Page 19 of Broken By the Bad Boy

“Ben,” I whisper, and his lips descend on mine again. Our lips are a blur of action as his jacket pools at my feet. I groan against his mouth when he tries to tug my dress down my shoulder and shove him. Hurt flashes across his face, and I make up for it by saying, “I don’t want to have sex yet.”

He sweeps me off my feet to place me on the bed. All my worries evaporate at his gentleness. I become a blushing mess when he straddles me and drops another kiss on my lips. “Neither do I.”

Ben might be my first kiss, but I know for sure he’s the greatest kisser on this planet and the most handsome boy. Settling into the space beside me, he props his elbow on a pillow. Because he’s comfortable, and I suspect he’s the one sneaking in here to sleep, I mimic his position. My side digs into the bed, and he adjusts the pillow under my head so I can feel more comfortable.

“Your dad will kill me if we have sex,” he says with a laugh. Ben pushes the hem of my dress to my waist to reveal my inner thighs. I try to pull it down, but he holds my hand. “I like looking at your body.”

“My body is not perfect like yours,” I mutter without looking at him.

My vitiligo is on display. Knowing that causes my eyes to burn with tears. He’s hot and can get away with a lot. His Friday fiasco proved that. No one made fun of him. I look up at the ceiling through blurry eyes. Ben gets up from the bed, and the room drowns in darkness seconds after.

Ben strokes my legs, mainly the parts covered in white patches, and my body thrums in response to his touch. “Asher has vitiligo, too,” he mutters against my hair. His lips connect to my temple, staying there for so long I know I will feel his kisses for weeks to come. “It’s his superpower.”

I am less self-conscious by the time Ben’s hand drifts to my stomach. His fingers linger on the uneven patch below my boobs. Warmth spreads through my chest, and the bold force that always takes over me whenever my boyfriend is near makes an appearance. I shrug out of my dress, leaving me in my tights and bra. He doesn’t make it awkward but places a kiss on my shoulder. My breath snags in my throat. I inhale shakily at the strange sensations that wrack my frame.

Another kiss behind my ear, and Ben whispers, “Our dad had it.”

This is his first mention of his dad. I pull my head back to stare at him. With the blinds parted, light filters in through the open slits, casting horizontal shadows on his face. I push myself into a sitting position and trace the corners of his sexy lips. He nibbles on my fingertip.

“How was he? You never talk about him,” I say. My hand sweeps across the room, and the implications of our actions hit me twice as hard. “Ben. What are we doing here? What if we get caught?”

Ben closes the distance, and our foreheads touch. “We won’t, Gracie. I come here all the time.”

That explains the bed and the neatness of the house, but my body refuses to relax fully. “I was born here.” Curiosity eats at my inside. I sense he has more to say, but I don’t rush him. “Mom sold it a few years ago, and the new owners put it on sale this year.” My eyes flit to his face, but he is looking elsewhere. Has he been stalking them? He stalked me. His arm snakes around my waist, and his touch burns my skin. I shiver, and he draws me close. “I hope to buy it someday.”

“But you are broke,” I blurt out. Ben pouts. I rectify my blunder by adding, “It’s a nice house.”

Ben has big dreams, and I respect that, but if he can’t afford to take his girlfriend on a date, how will he buy a house? Who says it will be on sale when he’s ready? I giggle like a kid when he flips me under him to tickle me.

Breathing on my face, he says, “About that…” My laughter dies down. “I am not broke.”

Eight

Seconds after Ben’s statement,we are still staring at each other.

“What do you mean you are not broke?”

We have been on an unofficial date and interrupted one. I loved our movie date, but why did he lie if he’s not broke? Doesn’t he want to go on an actual date? Ben rakes a hand through his hair. I roll away from him when he tries to kiss me. His kisses are addictive and mess with my brain.

He is trying to distract me.

“Gracie, wait,” Ben calls from behind. My hands close around my dress. He extracts it from my grip and hugs me from behind. I suck in a breath. He’s bare-chested. “I’m not broke. I just don’t have money.”

He makes no sense, and I am glad the lights are off because the look on my face will hurt his feelings. I let him carry me back to the bed but place a pillow between us to reduce the temptation of touching him.

Legs crossed, eyes cast down, Ben murmurs in a voice so low I have to tilt my head to hear him, “After Dad died, we lived here for a bit. Mom couldn’t handle his death, I guess. So, we moved, and she remarried.” I spread my fingers on the pillow, but he doesn’t take it. Our knees touch. He offers me a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. I lace our fingers, and his smile grows a little more genuine. “I don’t like her new husband. Asher thinks so highly of him. But what does he know?”

“Nothing. He’s a Jon Snow,” I say to break the silence.

Ben laughs. “Yeah. I thought you didn’t know Jon Snow.”

Shaking my head, so my hair curtains my face, I roll my shoulders. “I may have lied.”

A breath leaves my lips when Ben carries me. My knees drop to each side of his hips. He tucks a piece of hair behind my ear, then pushes the rest over a shoulder. I want him to resume his story.

“You were saying something, Benny,” I urge.

“Yeah. Back then, I was quite problematic. I once bashed the stepdad’s car, and she almost had a heart attack. It’s crazy, yunno? One day we are the three musketeers, and the next day, this man is in our lives trying to be our father. Who wants a fucking father? Daddy was good enough for us.”

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