Page 118 of Consumed By You
I’ve already stopped at my apartment, packed clothes and necessities, and changed out of that uncomfortable dress into black-heeled boots, jeans, and a long-sleeved black shirt. I hum along to the music happily.
“You have a good voice,” Benjamin comments.
I’m belting outLovin’, Touchin’, Squeezin’in the most unattractive voice I can muster. He bursts into laughter. Ecstatic I was able to break down the barrier that is Benjamin Scott, I give the rest of the song all it’s worth. He turns down the music to a low volume when the song ends and I try to conceal my smirk.
“Well, Miss Fontaine, that was quite a show.”
“Did you enjoy it?”
“Very much.” He smiles. “Will you ever stop surprising me?”
“I’ll try my hardest not to.”
He lifts my hand and kisses the soft spot just below my palm. “Good.”
I stare out the window, taking in the gorgeous mountainside and brown leaves scattered across the completely white-covered ground.
Benjamin squeezes my hand and I turn to look at him, following his gaze. He points with his hand still on the steering wheel at an extremely large two-story building. The exterior is light blue and covered with large white-paneled windows. I sit forward and read the sign in front of the place: Fireside Bed & Breakfast.
I practically bounce up and down in my seat. “We’re staying here?”
“Mmm,” he hums, turning onto the dirt road. The gloomy sky only makes the building look more rustic, and while it’s lodged in the middle of nowhere, the lot is filled with cars. “Is that good with you?”
“Of course it is!” I’ve never been on a vacation, and now here I am with the man I love. It couldn’t get better than this.
I collect my bag and step into the frigid air. My shoes crackle on the snowy walk. I wait, gawking at the splendor while Benjamin retrieves his duffel from the trunk.
“I’ve never seen someone so excited to go into a hotel.” His warm breath fogs in front of his face. It has to be frigid temperatures, especially since it’s late in the day.
I take his hand happily. His body radiates heat, making him a magnet. We enter the lobby, complete with a roaring fireplace. The only soul in the room is the receptionist.
“Good evening. Do you have a reservation?” he asks warmly.
“Yes. Dimitri Santori called for Benjamin Scott.”
“You’ll be staying with us until Sunday, is that correct?”
“Yes.”
“Absolutely, sir. Here are your room keys.” He hands over two rustic-looking keys to Benjamin. “Dinner is between seven and ten. There is a menu upstairs containing details for breakfast. If you’d like, you can call today and leave your order and when you’d like it delivered for tomorrow.”
“Thank you,” Benjamin says politely. I follow him to the elevators and don’t argue at all when he takes my bag off my shoulder. Imayhave over packed just a bit.
We step off the elevator into a dark hallway filled with replicas of Monet paintings. Benjamin’s phone rings for the fifth time since we exited the car; it must be important.
He doesn’t answer though, just slides the key through the lock and opens the door.
The room looks like something straight out of an old Western Christmas movie. I don’t even know if there are old Western Christmas movies, but this is what I’d imagine if there were.
Everything’s wood. The fireplace by the window is roaring. Next to a large oak vanity, the headboard of the large bed is iron and perfectly rusted. I enter and he closes the door and sets our bags down on the gray love seat in the corner.
After we take off our coats, Benjamin moves the strand of hair that was dangling in front of my eyes and lowers his face to mine. I curl my hands around his neck, and his large hands drop to my waist. Deepening the kiss, I shiver as his hands travel farther down to my backside. Our bodies are so close in proximity I can feel his large evidence of wanting pressed against me. He lifts me easily and I curl my legs around his thick waist, my lips finding his again.
We’re like restless teenagers, unable to keep our hands to ourselves.
He holds my body up to him with one arm, reaching the other to my face, pushing my hair back. He’s holding me with one arm. He has superhuman strength. He’s a god, that has to be it.
I grab the bottom of my shirt and lift it, throwing it over his shoulder onto the floor. His lips leave my mouth and drag down over my jaw, throat, chest…and then his phone is disturbing the anxious desperation in the air, ringing loudly through the silence.
