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As soon as the aftershocks had died down to mere tremors he pulled her upwards; she came bonelessly, her body sagging against his before he wrapped her legs around his waist and in one deep thrust buried himself inside her.
The feel of him inside her body was strange and wonderful, and while it didn’t hurt, it took a moment for her to adjust and accept this sudden, intense invasion. Ben clamped his hands to her hips, guiding her to match her rhythm to his thrusts, and sparks of sensation seemed to shower through her whole body, lighting everything up inside her. She clutched his shoulders and brought her body even closer to his, found the pace and revelled in it.
He pressed her back against the counter, one hand braced against the steel as he moved inside her, harder and faster. The counter bit painfully into her back but Olivia didn’t care. It only added to the intensity, that wildness she’d been craving. This was the most genuine thing she’d ever done, the most honest and real she’d ever been.
Then all those sparks burst into wondrous flame and her body tightened around his as they climaxed together.
For a few moments neither of them spoke, their bodies still wrapped around each other, the kitchen stretching out silently in every direction around them. Olivia could hear the thud of Ben’s heart against hers.
Then slowly he eased away, disposing of the condom she hadn’t even been aware of him putting on and reaching for his shirt. She let out a shuddering breath, her mind still spinning from everything she’d felt, physically and emotionally.
And true to form, because she didn’t do intensity or emotion, no matter how much she craved both, she said the first inane thing that popped into her head.
‘Sorry about your shirt.’
Ben glanced at the broken buttons and shrugged. ‘It doesn’t matter.’ His voice was toneless, his face averted, and as Olivia watched him she became increasingly conscious that she was sitting on a cold, hard stainless-steel counter, wearing nothing but a bra. Her dress and underwear were on the floor, both torn beyond repair.
Ben was looping his belt through his trousers and so after a second Olivia slid off the counter and reached for her ruined dress.
All right, so this wasn’t quite the kind of pillow talk she’d imagined. But she’d wanted wild and she’d got wild. Just the memory of all that raw, unrestrained passion made her feel like shivering. Her first sexual encounter had been intense. And amazing.
‘So is the fondue ruined?’ she asked, and to her humiliation her voice wobbled slightly. Okay, so maybe this part was a little hard. A little more exposing than she would have liked it to be.
Ben must have heard the wobble for he stopped getting dressed and turned to face her, taking her by the shoulders. ‘Did I hurt you?’ he asked, his voice a low growl, and Olivia blinked.
‘What?’ He’d asked her that before, she remembered. ‘I’m aching in all sorts of interesting places, but no, I’m not hurt.’
He searched her face as if he suspected she was lying, but whatever he saw in her eyes—and Olivia had no idea what she looked like—must have satisfied him because he nodded once and released her.
‘Good,’ he said, and started dressing again. Olivia stared at him. She had no idea what was going on in his mind.
In his heart.
Whoa there, Olivia. Nothing is going on in his heart. Or yours. Don’t confuse sex with love already.
‘So.’ She tucked her hair behind her ears, tried for a smile. ‘What now?’
Ben looked up, his expression guarded, wary. Was he worried that she was going to start reading into things, asking for more?
‘We could go back to my place,’ she suggested. ‘Or, really, your place. Since you were so keen on the bedroom idea.’
She raised her eyebrows, giving him what she hoped was a playful smile, praying she wasn’t revealing just how much she wanted him to agree. How much she wanted the night not to end here, like this. Yes, she’d wanted wild, and she’d got wild. But she wanted something else now. She wanted closeness and companionship and comfort. She craved it as much as she had craved what had just happened between them.
‘We could,’ Ben agreed, and she couldn’t tell a thing from his tone. ‘But I have to clean up here first.’
‘Let me help you,’ Olivia suggested, and when Ben started to object she told him, ‘I’d rather scrub pots and pans here with you than sit alone and wait for you in my suite.’
With a shrug of assent he started running hot water into the huge, industrial-size sink, and Olivia reached for the dish soap.
They spent a surprisingly pleasant half-hour washing dishes and chatting amicably about nothing too important or too intense; this was the kind of pillow talk she’d wanted, even if it happened to be over sponges and soap suds rather than while curled up on a king-size bed.
