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“Tell me you fucking want this, Lara.”
“I do. I want you.” The words hardly feel like enough. Not when this dam of denial has broken, and everything I’ve been refusing to acknowledge to him, to myself, is flooding free. “I want you inside me, on top of me, holding me down, and then holding me close. I want my mouth on you and your hands in my hair. I want to rest my head on your shoulder while we watch old seasons of Schitt’s Creek and Blindspot.”
“My favorites,” he huffs into the scant space between us.
“And then I want to climb on top of you when you won’t give me the remote and use unfair methods to get it back. I want to talk and laugh and touch you like you’re mine.”
I want it all.
Those are the words I want to say, but it doesn’t feel fair to either of us. It’s too much, too soon. Too many emotions I’ve never quite been able to put to bed from too many years ago. It’s too new and fragile to know if it’ll take in a future too uncertain to make plans around… if Ben would even want to.
So instead, I say, “But right now? I want you to take me like maybe you want some of that too.”
His eyes snap to mine. “Maybe?”
Oh God, I know that look. My body knows that darkening look of intensity, craves it.
The hands at my breasts still, moving to the lapels of my ruined shirt and?—
Rip.
I gasp, eyes flaring wide as my pussy clenches hard under Ben’s break from control.
The look he gives me is pure masculine satisfaction and tips me over the edge.
I need him. Now.
I start wrestling with my blouse, trying to shoulder out of it beneath the spray, but it’s like manacles around my wrists. A fact not lost on Ben, who reaches for my arms and brings them up above my head so the shirt is in front of me. I think he’s going to free me, but instead he takes the loose fabric and loops it over his head, effectively binding me to him.
Oooh.
It’s a loose sort of play captivity, my shirt barely staying up above his shoulders, but the idea of being caught in his hold is very effective.
“Maybe I want some of that?” he demands, going to work on my trousers, which give way with more ease than my blouse and end up in a literal pool on the shower floor. “Don’t think you’re grasping the extent of my restraint these past months.”
“No?” A shiver of anticipation spears through me as my panties go too.
“It’s staggering.”
Ben’s eyes burn over me like a flash flame, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip, pinning down that hint of satisfaction for a single beat.
“I deserve a medal.” Then, “From the second you moved in, I’ve been working overtime to shut down the gut-deep drive to do all of the above and more. So now?”
“Now?”
He dips his hand between my legs, stroking through the slickness, teasing, and spreading it around. “Yeah, I’m ready to hear you come for me again— and not because of that fucking toy.”
I can’t even deny it. That toy has been tried, tested, and rated five stars.
He pauses, brows knit, and then his smile hooks hard. “Not yet because of the toy. But gimme a couple hours first.”
“What?” I squeak, but it ends on a whimper when Ben pushes a thick finger inside me.
“There’s an app.” He strokes deep and then gives me another. “Truth? I’m hardcore intrigued.”
So good.
He teases and plays, taking me closer and then easing away. Building the tension.
