. “No, I gave you a hard time instead of appreciating what you were doing for me. You knew what I needed even when I didn’t, and I love you for making sure we did this right. Thank you for waiting for me.”
His eyes are soft on mine as he smooths some hair away from my face. “You never need to thank me for doing what’s right for you. But how about from now on, we leave all that in the past—the fights, the bets, the regrets—and start over with a clean slate. It’s just you and me, on the same team from now on.”
I lunge forward and kiss him in answer, and one kiss turns into ten, and we begin a slow slide into the abyss. We kiss each other like we’re dying and this is our last moment on earth. Like we’re all each other needs or will ever want. And for me at least, it’s true.
Minutes slip by, or maybe it’s an hour, our bodies moving against each other, skin heated and damp, our breath bottoming out until we’re panting. I’m so lost in him I can’t tell where he ends and I begin. I’m giving him everything, pouring myself into him, and he accepts it all with reverent gratitude, his adoration revealed in every kiss, every sigh, every stroke. He’s straining so hard against my entrance that with one strong thrust he could be inside me. The suspense is wrecking my sanity.
“Ben,” I gasp out. “I need you. Make love to me.”
The next thirty seconds are a jumble of limbs and linens and resettling. Ben lays me back against the pillows, sheets crisp and cool against my skin, then takes me in his arms, picking up where we left off. We touch and taste, nip and grope and pet, rolling around and laughing when we get tangled in the sheets. We fondle and tease until a fine sheen of sweat mists our skin. He slips a hand between my thighs and finally, finally peels my panties down my legs. I snake a hand between our bodies and stroke him until he’s groaning.
Eventually he rolls over me, rising onto his elbows and caging me in with sturdy arms. When he looks at me, it’s like he’s staring straight into my soul.
“I love you, Kate.” His voice is hoarse with emotion. “You’re everything to me.”
The look on his face is so raw, so passionate and penetrating, my breath catches.
“I love you too,” I whisper.
When he pushes into me, just the tiniest bit, I gasp. He stops instantly.
“Are you okay?”
“Yes. Yes.” I can barely speak. “Can’t . . . form words.”
That earns me a smile, and he rewards me by pressing in a little more. My eyes roll back in my head. “Oh my Goooooood.”
“Still good?”
I babble a string of indecipherable mumblings mixed with his name. My brain is fuzzy and things are nonsensical. The earth is flat; the moon is made of Swiss cheese.
He laces our fingers together above my head. “Stay with me.”
“I’m with you,” I slur. My voice sounds very far away.
It’s incredible, this fullness. It’s intense and moving, an overpowering sense of submission I’ve never experienced before. He’s filled me so completely I’m already worried about how empty I’ll feel when he’s gone. I let out a moan-sob because I know with sudden clarity: This is the moment where my life splits into Before and After. I’ll never be the same.
“Is it too much?”
I nod, a tear slipping from the corner of my eye, trailing across my cheek. I love you too much.
“We can slow down,” he says, already starting to withdraw.
“No!” I hook my legs around his waist and lock them at the ankles, pinning him to me. “I mean, it feels perfect. Don’t stop.”
“You’re crying.”
“Because I’m happy.”
He hesitates, searching my face for signs that I’m lying. His eyes are carnal and unfocused, but also cautious, like he’s warring between what we both want and what he thinks I need.
I grab his face and kiss him, reassuring him the only way I know how that I’m fine, that I’m ready, that I love him. I can feel the exact moment when any resistance he’s holding on to slips away, and he kisses my tears away and kisses love into me as he buries his entire length inside me.
I cry out, digging my nails into his shoulders as my body acclimates to him. Even with my head thrown back I still feel his eyes on my face, watching me, studying my reactions. He pulls one of my legs up and hugs my thigh as he rocks into me, slow and deliberate. A strong push forward, a light slide back. It’s like a dance. It’s what I imagine heaven is like.
The term making love has always felt flowery to me, too cloyingly romantic, but it’s the only way I can describe what’s happening between us, this soul exchange, the overwhelming sense of rightness. We’ve entered a sexual stratosphere beyond anything I knew existed, though comparing Ben to anyone else feels like a crime against humanity. He’s Da Vinci in a world of finger-painters.
I start to feel guilty; he has me so out of my mind with need, I’m barely contributing. I’m loose-legged and insentient, completely lost to the euphoria of his rolling thrusts. I’m also knocking on the door of an orgasm and we’re barely a minute into this. I beseech my body to wait, but it’s like trying to stop a speeding train.
“Ben,” I warn on a broken breath, “I can’t . . . I’
m going to—”
He chooses that moment to take my nipple in his mouth again and my mind goes entirely blank. I buck against him and scream his name, coming apart in his hands. Where he fills me throbs as waves of pleasure roll through my body. He holds me through my shuddering, the tremors going on and on, and I clutch his arms and whimper soft cries in his ear as he kisses me back to earth.
As I slowly come down, embarrassment sets in. “I’m sorry I didn’t last longer,” I whisper into his neck.
He draws back, jaw dropped. “Are you apologizing for coming underneath me while screaming my name? If you only knew how many times I’ve dreamt of that . . .”
“In your dreams did I last longer than a minute?” I joke, self-conscious.
He silences me with a nip to my lips. “My imagination didn’t even come close. You have no idea what a turn-on it is for me to see you lose control like that. See what I can do to you. And don’t you dare hold back, ever. I will take it as a personal affront.”
I laugh and cling to his neck. “It must have been the months of foreplay . . .”
He runs a thumb over my bottom lip and I try to bite it. “Or it’s just me.”
“Probably just you,” I concede.
“It’s just you for me too. Only you,” he murmurs. “Always you.” He grazes the tip of his nose against mine. “I bet I can give you a round two.”
I start to laugh before I realize: If anyone could give me multiple orgasms, it’s Ben and his magic penis. Here’s to trying.
“I’ll take that bet, only because it’s one we’ll both end up winning.”
He rocks into me before I’ve even finished speaking, and I let out a load moan.
“See? Halfway there already.”
“Tell me more about these dreams,” I croak, resettling my legs around his backside.
He laughs huskily. Oh God, his husky laugh. “They start and end just like this.”
He increases his pace, sliding an arm under my back and lifting me partway off the bed, driving deeper inside me, if that’s even possible. I know he’s thinking about my comfort because there’s no punishing pounding, just a sweet intimacy, soft strokes and gentle caresses, lovely whispered words of admiration and kindness. He tells me I’m perfect, I’m beautiful, how amazing I feel, how long he’s been dreaming of me. How much he loves me. I respond with sweet nothings of my own, between sighs of pleasure and increasingly desperate recitations of his name.
Meet You in the Middle Page 30
