What’s between us was only temporary anyway. It was a fantasy. I’ll take my one Benji orgasm and tuck his dirty-talking brunch speech away in the back of my mind. I’ll save them for future sexual encounters with myself. I’ll—
“Cris. You’re freaking out,” he states.
He’s right, so once again I go on the defensive.
“No, I’m not.” Bright smile.
“Yes. You are.” He’s calm. Too calm.
“I’m fine. I need to go home…and— What are you doing?” I ask, even though I know what he’s doing. I’m watching him do it.
My flimsy vinyl belt is open and he’s unbuttoning my jeans. The zipper goes next. My mind on his recent reunion with Trish, I say, “You don’t have to do this.”
“Wrong. You don’t have to let me do this. But knowing how good it’s going to feel for me to do what I’m about to do to you, I strongly suggest you let me do this.”
“I remember the loveseat.”
He nods. “So do I. But I’m not going to do that. I’m going to do something better.”
He shoves my jeans past my hips. The rain falls faster outside, giving way to a rumble of thunder as a storm rolls in. The one within me feels the same: volatile, overwhelming. I’m not going to argue. The heat in his eyes promises the same good things his mouth just promised.
“Like?” I whisper.
His eyebrows jump. “You want me to explain.”
I give him a jerky nod. He grins to beat all. Not the for-everyone Benji smile. This one is just for me.
He tugs my jeans up and takes my hand. “First off, not on the couch. I need room to move. And you need to be naked.”
“N-naked?”
His hand in mine, he leads me down the hallway. I scamper to keep up with his long-legged gait. We pass the door to the basement, his office, a bathroom, a guest bedroom, and finally wrap around to the master suite which takes up a goodly portion of the rear of his house.
His bedroom is like a fancy getaway to an island. A wicker ceiling fan turns lazily over the bed. The comforter is made neatly, black with a barely visible pattern of deep gray palm fronds. His pillows are fluffed, the requisite two, no decorative ones, in matching black pillowcases. The walls are a pale, pale green, and white-and-green vertical striped curtains hang from black iron rods. The floor is shining wood, the dresser a deeper tone of wood than the floor. A black wrought-iron mirror stands in one corner.
His fingers dance along my neckline, bringing my attention to him. “That okay with you?”
“What?” I’ve totally lost track of the conversation. Maybe I have some sort of protective mechanism to keep from anticipating what he’s going to do to me. It will be amazing, I’m sure, but suddenly everything is moving at warp speed. “You’re right.” My voice is slightly strangled. “I’m freaking out.”
He chuckles. “Tell me something I don’t know. Here’s the plan. You want to amend any of it, let me know.”
He doesn’t give me time to mentally brace before he outlines his plan.
“I’m going to take off your T-shirt and bra, kiss each of those nipples I’ve missed so much. Then I’m going to slip you out of those jeans and ask you to shimmy out of your panties. I can’t wait to see what color they are today, by the way.” He offers a devious wink.
I’m already warm and damp from what he’s saying, and he hasn’t said anything particularly dirty yet. Incredible.
“Then I’m going to ask you to lie on your back on the bed, and I’m going to kiss you here.” He cups my sex. “Fuck, Cris. You’re burning up down there.”
“I might die if you do that,” I whisper hoarsely. I’m not sure if I’m kidding or not.
“You won’t die. You might have to take a nap after, which is fine by me. I have a big bed.”
My mind is racing. No one has ever kissed me down there. I have always wanted to experience it. I’ve never pictured Benji doing that. I’ve pictured him—oh, trust me I have—but not doing that. I don’t know why. Maybe as a safeguard to keep my best friend and boss where he belonged. Maybe I was protecting myself by managing my expectations.
“What about your clothes?” I finger a button on his shirt.
“My eating you out doesn’t require clothing removal for me.”
My finger stills at his raw description.
“It’ll be sexier if I stay dressed. Think of it as being serviced by a concubine of sorts. I don’t expect anything in return.” His lips quirk. “At least not yet. You start feeling experimental, honey, sign me up.”
“You’re too much.” I palm my heated cheek and avert my eyes. “When did you become a…a”—I gesture at his long, strong body—“Casanova?” But I know. I’ve seen him schmooze at functions. I’ve watched him set a client at ease with a drink in his hand and a sparkle in his eye. I’ve seen him with the women he’s dated. He’s as smooth as Skippy peanut butter. He’s just never been that way with me.
“This is part of the deal,” I conclude. “The sexy version of you comes with the sex.”
“You wanted the package, Cris. This is it. Since you’re a fan of dirty talk, I’m obliging. I customize. No extra charge.”
His fingers go to the hem of my shirt and pull it off. My bra follows. As promised he bends and takes a nipple into his mouth, suckling it to a turgid peak while his hands dip into my pants. Over my panties his fingers gently move, and then my jeans are pushed past my hips and I lose his mouth. I kick off my shoes as he tugs my jeans and panties to the floor. He instructs, “Lie down on the bed.”
“On top of the covers, or…” I’m stalling. I both can’t wait and don’t want to rush. I already know it’ll be over too soon. I’m halfway to my second orgasm with Benjamin Owen, and he’s barely touched me.
“Your choice.”
He picks up my clothes and tosses them onto a dark green chair in the corner. He tucks my shoes under the chair. Once I’m settled on top of the comforter, he stalks over to me and puts a knee between mine on the bed.
“Spread.”
I loved that the first time he said it. I love it as much now. My body jolts as a rush of pleasure slides through me, as thick as honey. Slowly, I spread my legs.
He looks unashamedly at what I’m showing him. With a quick headshake and smile, he starts to unbutton his shirt. “I take it back. I’m going to need to take this off. If that’s okay with you.”
I give him a jerky nod since I’m incapable of speech at the moment.
He unbuttons his shirt and tosses it over my clothes on the chair. I like that our clothes are all over each other the way we’re about to be. It’s so wrong. It’s so right.
I’ve seen his chest before. At the pool. It’s glorious. All that flexed, toned skin punctuated by flat brown nipples and a belly button above a trail of dark wiry hair that disappears into his shorts. Then there’s the tattoo etched onto his ribs, as enticing as everything else about him. His chest is broad at the top, bookended by strong, rounded shoulders. Then his torso dives in, narrowing at his waist. I wish he’d take off his pants. He doesn’t, but before I can complain he tosses my legs over his shoulders.
“Relax. If you can.” That’s the last warning he offers before lowering his face.
His mouth is soft, firm, hot, attentive. I can’t tear my eyes off his jet black hair or the motions his head makes as his tongue strokes and strokes and strokes again. My legs quake even though I will them to stop. I fist the blankets while lecturing myself to loosen up. To go easy. To slow down. I don’t want this to end.
But it does. Quickly.
An orgasm rages through me at the same time a low roll of thunder shakes the windows of his bedroom. My eyes shut of their own volition as a wave of warmth washes over me. My body buzzes. My mind blanks.
That was…
That was…
Amazing.
Beautiful.
Perfect.
Way too damn fast.
Devastation comes on as fast as the orgasm, the bliss
ful rush receding like it was never there. I feel the wet in my eyes and blink them open. Benji is smiling, clueless to the direction of my thoughts.
It’s over. My one chance to savor him and I blew it.
“Let’s hear it,” he says. Obviously, he’s figured out I have something on my mind.
“I wanted that to last longer,” I murmur, my throat constricted from thick emotion. “It went too fast.”
“Sure, but that was only the first one. Haven’t you had multiples before?” His eyebrows pinch like he’s legitimately confused.
My mouth hangs open for a second. I, of course, have heard of multiple orgasms. I have also heard of unicorns and fairies. I have never had more than one at a time—orgasms, that is. I break it to him by saying, “I’m more of a one-and-done girl.”
He’s already shaking his head. “Not true. I bet you have four or five more in there. You ready?”
He’s propped on his elbows, shoulders still positioned under my legs, his beautiful face framed by my knees, his dark hair perfectly ruffled, and offering me four or five more orgasms. That he will deliver with his tongue.
“Hell yeah,” I say.
He bursts out laughing. I do the same. This time the tears springing forth are from relief. It’s not over. Good news.
My second orgasm arrives with the same force but lasts longer than the first.
The third one is longer still, and the waves washing over me pummel me with pleasure.
The fourth is so intense, I kick Benji out from between my legs and writhe until I’ve wadded up his fancy comforter.
I don’t make it to five.
When I finally open my eyes, I find him on his side watching me, his head propped on a fist, his elbow resting on the mattress.
I can’t make myself regret it. Any of it.
Chapter Twelve
Benji
Cris is sitting at her desk, Chuck Taylors off. One leg is folded, her bare foot hanging off the edge of the chair, the other is on the floor, toes pointed.
Her thumb is between her teeth as she concentrates, and her pale, curly hair is hiding half her face. Her shirt is loose and floral-patterned. Her jeans strategically ripped.
She’s the sexiest woman to grace my bedsheets, and I haven’t even slept with her. Yet. I can’t wrap my head around how attracted I am to her. Before I delighted both of us with her four orgasms, she was my cute, sweet, irreplaceable best friend who, yes, I found attractive. Now she’s all those things, but also makes me hard and distracts me in a way that’s unhealthy for the bottom line.
I’ve dated a lot of different women. I don’t gravitate to any certain type. Round women, stick-thin women, Black women, Caucasian women, Hispanic, Asian, or Israeli women. Each of those other women, while different, had one thing in common. They worked in proper office settings and dressed in outfits more expensive than mine, which is saying something as I have very, very expensive taste.
I don’t go jogging with the women I date, mainly because the women I date either don’t jog or prefer to run on a treadmill. I don’t do treadmills. I run outside or not at all. Who wants to run on a moving belt? It’s impersonal. And the scenery fucking sucks.
Even on a weekend, the women I’ve dated usually donned a full face of makeup. And while I have seen a lot of bare feet, they usually poke out of a slimming pencil skirt or a short dress. Jeans, yes, but I can’t recall any of them wearing a pair as well as Cris does. She must feel me lingering at the doorway of her office. She looks up from her laptop.
“Hi.” Her smile is cautious, anticipatory, reminding me of last week when I buried my face between her legs and feasted on her like a starving man. Four times, I remind myself with a proud roll of my shoulders. I counted.
Although number four should’ve counted as two, given how powerful it was. She literally shoved me away, then curled on her side and shouted the completion of her release into a pillow. Meanwhile, I went for the world’s record on the most painful chubby of my life. Seriously. I could have carved my name in the wall with it.
I survived. I was doing it for her. I wanted to prove multiple orgasms were not an urban legend. She deserved her own “Bigfoot sighting,” if you know what I mean.
And I nailed it.
We lay there a while after and she touched my chest, casually running her fingers over my pecs and down my abs and up again. She chatted about nothing while my skin caught fire. It took everything in me not to strip off my pants and sink into her wet pussy, and then fuck her until we were both screaming for the Almighty.
I swipe my forehead and shake the incredibly distracting fantasy from my head. “Did you read my email?”
“Oh. Not yet.” She clicks a button and her eyes scan the laptop’s screen. I walk into her office and lower my ass onto the corner of her desk. Her gray eyes track over to my leg and then up to my face. “We’re going to Venice, Florida?”
“Evidently.”
“I didn’t realize they were hosting the fundraiser at their main office,” she murmurs. “I’ll have to clear our schedule. Book a flight, rooms…” She grabs a pen and jots down a few notes for the trip.
Typically, we (Owen Construction) attend the annual charity fundraiser for Heart-to-Teen here in Ohio. The charity helps home kids between the ages of ten to seventeen. They have branches throughout the country. The Ohio one is huge since the Owens support it biannually, and with a lot of money. My adoptive parents have always given generously, but they give more to Heart-to-Teen than anywhere else. Trust me, I see the reports.
This year is different since the charity is hosting a fundraiser specifically for their biggest donors. Archer, Nate, and me included.
“Room, singular,” I correct. She blinks up at me, half lost in thought as she absorbs what I’m saying. “I already took care of reserving it. We’re staying in a neighboring hotel rather than where they’re holding the event. I booked a room with a view of the ocean.”
“One room?”
“You’re staying with me. We can take care of your lingering virginity issue while we’re away. If that’s all right with you,” I tack on, since her expression has morphed into a bizarre mixture of anger and anticipation. She usually loves when I talk about sex. And she’s loved everything I’ve done to her so far. A very large part of me—not that one—wonders why we didn’t do this a long time ago.
She sets her top teeth to her bottom lip. “Benji—”
“Look,” I interrupt before she can ruin my plans, “I know you haven’t made a habit out of letting people do nice things for you, but you’re going to start.” She’s taken care of a household, raised three boys, and put herself partly through college. She dropped out when said household was too much to juggle alongside her schoolwork. She started working for Dad, and then later started working with me. Short of recently when I’ve made her moan in ecstasy, I’m not sure anyone has done anything for her without considering what they might get in return. It’s vexing.
“This is your opportunity to allow yourself to be treated the way a woman should be treated,” I explain. “So far you’ve taken care of everyone else. It’s time to let someone take care of you.”
“That’s not necessary.” She shakes her head, her smile soft. Like she’s suddenly uncomfortable with the idea of me doing things for her. And to her.
“Necessary has nothing to do with it.” I stand from her desk. “The hotel room and travel are sorted. Got it?”
She sighs, a sound of capitulation. “Got it.”
For years she has been a busy “mom” to her brothers and a busy worker bee for Dad and me. It’s her turn to be served. I’m going to gift her what she’s been missing. Explosive, carefree sex with someone she can trust.
Just as soon as she grants me access.
“Are we still on for a run?” I ask.
She glances at the clock on the wall. “Wow, is it that late already? I was in a zone.”
“It’s okay if you want to postpone.”
“
Actually, I may cancel. I have to finish up something today. Why don’t you go to the gym instead? We can run tomorrow.”
I picture her running in front of me, her tight ass in short shorts, her smooth, strong legs… My general stands up and salutes. Shit. This is torture. I have to work with her another few days before we go to Florida. Before we “seal the deal.” I’m not taking her virginity in my bed. We need neutral territory for her first time.
“Gym. Got it.” Hands hiding a certain swelling part of me, I dip my head to indicate I’ll be in the basement.
Forty minutes later, I’m done with my HIIT workout but my erection rages on. I’m lying, back to the floor on the mat, all but one “muscle” complete mush. I manage to push myself up and limp into the cavernous open shower. I also have a sauna, but I don’t need heat right now. I spin the knob to cold.
Stepping under the spray, I quickly determine that a cold shower, while effective, isn’t the most pleasant way to handle my problem. I warm up the water, hissing through my teeth as my skin goes from chilled to warm, and then I grip my cock and begin to stroke.
Cris
I wasn’t planning on a late night, but since we’re going to spend the upcoming weekend in Florida at the event by Heart-to-Teen, I have extra tasks on my burgeoning to-do list.
Since Benji informed me we’ll be sharing a room he booked, I’ve been unable to chase a single coherent thought to its end. I’ve mostly been imagining what it’ll be like to have his undivided attention, to be the center of his world. To sleep in a bed next to his hot, naked flesh.
Shiver.
He’s making every one of my fantasies come true. I know I should be cautious, but honestly, I would rather lean all the way into what he’s offering. I can draw the necessary boundaries when we’re back from the trip.
Charmed by the Billionaire Page 9
