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Another deep breath. This wasn’t actually getting any easier. It was humiliating and difficult.
But Ben was listening, and he wasn’t trying to humiliate her.
“My nipples,” she said. “I like it when you play with them. Suck them, bite them. Sometimes I’ll push you away, because it’s too much, but in the good way. Like I want you to, but I don’t want you to. And then … then I guess I hope you’ll read my mind, and suck harder, or twist harder.”
Ben grinned. He stroked his hand over her stomach. “You’re fun, you know that?”
“I’m dying. This is actually killing me. In a minute, I’ll be dead.”
“You’re doing great. What else? What’s it take to make you come?”
She looked at the ceiling again, and he gently took her face in his hand and turned it toward him. “Look at me,” he said.
“Honestly? It doesn’t take that much.”
“You can come with just my cock?”
Her sex clenched, her stomach tightening beneath his hand. Ben grinned again. “You know,” he said slowly, “you’re a really intriguing mix of prude and pervert.”
“I’m not a pervert.”
“No? You got all spacey watching me with the bees. And then when I told you about the shower … I think you’re a closet pervert.”
He dropped down lower on the bed and shifted closer, rolling his thigh on top of hers. His mouth brushed her ear. “So can you come from my cock or not?”
She buried her face in his neck. “If you’re on top, maybe. Or if I’m on top, definitely. Not …”
“Not?” he prompted.
“Not from behind.” Her face was so hot. “I need an ice cube.”
“What for?”
“My cheeks. I’m going to have a stroke.”
“No you won’t,” he said. “Don’t move.”
He went into the kitchen, and she heard kitchen noises. Something on the countertop. Glass clinking against glass. He returned with two fresh glasses of ice water. Stark naked.
His penis bobbed when he walked. Objectively, it was absurd-looking, but when she really looked at it, her mouth started to water.
Carnal.
The word came to her, a memory of seeing herself in the anaconda pants with her hair loose and her eyes clear.
This is who you are. Truly who you are.
He set the glasses on the bedside table and fished out a small ice cube. When he lay down beside her again, she inched away.
“I was joking,” she said.
“I’m not. Where do you want it?”
“I don’t.”
“No bullshit, May-Belle. You want it. Tell me where.”
She closed her eyes. “My cheeks.”
