Page 75 of If Only In Our Dreams

“Unfortunately,” Ben’s voice was a low mumbling growl. Damn. Grumpy in the mornings. So hedidhave a flaw. I cranedmy neck to see the alarm clock, grimacing when I realized how early it was.

“You were fucking me with your dick,” I informed him, muffled against the sheets. “Through your pants.”

“I know.” Ben laughed, the sound buzzing against my skin. He sounded embarrassed. Which was my job. “I’m sorry.”

I froze, growing rigid beneath him.

He was…sorry?

So he really hadn’t wanted it.

Mortification turned my skin bright red. I tried to wiggle out from under him, but gigantor wouldn’t let me.

“Not like that,” Ben apologized with his tone alone. “I’m still half asleep. Don’t misconstrue my words.” He curled his arms around me, his very hard dick still poking into me as he squeezed and squeezed and squeezed. I wheezed out the happiest breath I’d probably ever breathed. “I’m sorry because I didn’t ask your permission first.”

“Oh.” The humiliation faded as happy-happy-happy chemicals danced all around inside my brain. I was surprisingly chipper this morning! For a dude up before the sun. Maybe it was because a big dick was poking me.

Probably.

“Does that mean you want to poke me with your dick some more now that you’re awake?” I asked hopefully.

Ben chuckled. Chuckled! All sexy and low and amused. He stopped squeezing me like a dog toy, his teeth finding the back of my neck again. “Do you want me to do that?” he asked, always the gentleman.

“Does Mads Mikkelsen deserve another Oscar? Yes. Yes I want you to do that.” My cheeks were hot as Ben laughed again.

He liked me.

I didn’t understand why.

But he really did like me.

As evidenced by the fact he was always sweet-talking me. Always touching me. Always laughing at my jokes and finding joy in all the things I said.

My thoughts screeched to a halt when Ben ground his hips into mine again, slow and deliberate. This was different than the sloppy, sleepy ruts from before. This was a man on a mission. And that mission was to push his cock directly against my twitchy asshole, fabric barriers be damned.

Pulling back, Ben fucked forward with purpose again. A sharp snap of his hips that made me whine.

And then he was pulling away, taking all that hot, lovely skin with him. He flopped over onto his back beside me, sucking in a breath with a groan. When I glanced down I could see the tent his dick made. It twitched, and when I glanced back at his face, Ben was watching me.

“Why’d you stop?” I asked, because duh.

Why the fuck had he stopped?

“Show me your cock, little songbird,” Ben’s voice was low and sugary sweet.

Flames burst across my body, my own dick perking right the fuck up. Like it’d never stopped working in the first place. I knew this was purely luck. That it had everything to do with the lovely night’s rest I had just experienced—but still.

It was a gift.

I didn’t need to be told twice, scrambling to get the comforter off my tangled legs. Scrambling to get the boxers I had borrowed from Ben down and off. Only apparently I wasn’t fast enough for Ben, because while I was kicking around at the blankets he reached for the hem of the underwear with both hands and yanked them right down to my knees.

My dick slapped against my belly, sticky and hard, the skin flushed pink enough to see in the dark. The crows on my hipspointed toward it, framing the flushed skin as Ben growled, low and happy under his breath.

“So fucking pretty.”

My cock flexed.

And then he was slurping me down, quick as that.

---