Page 170 of Burn Bright
“Here.” He offers to put the new choker on me, and this birthday really might end with me as a puddle on the floor.
I lift my blonde hair off my neck, and as he wraps the choker around me, his knuckles brush the sensitive skin along my nape. My breath hitches a little, and he shifts his weight, his eyes flitting to mine like his need is being stirred. Tension flexes the tendons of his neck, and he breathes through his nose while he clasps the jewelry.
I touch the beads at my throat. He’s standing so close that I’ve instinctively spread my knees, and he’s fit between them. We’re at much better eye-level than usual, and his chest collapses in a heady, sweltering beat.
We haven’t had sex yet. We won’t at our workplace, and honestly, I’m glad Ben isn’t willing to screw me against a bathroom stall as our first time. It won’t be a rushed quickie. He’s treating it as something valuable that should last. Maybe even have a round two right afterward.
It’s so different from what I know sex to be.
Thinking about where and when we’ll hook up—I like. The fear that I might be rejected from the Honors House—I hate more than anything. Being accepted has become even more mission critical for this semester. If I fail, then what? Ben just leaves?
No, Ihaveto get in. Then fling a pair of panties at Leif. Then secure Ben housing.
The Honors House has my application, and I’ve heard a whole lot of nothing in response, even after follow-up emails. Ben has been trying to score me an invite to their super exclusive Halloween party.
Apparently, it’s where they scope out potential new members. If I can’t get into the party, then my chances are basically in the gutter.
He knows it too.
Maybe that’s why it’s easier focusing on thesexpart of this whole bet. Success rate of us finding a good place and time to bone is higher. Surely we can’t fuck that up, right?
Ben has a hand on my knee and slides a hot trail up my thigh. Even with my plaid pants creating a barrier from his skin to my skin, the heat of him thrums through me. My clit is throbbing.
“Is the waiting torture for you too?” I ask in a whisper, our breaths shallowing together.
“You have no idea.” He pulls his hands away, a rough groan against his throat. “It feels like I’m putting my palm above a flame every day.”
“I thought you weren’t the Cobalt who plays with fire.”
“My whole family does,” he whispers, “except Beckett….well.” He cocks his head a little, then sighs. “I don’t know.” Mention of Beckett kills the mood. He’s been upfront on why he needs to move out of his brothers’ apartment. I was surprised when he said it wasn’t because of Charlie, but a combination of things, most recently Beckett.
“You can’t tell anyone,” he said, putting major emphasis on the secrecy. How what he was divulging wasn’t advertised anywhere. How it was nothing Beckett would like to share, probably for me to even know, but Ben wanted to be honest with me. “Beckett has OCD, and I’m making it worse by living there.”
His sudden urgency to move out made a whole lot more sense.
I slide off the bar, which causes Ben to back up and add space between us. He rotates away and exhales to cool off, and I touch the new choker again. “I’ll make you one,” I say without thinking.
“What?” He spins back around.
“For your birthday. I’ll make you a bracelet or something…” I trail off, realizing the mistake here.
Ben blinks, then tugs the dish rag off his shoulder. His frown is heavy.
He won’t be here.March 29th—of course I know his birthday. I wished him a happy one last year. It’d been the day he thwarted a bad interaction with my shitty professor.
“I’ll mail it to you.” I rinse a splotchy pint glass. “You have the address?”
He watches me. “Not yet.”
My stomach backflips. “But you know where you’re going? Is this an American vacation or are we talking overseas?”
“America.” He takes the glass from me to dry it. “More like I’m going to live there. It’s not just a trip.”
Okay… “But where isthereexactly?”
“A place that my parents would definitely not enjoy.” He smiles a little at the thought. He really loves his mom and dad. “They’re not campers. My mom would last a solid day sleeping on the ground, then she’d book a hotel at the Ritz.”
“I can’t blame her.”
