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He extends a hand. Considering how close he’s standing to me, he doesn’t have to extend it very far. “Nice to meet you, totally-not-uptight-nerd Trevor.”
I chuckle once, then straighten my face. I can’t let my guard down too quickly; I still don’t really know this guy. “The pleasure is all mine,” I return, “Mister Cocky-Popular-Guy Ben.”
Our palms kiss and our fingers meet in the firmest, strongest, most sensual handshake I’ve ever known.
My insides are wrung like a rag when his skin touches mine. My cock aches desperately, urgently begging to be freed. My heart is in my throat. My pits are sweating so bad, they feel cold.
Ben lets go of my hand, then tilts his head a bit and nods across the street. “We’re here.”
After gathering my guts, I follow the beautiful man into the building. I don’t even know what it looks like on the outside. I’m completely blinded by him as my eyes train on his tight, firm ass in those sexy slacks of his as he leads the way into the big, tiled lobby, which I’m all but ignoring as I become lost in how tightly his pants encase the big, chiseled muscles of his thighs that lead up to the two beautiful globes of his butt.
I’m so ashamed of the thoughts I’m having of burying my face between those beefy, beautiful cheeks.
After we pass a desk with a security guard—Goodness, this place is fancy—we stop in front of an elevator where he hits the button and turns around. I flick my eyes up from his ass too late. A cocky smirk curls the corner of his full, sexy lips.
I’m pretty sure he caught me staring.
I swallow hard. This isn’t gonna be easy. I might come in my pants if he smirks at me like that one more time. I’m not exaggerating.
In the elevator, I’m staring at my reflection in the mirrored wall. “Nice building you live in,” I note dreamily.
“Nice …?”
“Really nice,” I amend. The night breeze did something to my hair. I brush a few strands off of my forehead, then note how nervous my eyes look. Maybe I should text Elijah. That would put me at ease. I pull out my phone and quickly shoot him a message, telling him what I’m up to and that I’ll be home later. Then I wonder if that’s even true. Will I be expected to stay over, or will I be kicked out? How does this work? I have no idea about anything at all.
When I look up from my phone, Ben is watching me with a knowing smirk.
I hate how he acts all cocky, like he knows everything.
I love how he acts all cocky, like he knows everything.
The elevator doors part. There’s a short hall that leads to one single door. Strange.
Ben strolls right up to that door and punches in a code. Then, like an afterthought, he turns to face me. “I ought to warn you. I have a dog, and he’s not very fond of strangers.”
“Th-That’s okay. I’m used to animals hating me,” I inform him with loving thoughts of my roommate’s evil orange-and-white cat Salamander, who peed in one of my three pairs of work shoes on Thursday. “I’ll keep my distance.”
“Oh, no. I didn’t mean he’s dangerous. Far from. He won’t bite. He never bites. Just don’t take it personally if he doesn’t warm up to you all that fast, alright?”
I nod and thrust my hands in my pockets.
He opens the door, and in we go.
To say his home is spacious would be a gross understatement. It is staggeringly big, breathy, and open. The brief front entryway spills into a humungous living room lined with floor-to-ceiling windows twice as tall as I am, and a hall that goes off somewhere. Up above, I spot a long chrome banister that reveals a second floor accessible by a spiral staircase at the entryway. A kitchen throws dim, pale light across the clean space, its bar counter open toward the living room. There’s a dining area by the kitchen, which has a table long enough to seat three whole families and their plus-ones, likely. In the semidarkness, the shiny marble tiles below glimmer as they drink up and reflect whatever crystalline bits of light they find—their only source, the kitchen at the moment.
Like a moth to a flame, I follow Ben into said kitchen with my jaw all but dragging along the floor. I don’t want to seem shocked, so I maintain a cool expression of indifference, despite feeling like I’d just stumbled into some celebrity’s secret palace in the sky.
Ben—somehow freed from the sexy tight confines of that blue blazer, which he likely took off while I was busy drooling over his less-than-humble abode, and now sporting just his distractingly tight white button shirt that showcases every muscle in his body—turns around from the counter to face me. “Red or white?”
