Page 82 of Daring You

22

Astor

When my lipshit Ben’s, it’s to bring him back. Ben is bordering on hysteria, drowning in memories he didn’t know he had, so I do the one thing guaranteed to bring him back to Earth.

I kiss him.

Hard, desperate and deep. My nails claw into his biceps, my head tilts, and my tongue coaxes his return.

Ben’s landing is in the form of his arms wrapping around my torso and lifting me off this Earth, so my legs wrap around his waist, his head tilts up, and our lips don’t break apart.

His tongue fills my mouth, curling and flicking like I’m imagining he’d do down below, and I’m instantly wet.

I grind against his abs, wanting the rub, the pleasure, and he whispers into my mouth, “Bed. Now.”

“No,” I say through our heavy breaths. “Floor.”

“Here?”

Ben’s palms cup my ass, and he balances me like I’m nothing but a beach ball as he looks around.

I grab his face and yank him back. I missed his taste the instant he let go. “Yes. Now.”

He moans as he bends down, and with more grace than a ballet dancer, he lays me on the cold wood, spreading himself on top.

“Rough,” I say, and my voice mimics my wish. “I don’t want it gentle, or nice. I want you hard. I want it to hurt—”

“No, you don’t.”

“Don’t act like you know what I want. I’m telling you.”

“And I’m responding,” he says, and lowers a hand between my legs. He gives a single, firm, erotic swipe outside my underwear, and I arch into it like a cat. “By doing that.”

My back’s torqued off the floor, and I’m begging him to do more. Not in so many words, but in moans.

Ben answers by moving my underwear to the side and dipping his fingers in, one by one. I bite my lower lip to stop the shout. I don’t want to give him the credit.

“Just because I won’t be an asshole to you,” he says above me. “Doesn’t mean I can’t get you to come so hard you’ll rip your G-string in half.”

I can’t answer. I’m too busy moving when he moves, meeting his thrusts, and thinking if he puts his whole fist in me, I won’t even notice, I’m so wet.

And then I think—I want his everything in me. Always.

“Ben, fuck me. Do it now,” I manage to say through my gasps.

“In my own sweet time, Astor,” he says. “I want to savor you. You’re gorgeous. Sexy. Lethal.”

My eyes are closed and I mutter a laugh. I don’t want to watch him while he says those things—compliments that would’ve speared my heart a few years ago, but now can only hit a wall of ice.

I won’t thaw. Not for him.

When one of his fingers slides down, hits my anus, my eyes fly open and land straight on his.

Ben cocks a brow. “I don’t treat women like shit. I’m not gonna slap you around or demean you. Shove my cock down your throat until you gag. You want rough, but I’ll give you different. And I’ll still work you so good, you won’t be able to walk straight tomorrow. Got it?”

“Yes,” I say before thinking. And that’s a first.

“Turn around.”

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