Page 53 of Secret Nights and Northern Lights
He eyes me, skeptical, but then makes his way over to my side of the hot tub. I take hold of his arm and gently pull him down to me, spreading my thighs so he can sit between them on the acrylic seat, both of us facing the picturesque view as the sunforfeits its battle and falls below the horizon for the night. When I have Ben where I want him, it’s like a gift, my fingers desperate to slide over his slick skin, to relearn their way around the curves of his shoulders, the dips and planes of his back.
The moment my skin makes contact with his is an electric shock, and I think Ben feels it, too, because his spine stiffens right before my eyes. With my left hand on one shoulder, I press the palm of my right to the back of his neck, applying pressure in a smooth downward stroke over the opposite shoulder.
“Christ, Ems.” His head lulls to the side to provide me better access. “That feels amazing.”
It’s amazing for me, too, having Ben this close, getting to explore his body with my hands again, and unlike during the power outage, this time I get to watch as I do. He’s the same as before in so many ways: his teasing smiles, his kind, unfairly gorgeous eyes, his expressions I can read like a book. But his body is different, his muscles rounder and fuller, his shoulders broader, the weight of him more substantial. I wonder what that weight would feel like on top of me, pressing me into a mattress.
I repeat the movement several times on each side of his neck, then sink my fingers into both shoulders simultaneously, massaging away the knotted tension. As I forge deeper into this dangerous predicament I’ve created, the heat in my core winds tighter and tighter with each stroke of my hands, and I suddenly want him so badly it’s hard to breathe.
Maybe when I put Jacklyn’s swimsuit on tonight I inherited her personality. That’s the only reasoning I have for why I stop massaging Ben in any kind of therapeutic way, my fingertiptrailing lower and tracing my name across his shoulder blades. Then both hands disappear under the surface of the water as I gently scrape my nails down his lower back.
At his sharp inhale, I whisper next to his ear, “Is this okay?”
Ben leans to the side to gaze over his shoulder at me. My eyes fall to his lips, so close to mine it would take only the smallest movement to press my mouth to his and be kissing him again like we did in that ravine. The kiss I can’t get out of my head no matter how hard I try. The thought alone sends my pulse skyrocketing.
“You tell me,” Ben challenges. “I’m not the one that said we’re just colleagues, and I’m not the one who won’t even talk about it.”
He’s right of course. I’m hurling so many mixed signals his way this might as well be a game of dodgeball. But level-headed, reasonable Mona Miller who makes safe decisions above all else feels a million miles away tonight. Right now, I want to be a little careless. I want to do what feels good without thinking of all the reasons that I shouldn’t. Anddear god, does Ben feel good.
My arms slide around his waist, hands spreading over his toned stomach. His breaths turn deeper under my touch, then his hands grip onto my outer thighs.
“Maybe I still don’t want to talk about it,” I breathe. “Maybe I want to act on it.”
Seriously, who is this person who has overtaken my body? I’ve never been this forward in my life. If this newfound gumption is the work of Jacklyn’s swimsuit, I’m never taking it off. I’ll wear it to the office underneath my clothes every day. I’ll finally have the courage to yank Shirley’s cigarette out of her mouth and stub it out on her desk. I’ll call CalvinCalright to his face as Itell him to find someone else to plan Shirley’s umpteenth goddamn office celebration. The possibilities are endless.
Ben’s gaze burns into mine, the air between us sparking.
“Your turn,” he says, surprising me as he loops an arm around my waist and dexterously pulls me in front of him so that his inner thighs frame my outer ones. Gripping my shoulders, he begins to caress my achy muscles, soothing out the knots under my skin. Silence falls over us while he does glorious things to me with those talented hands of his, and my back arches like a bow as he works his thumbs down each individual notch of my spine.
“This isn’t fair,” I practically pant. “You feel so fucking good, Ben.”
All movement stops, and I realize what I’ve just said aloud.
But there isn’t time to think about it.
Ben’s hand slides around my throat as he frames my jaw between thumb and index finger and tilts my head back. His chest presses against my shoulder blades. “Do you have any idea what this is doing to me right now?” he whispers, gritty.
The soft press of his lips on the back of my neck comes the next instant, and the growing want that’s been building and building crashes over me like a tsunami wave. I don’t stand a single goddamn chance. Goose bumps rise along my skin, nipples tightening against my thin, wet suit. And when his lips part and his tongue sweeps over me, followed by the gentle bite of his teeth, I whimper as my head falls to the side. Hand sliding from my throat, over my sternum, and lower, Ben grips my hips and pulls me back against him until I feel his erection press against the curve of my ass.
Any chance of talking myself out of this burns to ashes. Theflame that was lit with that kiss in the ravine is now inextinguishable, so I guess the only remaining option is to soak it in lighter fluid and watch it incinerate us both.
I pull out of Ben’s clutches to turn and straddle his lap, linking my fingers at the base of his neck as he grasps my waist and settles me on his thighs. Finally in my sights, Ben looks a little wrecked—hair damp and tousled, cheeks flushed pink, eyes molten green. No one has ever looked so good to me.
His thumbs press into my hips like he’s on the verge of losing control, and getting him there is suddenly my highest priority. I lean in, slowly, and press my mouth to his throat, returning the delicious torture he inflicted upon me. My hands grip the back of his neck, hard, fingernails sinking into smooth skin as my mouth works upward. Ben’s breaths are ragged now, and when I sink my teeth into his sculpted jaw, a strangled, “Fuck, Ems,” emerges from deep in his throat.
It’s not enough though. I need more. I need Ben to want me as desperately as I want him. I want him to fantasize about me when he’s in the shower, and in his bed every night when he can’t sleep. I want him to be so consumed by me that he can’t focus on anything else. I want to do more than affect him, I want to afflict him. So I pull back and let our gazes collide, knowing there’s no way to brace for impact.
Neither of us speaks, we don’t need to.
Then we’re kissing, hard and fast and messy and urgent.
Ben’s tongue slides between my lips, and I moan his name into his mouth. He cups my face with one hand, the other sliding up my back and underneath one strap of my swimsuit, frantically clutching whatever skin he can find. I grip his shoulders and pullhim closer, feeling as if I might combust from the pure heat of this desire but never breaking away from his kiss.
Ben tastes like my prosecco, but I think I’m inebriated off him alone. I’m doing things I don’t normally do with men: I’m sinking my fingernails into his neck like I’m clinging to a life raft, I’m whimpering tiny little noises of pleasure into his mouth, I’m rolling my hips against him until he cups my ass in the palms of his hands and slides me over his erection. And when I feel how hard he is against where I’m throbbing painfully for him, I think there’s a strong possibility I might actually cry.
“Ems, we need to slow down,” he rasps, but his mouth is still on mine and neither of us makes any move toward his suggestion.
Instead, I cover his hand with my own and slide it up to cup my breast.
