Page 80 of Savage Seduction

“I was a sophomore in college,” he says. “Came home for Christmas dinner and right there between bites of ham and stuffing my big mouth blurts out, ‘Mom, Dad, I’m gay.’”

“Shit,” I say before drinking the rest of my wine. “Then what happened?”

“Mom started crying, got up from the table and disappeared into the kitchen. Dad threw his napkin on the table and yelled at me for upsetting my mother on Christmas. The thing is though, my extended family were all still sitting at the table trying to choke down their green bean casserole while exchanging looks of shock and intrigue with each other.”

I laugh. “I’m sorry to laugh, but wow… awkward.”

“It really was,” he says. “I don’t know what I expected, but I didn’t really envision my mom’s hysterics.”

“Did she ever come around?”

Ben nods. “She apologized to me and admitted she was wrong. Took about a year, but before long it was like old times. Good old Mom doing her best to set me up with the finest boys her friends at the country club could find for her Benjamin Cooper—future doctor.”

“Aww, it’s kind of sweet,” I say. “In a pretentious sort of way.”

Ben laughs and nods as he clears away the dishes. “Want to go sit somewhere more comfortable?”

“Sure,” I say and get up from the table, clutching my wine glass to my chest. “Any chance you’re hiding another bottle around here?”

Ben opens the chiller and pulls out a nice white sparkling wine, pops the cork, and pours us both a glass. I follow him into the living room where we settle on the sofa next to one another. I put the wine down on the coffee table and lean into him—tucked under his arm, head resting on hischest.

“This is nice,” Ben says.

“It is.” I trace a line around the button on Ben’s shirt pocket. I breathe in his many scent and relax further into him. After breathing him in, my arms are covered in goosebumps and I want to dive right back in for more.

Control yourself, Max.

Grr, I think as I look at his chest. What does his armpits smell like? Are his nipples sensitive? Does he like to have his balls tickled while having his cock sucked?

So many fucking questions that I need answers to.

Ben sets his wine down and kisses the top of my head. I tilt my head back and close my eyes. Will Ben finally make a big move on me or will something else happen? An unexpected phone call or maybe an earthquake?

We kissed once before, but I need more. I have to feel him against me. To taste him and have our heartbeats synchronize.

A moment passes where I'm sure that Ben will pull away, my eyes open searching him for answers, my heart pounding away like a bunny in heat. But then he closes the distance between us, and my eyes flicker closed, sighing softly when I feel the weight and warmth of Ben’s mouth on mine.

Finally.

Opening my mouth, my hand tightens on the back of Ben’s shirt as I sweep my tongue inside to tangle with his, the surge and retreat of it sending a rush of heat down my spine where it pools, deep in my belly. Spearing my fingers through Ben’s hair with a breathless groan, I tighten my grip, pulling at it in my desperation for more. Now Ben moans, deep in his chest.

Yes.

Mouth still fused to Ben’s, I push myself closer, driven forward by need and something else I can’t name. Something that might scare me if I looked at it too closely. I slip my legover Ben’s hip to straddle him, and Ben moans again, the sound and feel of it passing between us—an unspoken promise? Or simply the weakness of the flesh I had been struggling to control.

Ben finally breaks the kiss to catch his breath. I slide from his lap to the sofa and begin unbuckling my belt. Ben fumbles with the buttons of his shirt before rending it in two, buttons exploding from the shirt—skittering across the tiled floor.

He stands and removes his shirt. “Come with me,” he says, extending his hand. I take it and walk with him to the stairs.

Hand-in-hand we traverse the stairs to the second floor where Ben opens the door to his bedroom. Before we go inside, our lips meet once again. It isn’t long before we are locked in each other’s arms, breathless and moaning. Ben’s hand crept to my belt and with a quick pull, unhooked it, the pants falling to the floor.

Please.

I can’t get enough of him, my hands raking his hair before sliding down his back—groping muscle and flesh as I go. Suddenly, I freeze. Ben had begun unbuttoning my shirt, his hands going underneath, his fingers brushing against my scars.

Ben stops, clearly sensing the change in emotions. I step back and pull my shirt closed.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “The scars… from my attack.”

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