Page 39 of The Best You've Ever Had

Against my mouth, she mumbles, “Ben. Oh my god.”

I drag my lips along her neck. “If you keep saying my name like that, you’re going to make me finish too soon.”

She smirks, clearly proud of herself, as she speeds up. My hands grip her hips, guiding her movements, matching the quick rhythm as we lose ourselves in this alternate universe—both taking and giving in equal measure, stealing every bit of pleasure like thieves in the night. The more we take, the more we crave, and the more we push each other to the edge. Getting closer, strung tight, electricity coursing up our bodies until we’re exploding together. As soon as I feel her tighten, and hear her cry out, withmyname on her lips, I slide out of her, coming all over the bottom half of her breasts. She watches me in adaze of content curiosity. As if she’s amazed we’ve made each other feel like we’re on top of the world—a post-orgasm high of achievement.

I swing my feet over the side of the bed, to grab a wet washcloth. When I return, she extends her hand to take it from me.

I shake my head. “Let me do it. I want to, if it’s fine with you.”

“Okay.” She nods, surprise flashing on her face for a brief moment.

Being careful, I wipe up my ejaculation from the curves of her body. Swiping it away, and taking each moment to appreciate how fucking beautiful she is, and the fact she is letting me take care of her. I look up, and she’s watching me carefully, analyzing my every move.

I can’t read her. I can’t tell if she’s enjoying this or counting down every second until I’m done.

“Are you okay?” I ask.

“I’m good. More than good, actually…great.” A small smile spreads across her lips, her face blossoming like the first sun of spring.

“I’ll try not to get too cocky from you telling me that,” I reply.

“You know what, be cocky. You deserve it after that.”

“Excuse me, but was that a compliment? Am I in a dream or something?”

She rolls her eyes at me. “I knew I said too much. I changed my mind. All of that was horrible, absolutely awful.”

Tossing the washcloth to the side, I grab her by the hips and drag her against my body, nibbling at her neck in the process. “That so? Is that why you came around my dick so hard?” She yelps with a laugh before snuggling straight into me. Not even hesitating to mold herself against me just right with her cheek to my chest, feet tucked under the crook of my knees, and the bassof her heart beating against my ribs. It’s like we were made for each other. Everything about her fits flawlessly.

I flick off the lights of the bedside lamp beside me, the room growing dark and quiet. But the sound of our thoughts is louder than ever. I don’t want this to end with her. And I don’t think she wants that either.

I’m fairly certain she’s fallen asleep when her breathing grows heavy and steady. My own exhaustion, mixed with the warmth of holding her in my arms, helps me set aside my grief just long enough to drift toward sleep. Before I close my eyes, I press a kiss to the top of her head, breathing her in and savoring how incredible it feels to hold her like this.

“I don’t want this to end,” I whisper. A confession that’s easier to admit when she’s fast asleep.

Sleep comes on fast and furious, floating with dreams that are so close to reality that they feel like real life—falling asleep and waking up next to her every day. Seeing her rare smile at some ridiculous joke I’ve made purely for her amusement. And the rush in my chest when she tells me she’s falling for me too.

It’s wishful thinking.

But I’m still going to wish anyway.

Chapter Fourteen

Layla

When I wakeup the next morning, Ben’s arm is draped around my waist. He’s blissfully unaware that I’m watching him sleep—or that I heard his confession last night. I had stayed awake in his arms long after he drifted off, turning over the idea that terrifies me. The idea of us—together. How we’d make it work, how we’d make it fall apart, and everything in between.

While it seemed scary, it also sparked something else. Something unexpected. Something that felt a lot like excitement and the hope of potential. Now that spark lies in my chest. A tiny kindling that’s thawing me from the inside out.

As soon as he flips onto his back, his brow furrowed but peaceful, I slip out of bed. Hank’s at the end of the mattress, giving me a major case of side eye and clearly judging me for getting up at such a god awful hour.

I tiptoe down the hall, cringing every time I step on a creaky floorboard. I don’t know what I’m doing. This isn’t like other hookups I’ve had in the past, where I’ve casually slipped away before they woke up, in a desperate effort to keep my distance. What do normal people do the morning after? Running from him after last night not only feels wrong, it feels unforgivable.

However, lying there under the weight of his arm felt like it held the potential to make me spiral into my own thoughts. So here I am, peeking into the kitchen cabinets and thinking about trying my hand at cooking. I settle on scrambled eggs and toast since it seems easy enough.

Pulling up a video tutorial on how to prepare eggs, I follow the directions as if it’s a life or death situation, which it kind of is, because I don’t want to burn down his house. I crack eggs into the ceramic bowl, whisking them up, with a bit of milk and cheese, before pouring the mixture into a hot pan. My toast turns out a little burnt, and the eggs a little runny, but at least I can say I tried.

With my brain running rampant, I decide to call Hazel, the only genuine friend I have back in the city, because she’s normally awake at an hour far more evil.

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