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“Nothing.”
I narrow my eyes in disbelief, but he doesn’t elaborate. I’m not all that hungry so I let him finish most of the plate while I surreptitiously watch his every move. The way his forearm gently flexes when he scoops his food. The way his jaw tightens and relaxes when he chews. The curl of his eyelashes. The warmth in his brown eyes.
“You’re going to make me blush,” he says, cutting his gaze to me.
I smile. “Sorry. Can’t help it.”
He chuckles. “Now you know how I feel.”
He pushes away his empty plate of food and picks up his coffee, taking a few big sips before setting it down and dropping his hands to either side of my knees.
“I feel like a teenager sitting here with you.”
I tip my head. “Yeah? Why?”
“If you could hear the thoughts running through my mind…you wouldn’t be asking that.”
I flush and look down.
“Right, well…”
“How long did you say until Cook will be in?”
“I don’t know, maybe twenty minut—”
I don’t finish the sentence before his lips are on mine.
He tastes like coffee and I lap him up, more than happy to accept a kiss I’ve been longing for for the better part of two days.
God, things are getting complicated between us.
The physical part is easy. Wanting to kiss him, having my hands on him, letting him take what he wants from me—that’s a no-brainer. It’s the other parts that are starting to get messy. There are plenty of reasons why I shouldn’t be falling into him like this. I should be upset with him for snooping into my life, contacting Nan’s nursing home, paying her bills—but can I really be mad at him for that? Can I truly punish him for his curiosity and generosity? My emotions are all over the place, and it’s such a complicated thing for me to relinquish control because I’ve had to keep such a tight death grip on my life that at this point I’m terrified to let someone like Ben slip in even a little bit.
He can feel that, I think, even in my kiss.
He grows hungrier, needier as he wraps his hands up around my neck and tips me toward him. I slip off my stool, but he’s right there propping me up as we kiss. It’s not a kiss we should be sharing in the twilight hours of the morning. It’s a kiss that should be kept behind locked doors, a kiss between two lovers so hungry for each other clothes will shred, nails will sink deep, lips will bruise.
One of his hands leaves my neck, and I flinch in surprise when I feel it on my thigh. There’s no hesitation as he slides it higher, up my skirt so smoothly and deftly I don’t even think to protest. I only kiss him more as he parts my thighs just enough that his hand can slip between them, up along my panties until a shudder racks through me.
Ben groans like I’m hurting him, but my touch is featherlight compared to how he’s holding me.
In a second, he has me up off the stool and propped lazily on the counter for him. At this height, we’re perfect. He has the advantage as he steps between my legs, kisses his way down my neck, slides my panties to the side and sinks a finger into me.
My thighs shake as he moves it out and back in, deeper this time. He whispers Little Bird reverently against my neck, and I tilt my head up to the ceiling and pinch my eyes closed. It feels like I have to disappear from reality to let this continue or my brain might try to sabotage me. Even now, prudent thoughts are trying to ruin this: Cook could arrive early, someone on the highway could look in and see us, my heart could lose sight of who it belongs to even more.
But he starts to swirl his thumb in circles while his finger stills inside me, and I’m already falling…sparks in my toes…sparks in my spine…I shudder and cry out and he doesn’t stop, not when I dig my nails into his shoulders, not when his name escapes between my lips.
I’m barely finding my breath again when it feels like a match has been lit inside me. Rather than feeling sated, I feel ravenous, wanting to chase another high, a better high, a high with him sunk into me to the hilt.
I’m telling him this, begging him for more, but he’s aware of the world around us in ways I’m not because my first thought when he slides me off the counter and drops me back onto the stool is the sharp sting of rejection, but that’s gone in a flash when the door to the kitchen swings open and Cook steps out to wave hello.
