Page 34 of I Do With You

I do. I feel it. I feel her.

It helps my fears fade, if only for tonight, and for the first time, I sing in front of people as me, Ben Taylor. I don’t have a mask, I’m notwearing body paint and a costume, and nobody is yelling my stage name. I’m ... me. And yet it’s okay.

My voice doesn’t crack. I don’t pass out. I don’t forget the words.

“G’night, sleep tight, don’t let the bed bugs bite,” Richard calls out. Everyone answers with some version ofgood nightas they peel off, heading to their cottages.

Hope’s hand is entwined in mine as we walk. The buzz of her hand on my chest earlier was fire. This is gasoline on an inferno.

All night, I’ve watched her, felt her watching me, and enjoyed the slow burn of this thing between us as we looked into each other’s eyes, seeing so much more than the reflection of the fire. Eventually, she pressed her leg against mine, and her breath went jagged when I responded by laying my palm on her jean-clad thigh.

And now we’re about to be alone, behind a locked door, in the darkness, where anything can happen. It’s a chance at heaven, and I know exactly what I want.

Daylight comes, bright and cleansing, showing all you’d rather hide, no use pretending.

I need to remember that so I can hold myself back. Hope’s feeling wild and free tonight, but she’s not a casual, one-night-stand kind of girl. Tomorrow will come, and I don’t want to be something she regrets. And it’s not fair that she only knows a part of me, given that what I’m keeping from her is such a big piece of my life.

I unlock the door and let her go in first. I take a steadying breath, giving myself one last reminder that I am not going to throw Hope against the nearest supportive surface and bury my tongue in her, worshipping her the way she should be.

That sounds like a great idea.

No. It doesn’t. Not for her, and she’s what’s important. Not my dick.

The lamp in the living room provides a warm glow, making Hope’s profile look soft and hazy, but her chin is dropped and she’s nervously twisting her fingers. She’s about to tell me that she can’t do what she’s played at all night, and I’m about to go bed alone and rock-hard for her.

Which is fine. If she says no, then to my hand I can go.

“Hope—” I want to tell her that she doesn’t have to be scared. I’m not going to attack her, I’m not going to shame her for having a little fun flirting, and I’m not expecting her to follow through on it.

She looks up at me through her lashes and interrupts me. “You remember how you said that I should say what I like and what I don’t like?”

Instantly, I know what she’s talking about. Our conversation in the water. She’d been so responsive, even if she hadn’t realized it. Watching her breath catch, her nipples stiffen to diamond points, and her thighs clench beneath the surface was sexy as fuck.

“Yeah,” I say, my voice going quiet and gruff. It held through the singing when I expected it to give, but now, it’s all but choked in my throat because more than anything, I want to hear what Hope likes, want to know every single thing that brings her pleasure.

“I like ... um, kissing. But not ... more. At least, not for ... now,” she says, forcing the words out.

I lick my lips and smile when her eyes follow the movement. “You want to kiss me and let me kiss you, Hope? Is that what you want?” I’m precisely repeating her words on purpose. I need clarity. I want transparency in this. She nods jerkily, her eyes full of desire.

Fuck, she’s sexy. There’s probably a poetic way to say it better and I’ll find it later, but I can’t focus enough to think beyond lust and desire right now with her looking at me hopefully.

I slip my hand to her jaw, cupping her cheek to slide my thumb along her cheekbone, watching her lashes flutter at the intimate contact. I bend down, not to her lips but to her ear, exhaling slowly so that the heat glances over her sensitive earlobe before whispering, “You want me to memorize what you taste like by sipping at your lips, dancing my tongue over yours, and taking your breath into my lungs until the only oxygen I have is yours?”

A shudder runs through her body, her head falling more fully into my hand for support. “Yes,” she sighs.

I run the tip of my nose along the side of her face, enjoying this moment even as I’m anticipating the next. Hope lifts her eyes to mine, her lips parted in readiness. Her gaze moves from my right eye to my left, then down to my lips. I watch every second of her surrender, not to me but to herself. I want that. I want to be a part of her honoring her desires. She can use me however she needs to if it helps her.

Slowly, I angle my head and touch my lips to hers, and even with the gentlest brush, I feel electricity shoot through my body. But I take my time, kissing her over and over, exploring what she feels like tilted left and then right. I swipe my tongue along the seam of her mouth, and she opens hungrily for me.

I turn her, pinning her against the closed door, and kiss her harder, taking us deeper, moving us closer until I feel her stomach against my cock. The layers of fabric between us remind me to keep a tight grip on my restraint because my cock is straining for more, desperate for contact with her hand, her body, her pussy. But I won’t go too far or do more than Hope wants, and she’s decreed that tonight is about kissing.

I could do that for hours. Forever.

Hope laces her arms over my shoulders, gripping my neck, and I reach down to her thighs, taking a firm handful of her. She lifts her feet, wrapping those strong, sexy legs around my waist, and still, I keep her pressed to the door, our mouths exploring. I trail a line of kisses over her jaw, and when she angles her head away from me so I have fuller access, I bury my face in her neck. Her soft hair surrounds me, her flesh smells like campfire, and she tastes like ambrosia.

I suck at her neck and she goes wild, her hips bucking against me. “Do you want me to mark you?” I murmur against her flesh.

“I—I—” she stammers breathlessly.

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