Page 11 of Daring You

“N-no,” I say, embarrassed for the trillionth time tonight. “They’re…it’s sweat.”

“Uh-huh.”

“No one’s ever made me feel that way, Ben. Like you just did.”

“You mean, you’ve never orgasmed?”

“I have, it’s just…” Hell, I’ve already proved what I newbie I am, might as well go full throttle. “It’s never felt that good.”

He cocks his head. “Are you a virgin?”

“No,” I say quickly, lest he scream and run away. “I’ve slept with someone. But I’ve never had that feeling, you know.”

“You mean, they’ve never taken the time to give you the full experience of pleasure.”

The way Ben says these things, like it’s so natural for him to talk about sex and orgasms and ecstasy, it throws me. Not because I’m ashamed of it, but I’m certainly not used to it. Sex wasn’t a thing my past boyfriend wanted to talk about. My parents didn’t really discuss it, and hell if I was going to ask Locke about anything. Way too embarrassing.

I felt more like a vessel than a woman. There for a man to get off, and maybe, if there was time, I’d get a little inkling of it. I didn’t think it was possible for me to feel so good with a man, until now.

Ben.

Before I rethink it—too much thinking—I pull him in for a deep, answering kiss.

“Make me feel it,” I whisper into his lips.

He answers with a rumble in his throat, moving lithely on top of me. Considering how heavily muscled he is, it’s a wonder how smooth he moves, how he circles and grinds his hips like a dancer, causing enough enticing friction that I let him explore the outside a little longer.

He arcs my arms up, trails his fingers down, a shuddering, graceful ballet. His lips move from mine, to my chin, to my neck, his scruff sending shivers in every pleasurable place I possess. When he takes one of my nipples, and then the other, in his mouth, sucking, biting, flicking with his his tongue, I arch, begging him for more.

“That’s it,” he says while his hand travels down. He pushes one of my legs off the narrow bed, spreading me.

With the lights on, with Ben no longer covering my entire body, I’m exposed in the most vulnerable way.

I instantly go to cover myself, but he gently stops me.

“Beautiful. Alluring. Elegant,” he repeats. “Trust me.”

One of his thick, athletic fingers goes in. I buck and moan as he creates his own choreography, and I am his music notes.

Through my slitted vision I see him lift up for a moment.

“I can’t take much more of this,” he says to me. “I want you, Astor. I can’t believe I’m fucking jealous of my finger right now, but I am.”

“Yes,” I say, feeling the exit of his finger like a void. “Do it. Do it now.”

He smiles, and when such a beautiful man smiles, it’s like he’s summoning an ice cream cone to melt, ice to thaw and puddle. I feel like his sweet treat, and I’m ready for him to lick me until I’m gone.

Ben bends over, fumbles through his duffel and grabs a condom.

“You bring those to football games?” I ask.

“And practice.” He grins. Shrugs. “You never know.”

I’m too far gone to truly mull over the implications and how much this boy screws around, because right now he’s mine to screw. Finally.

His hands grip my thighs, spreading them further, and he takes his time looking at me. My breathing goes heavier, all too conscious of his focus.

Ben positions himself, and so, so smoothly, fills me to the brim.

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