Page 116 of Burn Bright
I like you.
Half my heart might be in your hands too.
Instead, I breathe out, “I don’t want this to be transactional. I just haven’t had an orgasm in months. Not since I moved in with Eden. And I just thought, maybe we could…”
“We can’t,” he reaffirms. “ButIcan.”
My lips part in shock. “Youcan…what?” I’m imagining too many scandalous things, and I comb his gaze again for answers.
He roots a palm on the mattress beside my arm, leaning more over me. His voice comes out in a soft, husky whisper. “I can give you an orgasm, Friend.”
Holy fucking shit.Did I manifest this? I’ve never believed in the whole “ask and you shall receive” mantra, but I might be a new convert. Aunt Helena will be thrilled.
“That sounds nice,” I rasp because I’m not sure what else to say other thanyes, please. But I’m not ordering an orgasm off a menu here. This is Ben fucking Cobalt. This is my best friend. The closest person I’ve ever been to.
I instantly dig into the bed, aching for his touch. He studies me, how I’m clenching the quilt, how my knees squirm, how my body rises and falls with hitched breaths.
He clasps my cheek, which nearly does me in. “You’re okay with this even if I’m leaving?” he asks, concern planted in each word.
“Yeah,” I whisper. “You’re not leaving tonight, Cobalt boy.” This might make his departure in two months even harder, but it’s just an orgasm. It’s just fooling around. It doesn’t have to be intense and emotionally complicated. I’m more eager to experience these moments with Ben than never feel them at all.
“Now what?” I ask and skim him, how his legs tangle into mine, how his muscles flex in hot bands, how his gaze consumes and cradles me.
He scoops me up in his arms, just to throw the quilt and sheets farther down the mattress, then he brings them over our heads. I cage a moan in my throat. My legs instinctively break apart around him, and I wrap my arms against his neck. My pulse beats faster, thumps harder.
Ben lays me flat on the mattress, then hovers over me. “We’re going to be very fucking quiet,” he breathes, his lips ghosting over mine. The threat of a touch, a kiss, intensifies every single nerve-ending in my body.
This is happening.
I want to memorize each tantalizing second. I glance down at our pelvises, not at all lined up because I’m so much shorter than him. That’d be an issue if his dick were slipping inside me, but he made it clear he’s not going that far tonight. I imagine the problem would be resolved by me being on top.
My imaginationbecomes irrelevant as soon as he lowers more of his weight on me. The quilt tents over his back and cocoons us in darkness and warmth. A heady, drugged feeling dizzies me.
“I want to make you feel good,” he whispers into my ear.
Those words might as well be a long-forgotten ancient language. I’ve never heard them before. Never dreamed of their existence. I bite the inside of my cheek to stop my heavy breathing.
We’re in his living room.
If one of his brothers comes out here, this won’t look innocentat all.A massive blanket lump screams indecent activity.
All I can hope is that we’re quiet enough to not attract attention. Maybe we’ll also be able to hear any incoming footsteps. We’ll have time to break away and pretend we’re just sleeping. My acting skills aren’t up to par, so I’m really banking on being super silent here.
Ben isn’t making it easy.
Not as he skates a molten palm from my knee up to my thigh. Anticipation causes me to shudder just as much as his physical touch. His hands,on me.My hands,on him.
Our eyes catch every other second, escalating this new feeling I can’t make sense of yet.
My shallow inhales and exhales sound like fog horns in the silence. I find myself confining oxygen in my lungs to be quieter, not releasing breaths.Do not pass out before you have an orgasm, Harriet.The thought makes me intake small lungfuls of air.
Ben hooks a thumb in my blackThursdaypanties and drags them down my thighs, my legs, my ankles—off me entirely. I quake against him as his knuckles brush against my skin, and I let my hands drop to his broad shoulders. Hanging on.
I don’t see where he discarded my panties, but his hand returns to the soft flesh of my thigh. Our eyes lock again, and it steals all my thoughts.
My mouth opens. I can’t shut it. My esophagus tries to tighten closed. Why is he looking at me like that? Am I looking at him the same way too? It’s the depth. Like he’s reaching into me, even though we’re not two pieces of metal welded together.
We’re two separate entities. Aren’t we?
