Page 117 of Daring You

“Tit for tat,” he says, then tears open my blouse. “Oh, definitely tits.”

He pulls at the lace of my bra, tucking the cups under my breasts and refusing to waste time unclasping it.

Sucking, pulling, twirling, biting, both my breasts are getting equal attention as Ben guides me backwards to the bedroom.

This time, throwing my head back seems natural.

Ben’s hands cup my waist, almost encasing me whole, and lifts me up before laying me across the bed. The weight of him is welcomed as he lays on top of me, taking his time on my lips, my neck, the sensitive line of my jaw.

I scramble for his pants, dragging my fingers along the taut muscle of his stomach, the gorgeous lines of his abs, until I find what I want and start peeling his pants away.

My hand curls around his dick and I stroke, eliciting succulent groans heavy against my ear.

“Pants. All the way off,” I gasp.

Ben rises on his elbows, staring at me frankly. “What did you promise? No demands. You’re all mine, for as long as I want.”

My answer is to writhe underneath him. And possibly frown like a spoiled child not getting her way.

Ben smiles. Stands and kicks off his pants and boxers, until I see the full daylight of him, as stunning as the night I had him in college.

I don’t care about the burns. They’re a part of him, a swirl of tragedy against the skin able to withstand it.

Rising until I’m sitting, I trail my fingers across his hip, drinking in the scars, a lot like I wasn’t allowed to in college.

Ben grips my wrist, exactly like he did that night.

But…this time, he guides me. Traces his burns with my fingers, grazing the pads along the bubbles and ridges of his tale of survival. He moves me to his arm, and we trace the burns there. I touch every part of him that was torn open and eaten by fire.

As if my touch were a healing balm.

I’m so riveted by the motions, the feel of him against my hand, that when I meet his eyes, I’m shocked to find them locked onto my face.

“You know all of me, now,” he says.

I swallow. And nod. I don’t flinch as he lets go of my wrist and reaches for my face, tracing the light pock marks on my cheek.

“You’ve known all of me for a long time,” I say.

“Yes.” His thumb strokes my cheekbone. “And you’re as beautiful as the day I met you.”

I blink back tears. This moment doesn’t need them. “And so are you, Ben.”

Ben lightly pushes me back against the mattress. Strips off my skirt, then peels down my tights, kissing the exposed skin of my thighs and legs along the way.

He rises to lie on top of me again, both of us fully exposed. Keeps my gaze as he slides into me, excruciatingly slowly. Smiles when I bite my lower lip.

I clench at the feel of him, unwilling to let him leave, since this is what makes me whole. He dips his head, watching as he lifts out, then drives in again. I bury my fingers in the skin of his ass—if I’m not allowed to demand that he stay, then I can sure as hell make it clear in other ways.

He groans, and I feel his exhale on my nipples. Goosebumps take up the tingle and scatter every which way along my body, from my knees to my collarbone, collecting into a swirl at my center, building, building…

Flying.

My hands clench against Ben’s body as he takes me to the sky, his movements faster as he buries himself as deep as he can go inside me and then retreats, over and over, until we’re both blind from ecstatic torture.

“I’m gonna come…” I say. “Ben, I’m gonna come.”

He lifts to his hands, then straightens and digs his fingers into my hips, pounding harder.

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