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“Prince Trevor, the Champion,” I recite, to which Ben grins down at me, appreciative.
And then he drives into me full-on, hitting a spot.
My cock, already hard, flexes involuntarily like a peg made of steel.
That’s my prostate, I realize at once. And yes, I knew.
“Oh my God,” I groan.
“Feel good?”
“Keep doing that,” I beg him. “Oh my God. Do it again.”
“Do what? Did I tap your boy button?”
“You and your euphe—OH MY GOD—euphemisms,” I finish. Yes, he hit it again in the middle of my sentence.
“I can’t do it to you too much just yet,” he tells me, his voice as hard as our dicks. “You’ll come before I want you to come.”
“Oh? Is it up to you?”
“Considering my position and yours … yes.” He’s cocky when he addresses me, confidently handling my body and taking charge of every pleasure I’m allowed or denied. “It’s very much up to me when you get to come.”
“Please, Ben. Fuck …”
“Maybe I’ll make you wait until your birthday.” He stares down at my gawping face as he continues to penetrate me, thrust by thrust, a wicked glint in his eyes. “Maybe I’ll just fuck you for a solid two hours, keeping you on the edge of insanity the whole time until you’re finally twenty-one and deserve to come.”
“I deserve it now,” I hiss at him, my voice embarrassingly desperate and begging. “I’ve had such a hard day. All the meals and pampering … such a hard day. God, please …”
He picks up pace, pumping me faster and harder—and with each thrust, seemingly deeper.
The pressure is so much, and yet my whole body is racked with insurmountable pleasure. I have never felt so many nerve endings firing in my body all at once. I don’t know what to pay attention to, so overcome with feeling.
Then I know exactly what to pay attention to: I reach for my swollen cock. The second I touch it, I’m shocked by how sensitive it’s become, as if a single stroke could fling me over the edge.
Ben grabs my hand and swats it away. “Denied.”
I whimper at him. “Ben. Fuck. I need to jerk off.”
“You need a promotion.”
I groan when he pumps me even deeper. I think I hear his balls slapping my ass with every thrust. “P-Promotion??”
“From intern to birthday bitch,” he taunts me, his rhythm perfect, relentless, and uninterrupted. He’s like a goddamned machine that never tires. All his muscles flex and bulge and work as he keeps thrusting into me deeply. “How’s that sound?”
“Degrading.”
“So it’s perfect, then?”
“Fucking perfect. I’m your birthday bitch. Oh my God, I’m so your birthday bitch.”
He starts drilling me so hard that my hips lift up from the blanket while he pummels his dick in me, deeper, deeper, deeper.
I’m seeing stars. They frame Ben’s face as he gives me his all, his eyes still locked on mine.
Fuck, he is so strong and determined.
The world spins around me as I breathe brokenly and grind myself against him. My fingers dig into his meaty body, pulling him against me more and more with every shove.
He hits the spot again. And then again.
And then again.
Over and over.
I can’t take it anymore.
“I’m coming,” I groan, the waves of orgasm rushing into my cock too fast for a warning.
And then I’m howling my release, coming all over my body in stream after sticky, warm, white stream. I’m coming forever. I come so much, I fill the Caribbean Sea twice over.
Ben isn’t far behind. After a few more thrusts, he groans over my face, his eyes never pulling from mine as he empties himself inside of me. His stare becomes so intense as he watches me while he comes, spilling and spilling … then spilling some more.
The pair of us collapse on the blankets, spent. The stars look down on us as our bodies enjoy glorious, happy aftershocks. Our breaths overpower even the crashing waves from the sea.
Minutes go by. I am completely at peace. Nothing can touch me, not even a thought.
Then Ben turns his head toward mine, happiness painted over his sex-drunk eyes. He holds a fat chocolate-dipped strawberry pinched between two fingers, dangling it. A drop lands on my chest. The next lands on my chin. And then I bite the plump red fruit with a little giggle when he brings it to my lips.
When I turn my face toward him, I find him smiling. He puts a kiss on my lips, pulls back, and whispers, “Happy birthday,” into the gentle wind.
38
Benjamin is a man who satisfies.
When we flew to Mexico, we sat in separate seats. On the way back home, we’re occupying one seat—Trevor in my lap, our arms wrapped tightly around each other, and our lips inseparable.
We went from business partners going on a trip to lovebird teenagers who hooked up at the school dance.
