Page 87 of If Only In Our Dreams

Ben didn’t reply. And I knew it was because he knew I wasn’t ready to hear what he had been about to say. It was too soon. And I was toome. And my feet itched and itched and itched.

“Mmm,” I sobbed, scratching at the pillows my face was smashed into as Ben licked the back of my neck and those big, lovely hands skated down my side.

“I told you I don’t break my promises,” he purred, teeth sinking liquid hot, just deep enough to sting as his other hand—his other very naughty, very sexy hand—uncapped the lube bottle on the bed.

I was naked. Well.Kinda.

Aside from the hoodie I’d borrowed—bunched up to my armpits—and the furry sock things that still adorned my feet because Ben had been “afraid I’d get cold without them”.

His thoughtfulness knew no bounds. Especially when he was crammed up against my side and I knew without a shred of doubt in my mind that he was about to wreck my fucking ass.

At least, I hoped he was.

Equally as strongly, I hoped I’d get to touch him back today.

Knowing him though, he’d leave me hanging again without a chance to touch his cock at all.

It was early in the morning. Early enough the kids wouldn’t be up for hours. Neither of us were morning people, as evidenced by Ben’s sleepy grumblings when I’d rolled over and began to nibble along the back of his neck.

He’d woken up slow and grouchy—which, same, bud—but quickly perked up when he felt my dick push against his side. Allit had taken was one little whine and Ben was wide a-fucking-wake.

And now here we were. The warm, dry skin of his abs brushing my back as he coasted his hand up and down my side, tracing my ribs and the dips of my hips as the slick, slick of lube coated his other hand.

How he was doing that with only one hand available was a mystery to me. I struggled doing most things even with both hands unoccupied.

“You want me to suck your little cock, baby?” Ben asked against the back of my neck, sending a shiver down my spine. My dick jerked. “Before I play with that sexytightbussy.”

To his credit, he kept it together for a solid five seconds before a low, rumbly chuckle buzzed along my nape.

“Okay, you’re right—” I managed, muffled against the pillow. “No more talk of bussies.” Though… “Calling my cock little is definitely good though. Super good. Fuck. Why is that so hot?”

“Because youarelittle,” Ben murmured. “And ifyou’relittle that makes me…”

“Huge.” My throat clicked when I swallowed, face hot. Then, because I couldn’t help it, I added. “But um. Yeah. No need to use bussy. I’ll survive without it.”

I reallyhadonly been using it as a joke—and because I liked the way he reacted to it. But…even though it was honestly pretty hot when he said it still, Ben somehow managed to say it like an old man. Kinda slow and awkward, like he was sounding the word out for the first time. Which made me want to laugh. Even worse, every time he said it he wouldn’t stop chuckling like the little shit he was. Which meantneitherof us was taking it seriously at all.

“Are you sure?” Ben hummed, sobering a little. He laced a flickering little kiss behind my ear, his tongue sliding out to tease. Hot breath made a shiver run down my spine. “Because ifyou want me to tell you how badly I want to wreck your bussy I will.”

“Oh, Jesus fuck,” I gasped out, my dick twitching where it hung between my thighs. “I’m getting coal for Christmas this year.”

“Naughty list?” Ben chuckled, amused.

“Always.”

The warm, dry hand that skimmed my side slid down to my ass. It was easy for him to grip it. The size difference came in handy in this case as he dragged his thumb down my crack and pulled me open wide.

“This part of you isdefinitelynaughty,” Ben agreed, speaking conversationally, like my hole wasn’t fluttering all over the place, and my dick wasn’t drooling onto his comforter. He leaned back, made a quiet sound, like he was inspecting me, then slid back in close.

Hot breath tickled my ear the next time he spoke, “Just look at the way it twitches.”

“Can’t help it,” I replied. “I’m a ho-ho-hoooo—” Ben cut me off when his dry thumb pressed against my hole, shoving hard enough I felt the skin give a little.

“When was the last time you were touched here?” Ben asked, tone still conversational. Slick fingers replaced the dry ones as his hand went back to holding my ass open.

“Um,” my voice was crackly dry, all jokes forgotten. “Two years?” Fuck. Wait. No. “Three.” That wasn’t right either. When was the last time I’d been fucked? It’d been in Vegas. Not this last tour but the one before. Some guy who’d told me I was pretty in the parking lot at a rest stop. He’d tasted like cigarettes, left bruises I didn’t want, and I’d said yes because the sky had been so empty, empty, empty, and yet somehow, my heart had been even emptier.

“I’ll need to stretch you out first,” Ben murmured. “Train you.”

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