Page 62 of If Only In Our Dreams

“Simile,” Ben corrected.

“Gesundheit.”

“Oh my god.” Ben laughed, this delighted chuckle that lit up the room. More water droplets hit my cheeks, and I had to fight not to twist around so I could see his face. Somehow that felt more intimate though, and I was having a hard time processing all of this already.

Ben’s proximity most certainly did not make my dick go down, that was for sure.

“Take your time,” Ben hummed, finally stepping out of my space. “You can grab a toothbrush from the basket beneath the counter.”

“Thanks,” I shivered, staring resolutely at the faucet.

“Use anything that’s in there,” Ben added, because he was psychic and somehow had known I was planning on using as little of anything I could—so as not to be a bother.

With his permission it was easier to relax.

His absence helped too as he retreated from the room and shut the door with a quiet click. Not thinking it through, I yanked his hoodie and my shirt over my head with one swift movement. Working on my pants next, despite his urging to take my time, I had no intention of dilly-dallying.

I’d get in, jerk off, and get out quicker than you could blink.

There were coffee and pancakes waiting for me.

With chips.

Chocolateones.

I had my zipper undone, my naked upper body twisted toward the door when it slid open again. I froze, rigid, the root of my cock probably fucking visible—because I preferred going commando most days.

Ben stared at me from the doorway, his toffee-colored eyes wide as he took me in. A splotchy, ugly blush spread across his face as his gaze traveled across my bare shoulders and the tattoos there. His attention caught on my nipples—on the rings, probably—and hegroaned.

“Did you forget something?” I asked because my mouth was faster than my brain.

“Clothes,” Ben replied immediately, his eyes somewhere around my belly button and the crows that framed my hip bones. He licked his lips, voice hoarse. “I told you I’d bring you clothes.”

“Oh.” He had. He totally had. I’d forgotten. Oh shit. And then, because the face he was making made me want to shove him into the doorframe and beg him to touch my dick, I spoke, “What about now?”

Idiot, idiot, idiot.

“Hmm?” Ben’s eyes were definitely on my hands now. On my zipper, and the way my happy trail crept upward.

“Are you scared now?”

Ben chuckled, eyes pinching shut as he shook his head. “Take the clothes, Robin,” he said gently, making no move to step all the way into the bathroom. “Please.”

I took the clothes.

They were warm, clean, and smelled like him, and I couldn’t help the way I clutched them close like they were precious, because they were. When Ben opened his eyes again, his pupils had blown out, wide and dark.

“I’ll see you at breakfast.”

“Right,” I agreed, because he totally would. After I jerked off in his shower and tried not to die a slow painful death of embarrassment. “Yep.”

My pulse was thrumming.

Ben softened, like he could read how uncomfortable I was all over my face. “You’re gorgeous,” he told me like it was a fact. “You have to know that.”

“I do?”

“Yes,” Ben’s eyes danced. “Now do as you’re told.”

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