Page 55 of Benji

“I miss you guys too.”

Fitch looked around the apartment. “No offence, but if I were in your shoes right now, I wouldn’t miss your stupid faces one bit.”

Both Ky and I laughed, because out of all of us, he’d miss us the most.

Nolan got home justafter seven. I’d cleaned the apartment, read more of my book, watched stupid real estate shows on TV, and cooked us dinner. Just a simple pasta with a side salad, but I was feeling good about myself.

I wanted to be helpful to him. I wanted him to not have to worry about anything after his long day at work.

Fitch’s good-little-househusband comment came to mind, and I couldn’t even bring myself to care.

Nolan came in and slid his messenger bag onto the sideboard just as I was setting the table. “Hey,” he said, smiling at me.

“Hey, you,” I said, putting the table caddy of salad dressings down and pulling out his chair. “Come and take a seat. Dinner’s done.”

He chuckled and sat down, and I was quick to throw my leg over him, sit on his lap with my arms around hisshoulders. His arms slid around me and up under my shirt. “You wear this short shirt to tease me, don’t you?”

“Absolutely. I’m tempted to take some scissors to it to make it into a true crop top.” I pressed my lips to his. “I’ve done everything I can think of. Cleaning, the apartment and myself, very thoroughly, if you know what I mean. And dinner. I want you to come home and have nothing to do but me.”

He hummed happily. “Very thoroughly, huh?”

I nodded. “Fitch said I was a very good househusband. Cooking, cleaning, sex whenever you want. Even when you don’t want it.”

He laughed, his hands sliding down to my hips. “That’s the problem though. Because I always want it.”

I ground down on him, feeling his hardening dick, and kissed him. “Glad to hear that. Now, did you want to eat dinner with a hard-on or without?” I leaned my elbows back onto the dining table and arched my back. “You haven’t fucked me on your table yet.”

He gripped my hips and rose up to grind harder against me. “You are so wicked,” he murmured. “All I could think about all day was coming home to you.”

“Coming in me,” I said, arching my back.

His nostrils flared and I knew dinner was a lost cause. He picked me up and sat my arse on the dining table, kissing me deep. His mouth and hands, his erection and my own aching need to have him fill me up.

I was kicking myself that I hadn’t thought to bring the lube out. “Fuck, lube,” I said breathlessly. “Just fuck me without it.”

He snatched the small bottle of olive oil from the table caddy. “No need,” he said, ripping my sweatpants down to my thighs and folding my legs up.

Then he unzipped himself, opening his suit pants and pulling out his eager cock. He slicked himself with the oil, sparing me a mere swipe before he pushed his cock into me.

No prep, no stretching, no warning.

He drove all the way in, holding my legs. I couldn’t even arch my back to alleviate the intrusion. His fingers dug into my thighs as he reached the hilt. I was so full of him, unable to do anything but take all of him.

It burned and it was all too much. It was glorious.

He groaned, his face tortured. “Fuck, I’m sorry,” he rasped. But then he pulled my arse closer and leaned over me more, pushing deeper. “That’s how much I needed you,” he bit out. He slid back a little only to thrust back into me. “That’s how much you turn me on.”

Oh fuuuuuck yes.

“All day,” he said. “All I’ve thought about, all fucking day, is you.”

“God, Nolan,” I grated out. “Your cock is right where it belongs.”

His eyes rolled back and he thrust into me, hard and sharp. Perfect. “Fuck, I’m gonna come already,” he said with a groan.

That feeling of elation, of pure fucking bliss, washed over me. Being the reason for his pleasure was a different kind of joy for me.

“Give it to me,” I begged. “Please.”

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