Page 41 of Her Ex's Father
I nod, licking my lips, wanting more in my mouth. Somehow Ben takes the hint, and his fingers brush my bottom lip, then two slip just inside—press against my tongue.
“You wanted them all to know what I’d do to you later, didn’t you? What I’m doing to you right now?”
Another nod, mindless. “It doesn’t matter,” I ramble, trying to force my hips down against his tight grip again, and failing, “the age gap doesn’t matter. I want this. I want you.”
Just like that, Ben’s control breaks. He holds me in place, pounding into me, skin slapping and sticking with every violent thrust. My pussy throbs, trying to grip against the friction, and Ben finally lets me go when I whine.
Our rhythms sync up effortlessly. I bounce on his cock, fingers digging into his shoulder as the coil comes undone in my belly and the orgasm crests over me. Throwing my head back, I moan his name and ride him until my entire body is both numb and on fire, buzzing and aching and throbbing.
Just as my mind starts to clear, Ben curses and pulls me off of him, seating me on his thighs as he pumps his cock with two quick strokes. Jizz paints my stomach and thighs, dripping down between us as he groans and goes boneless.
The room is dark when it’s over, only the glow of the moon through the curtains. We’re both trying to catch our breath.
Wordlessly, Ben lifts me off his lap and onto the couch, then stands and disappears into the en suite. He returns a moment later with a warm, wet towel and presses it to my thighs. I take it gratefully and clean up, feeling drained and satiated and exhausted.
My brows furrow as logic comes back. What will he do now? Leave, I assume, head back to his own room.
But the sound of the shower turning on fills the room, and Ben appears in the doorway. He gestures and I follow, back toobeying.Whatever he wants, as long as he keeps making me feel this way.
We both step into the shower and clean up in silence. Water droplets glint in Ben’s hair. When I turn away, he presses close, carefully, hands running soap up my front, gently cupping my breasts as he buries his face in my neck.
We towel off and walk naked back into the bedroom without any words. I climb into bed and Ben follows, slipping beneath the covers, our breath syncing up.
This is dangerous. We’re teetering on the edge of something we can’t undo.
But as his hand finds mine beneath the sheets, fingers twining, I don’t care.
Not tonight.
Chapter 14
Benedict
Cameron is talking about occupancy percentages, but I’m only half listening. The figures scroll through my head like water over stone, not sticking, not mattering.
We’re at the long oak dining table, place settings arranged for three. Cameron is animated, eager, shuffling his papers while he goes on about how bookings for summer weddings are already exceeding projections thanks to the change in wedding venue options. He expects me to be impressed.
Instead, I’m distracted.
Because the third chair is empty.
Madeline was supposed to join us for lunch. She promised.
I glance at the clock on the wall. Nearly one. It’s been a month and a half since we got married, and I have yet to see Madeline be late to anything. Our odd rhythm has turned her punctual, predictable in her own quiet way. Breakfast at nine. Work on her laptop in the sunroom mid-morning. A walk outside or calls with Stella in the afternoon. She should be here.
But she isn’t.
Cameron clears his throat, noticing my distraction. “Mr. Bronson?”
I push back from the table. “Excuse me. Continue eating.”
He blinks, startled. “Of course.”
I leave him there, the papers spread out across the tabletop, and move through the hallways with long strides. The house feels too quiet, the echo of my boots swallowed by the walls. Something coils low in my gut; déjà vu, a sense that something is wrong.
I find her upstairs.
The door to her suite is ajar, a faint sound drifting through—uneven breaths. I step inside, trying to shake the tense feeling of anxiety sinking into my bones. The familiarity of finding something I didn’t want to find.
