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“It feels like we could just sit here for hours doing nothing,” I murmur, leaning my head against his shoulder.
“Second that,” mumbles Ben, breathing across my hair.
“Life can be so unnecessarily stressful, worrying about what my roommate thinks of me, worrying about the others and their opinions, worrying about my mom and dad and whether my education was worth the money we’d saved up for years … I wish I could bottle up the perspective I have right now and take it back home with me somehow.”
“I know that feeling.”
“Shouldn’t life just be about … love? It’s the only thing that matters when you take away stupid arguments you had … and bad moods, frustration, stresses, expectations … and money. In the end, all that’s left when you sift through the dirt is love.”
“Love, the golden nuggets in life’s big gold pan.”
I chuckle. “Thanks for carrying that metaphor full-term. You could have left it alone, but I’ll take it.”
He kisses the top of my head. Something about the slowness in which he kisses me is telling. He takes his time planting those lips on my hair, like his mind is full of deep, swirly thoughts.
Why am I the only one who gets to see this side of Benjamin Gage? Why does the world only know the hard-ass who beats the public images of celebrities like hot metals against an anvil until they’re perfectly shaped, strong and unbreakable when they cool?
Well, to be fair, I also get a far less gentle side of Ben, too—the side that wants to devour me whole every time he looks my way and undresses me with his smoldering stare.
“Would it be so wrong to … call you my boyfriend?” I ask.
His lips freeze atop my head. I clench shut my eyes, feeling like maybe I shouldn’t have pressed the matter. I don’t know why I need it to be stated that I’m his and he’s mine somehow, like the term is my staked claim of ownership. Benjamin is not the corner piece of brownie I’m jabbing my “mine!” fork into at a party; he is a human with willpower and a right to his emotional freedom.
But dang it, so am I.
“I would be lying,” he finally murmurs back, “if I said that what I feel for you isn’t strong. It’s pretty strong, Trevor.”
Every time he says my name in that softer, more sensitive tone of his, my insides melt. Who knew that just uttering a name could be so damned sexy and intimate?
“We don’t really have to label it,” I blurt out, maybe to save him the sweat of tap dancing around an answer. “Whatever this is between us. I don’t know why I’m so caught up in the ‘boyfriend’ thing. Maybe I’m just trying to express my feelings to you, and the only way I know how is … to call you my boyfriend.”
He tightens his grip around my back, squeezing me against him. “Every time you say that word, you make me hard.”
I chuckle, noting the firmness swelling beneath my legs in his lap. “Is that right? … Boyfriend?”
“And you make something else inside me soft.” Ben pulls his head back to get a look into my eyes. The look in his is infinitely deep, almost unrecognizable. “You mean a lot to me, Trevor. I’ve had so many walls around me my whole life. Defensive walls. Reasons to keep guys away. To stay alone. Everyone in my life has always wanted something from me … but it’s never been my heart. It’s just been my clout. Or my wallet. Or my big dick.”
“To be fair,” I quickly add, “I am very interested in your dick, and if it weren’t for your wallet or clout, we wouldn’t be here.”
He chuckles and gives my calf a little smack. “You know what I mean, smart ass.”
“My smart ass is in a very tight pair of underwear right now, thanks to you.”
Ben stares down at me hungrily and growls at my words. “I look forward to getting you right out of those later.”
I feel a sudden surge of humility. “Thank you for them.”
He considers my face for a bit before reluctantly replying, “You’re welcome.”
“And thank you for being patient with me,” I go on. “I know you must go lightning speed with boys you meet at nightclubs. You have had so much more experience at this than I have. I don’t know if I’m going to measure up to what you’re likely used to.”
“Trevor …”
“I just want you to know that I know that. And I also realize this slow pace has to be … hard for you. All of this … waiting …”
“Stop.”
I meet his eyes. The look in them is hard and knowing.
“I don’t have any expectations of you,” he states to my silent, anxious face. “There isn’t any ‘waiting’ happening. Whatever this is between us, it’s already begun. Sex is just sex. It’ll come when you’re ready.”
