Page 39 of Her Ex's Father
Derrick is actually only a year older than me. My steps falter, ankles wobbling on the heels.
“Disgusting. Gold digger, for sure. She probably trapped him. You know, with a baby.”
Heat floods my cheeks, and I glance back at Ben. He’s much too far away to hear, but his eyes have been on me this whole time—he looks worried at the way I’ve hesitated, his palms pressed to the table like he might stand.
Something sharp rises in me—shame, anger, defiance all tangled together. I turn abruptly, take three strides toward the servers.
The room hushes. Heads turn. The pair at the bar blanch when I stop in front of them.
“You’re right,” I say flatly, every word clear. “I am younger. By seventeen and a half years, to be exact. And yes, people love to call it a scandal. But let me tell you something.”
I lean in, voice low but carrying. Behind me there’s murmurs, movement.
“You think a younger man is automatically better? They’re selfish. They’re careless. They don’t know how to treat a woman. Benedict Bronson is more of a man than any thirty-something I’ve ever met. He’s stable, calculated, fair, and knows a woman’s body better than they ever could.”
Gasps ripple through the room. One server stammers an apology. The other flushes scarlet. I straighten, smooth my dress, and walk back to the table with my head high.
Ben hasn’t moved. His expression is unreadable, carved from stone, his hands flat on the table.
I sink into my chair, suddenly aware of what I’ve done. My pulse is a drumbeat in my ears. “I… I’m sorry. That was?—”
He raises a hand, stopping me. Pays the bill with a flick of his card. Stands.
The walk out of the restaurant and to the curb, where the car is waiting, is silent. But just briefly his hand ghosts under mine, a gesture of support as I slip into the passenger seat. We don’t speak on the drive back to the lodge.
I chew my lip raw, convinced I’ve ruined everything. That he’ll be furious, humiliated, disgusted. I open my mouth to apologize again, but the look on his face—tight jaw, eyes blazing and straight ahead—shuts me up.
When we arrive at the house, he doesn’t speak. He just takes my hand, firm and unyielding, and leads me up the stairs. Down the hall. To my suite. It’s quiet, the servants all home for the night, security settled into the little gate house out at the back of the drive.
My heart is a wild animal in my chest.
“Ben,” I whisper, “I didn’t mean?—”
He presses me back against the door before I can finish. His mouth claims mine, hot and bruising, his hands gripping my hips like he’s been starving for weeks.
There’s no hesitation this time. No distance. No restraint.
He kisses me like he’s furious, like he’s grateful, like he’s been waiting his whole life for this moment. His hand grips my ass, and my legs wrap around his waist instinctively, back arching as he lifts me, carries me inside, kicks the door shut.
Inside I stumble, only managing to stay upright thanks to the death grip he has on my waist. Ben pulls back, palms sliding down my body as he goes to his knees.
“What are you doing?” I whisper, a shiver running up my spine as his hand slips into the slit of the dress, gripping the back of my thigh.
“Hold still.”
It’s a quiet demand. His other hand goes to my ankle, flicking the delicate clasp open easily, sliding first one heel off and then the other. My fingers card through his hair and Ben groans, leaning into me, burying his face at the apex of my thighs—nothing but the creamy, dark fabric of the dress separating his hot mouth from my core.
“Ben,” I whisper, grip tightening as his fingers graze my legs, moving aside the dress. Silent, he guides my leg over his shoulder, pulling me closer and ducking under the silk to press a wet kiss to my underwear.
A whimper slips out. My hips rock forward, wanting more, and Ben obliges, diving in and kissing me like I’ve never been kissed by anyone. Like my pussy is the best thing he’s tasted all night.
His fingers tear at my underwear until I finally help him shimmy them down. It’s a frenzy, and even barefoot with mytoes in the rug I almost tip over, gasping as he catches me by the hips and gives me a sharp look.
“I told you to hold still.”
I nod as he guides my leg back up, knee hooked over his shoulder, this time going slowly…
His tongue drags a barely-there trail up my slit, earning a shaking breath from me. “Oh, fuck,” I whisper, rocking my hips forward again. “Ben, please.”
