Page 19 of Coronation
What am I doing?
“It’s about a forty-minute drive,” Ben informs me when he enters the car. He’s dispensed with the button-up he wore last night and is dressed in only his trousers and a plain white undershirt, which stretches over his biceps and chest in a way that could only be described as panty-melting. That, in combination with the tousled hair and the slight shadows beneath his eyes, makes the well-used muscles between my thighs go warm and loose.
The situation isn’t improved when the man in question reaches over the console separating our two seats to take my hand, lacing our fingers together as if it’s the most normal thing in the world. Lifting them to his lips, he kisses the back of my hand and offers me a reassuring smile.
I’m sure lots of people have given me looks just like it, but the gesture seems to put me at ease in a way I can’t say it has from anyone else. Probably because every single image I’ve ever seen of this man is severe and glowering. Judging by that and what I saw last night when that man approached us in the parlor, and then later when I almost left, Ben isn’t the type to go out of his way to make people more comfortable. Except, he has for me, and it’s a struggle to stop the implications of that from sending my overly romantic imagination into overdrive.
How did we get here? I came for no-strings-attached sex, and I’m leaving with the head of a constitutional monarchy, bound for a quiet weekend at his country home. It’s almost unbelievable how far I strayed from the original plan.
The divider separating the front and back seats must be noise proof, because there is no warning before the car begins to move, and I jump about a foot, my heart attempting to vault out of my chest in alarm. “Sorry,” I tell Benedict in a hushed voice, smiling sheepishly when he raises an eyebrow. “This isn’t exactly how I thought I would spend the weekend.”
His smile widens as his thumb rubs back and forth over the side of my hand, sending warmth through my veins with each pass. “If it helps, my staff was quite in hysterics over the change of plans. It’s rather out of the ordinary for me.”
“You don’t play hooky?” I tease, gazing over at him. “Tell everyone you have the stomach flu and stay in bed to play video games?”
Ben’s eyebrows arch in surprise. “You think I play video games?”
I shrug. “You seem like the type.”
A disbelieving laugh follows this pronouncement. “You’re right. Not terribly often now that I’m older and, well”—he grimaces—“perhaps I should take it up again. What about you, Miss Flowers? How do you spend your time when you aren’t gracing the silver screen?”
Leaning my head back against the cool leather seat, I stare at his shadowy features, only somewhat aware of the scenery flashing by outside the window. “Why don’t you guess?”
Benedict frowns, considering me for a long moment. “Something outdoors. If I had to postulate.”
The air in the car suddenly feels much less substantial than it did a moment ago. “What makes you say that?”
“Just an impression,” he responds vaguely, effectivelydismissing the topic as his fingers skim casually over my inner wrist.
I turn to stare at the dark screen of the little television mounted on the divider ahead of me, trying and failing to think clearly. It’s a struggle to keep my head on straight just being around him, but when his hands are on me, all bets are off. Last night, I thought it was just a reaction to who he is, and the surprise of finding myself desired by one of the most prominent men in the world after my ego was so spectacularly shattered earlier.
Now, however, I suspect the cause to be something else entirely. Something much scarier than being a little starstruck, or—later—orgasm drunk.
“Any other theories you’d like to share with the class?” I tease lightly, sinking back into my seat. It’s terribly comfortable in here, and last night, we only managed a few hours of sleep in between rounds of sex. I’m still not tempted to close my eyes, though. No chance I’m missing any of this.
Ben snorts, and my core constricts as his eyes fall to my body, then return to my face. Our hands are still intertwined on the console between us, and I know I’m not imagining the tiny pause in the pattern his thumb has been tracing on my wrist. “Several. We can test them later, if you like.”
Yes, please.
I swallow, my mouth suddenly very dry. It’s been years since I had sex, and as neither of my previous partners was as well-endowed as the one before me, I’m feeling more than a little sore. My vagina probably needs an ice pack, and yet the dummy can’t seem to help herself. “You’re not too tired?” I question innocently, not taking my eyes off his face.
“Are you concerned about my stamina, Zelda?” The way he poses the question is innocent enough, but I can detect a dark promise in his voice.
A hysterical little giggle escapes my lips. “I’ve heard it’s avery common problem. For older men.” He lifts his gaze to meet mine, and Iknowthat I’m going to pay for that one.
Outside, the car speeds past stretches of wild countryside, while in here, Ben’s thumb skims an inch higher on my arm. He is barely touching me, and my chest is already burning. A weight is settling in my pelvis, and my lack of panties—which were likely left to decorate the duke’s terrace—has never been more apparent than it is now, as arousal begins to spread to my inner thighs. When I get up, there will probably be a wet spot.
“You’re asking for it, darling.”
“Am I?”
Ben lets out a quiet, low rumble of laughter, which makes my pulse skitter under his touch and my legs press together more firmly. “Yes, you most certainly are. It’s quite alright, though. I believe I have just the way to assuage your concerns.”
That is definitely the most formal way I’ve been told I’m going to be fucked.
I haven’t even begun to formulate a response or do more than notice the sticky arousal leaking out of my body before the car slows unexpectedly, coming to a total stop in the middle of the country lane.
Ben frowns, leaning past me to see out my window.
