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Chapter sixteen
Mikaela
This is what free-falling must feel like. It’s like the earth simultaneously stopped moving and sped up. Like gravity has been suspended, and yet something is still pulling me hurtling towards a bone-crushing landing. This is exhilaration and freedom and stupidity all bundled into one all-consuming thought:Ben Haston is kissing me.
His lips brush against mine slowly, tentatively, and I sigh as my fingers press into his shoulders. I wrap around him - sink into him - as tension seeps from his skin. Every second that passes brings comfort and closeness and a familiarity I didn’t realise I knew until this exact moment. His hands slip from my waist, his fingers brushing against my ass as he pulls me against him, pinning me to his skin, and I’m smiling.
He pulls his lips from mine, breathless and flushed, and his eyes shimmer with something exciting and new... Something unleashed.
Everything inside of me tightens in response.
“Slow,” he repeats, reminding us both, his voice husky now.
“Slow,” I agree, still flush against him and aching for more contact.
Standing like this, my hands splayed against his shoulders and his caressing my skin beneath his shirt, it feels like possibility is all around us.
I stare up at him, moving slowly as I pull one hand towards his face. My fingers press into the stubble, scratchy against my skin, and Ben smiles warmly. I pull my fingertips up to his lips - lips that are swollen and parted, still sucking in heavy breaths after our kiss - and he grins further. He presses a kiss against my fingertips and my heart stutters.
“I - erm - I ran you a bath.” My voice shakes and Ben twists his head just the tiniest amount, nuzzling into my hand as he does so. “I know that’s probably weird.”
His laugh rumbles in his chest as he leans in and presses his lips against mine again. “You ran a bath for me?”
I nod, my breath catching in my throat with the simplicity of a quick kiss. “You did it for me and I just thought - I don’t know what I thought - it was strange and I can let it out. It’s just, a bath is always better than a shower, you know? And I thought you might - never mind - I’ll go let it out.”
I pull back, my rambling embarrassing me as he shakes his head and pulls me back to him by my hips. His fingers spread over the shirt, pressing lightly, and my chest aches with tenderness when I realise he has placed his hands over the bruises. He has placed his touch over the marks of violence and changed the way my skin feels.
“Thank you.” His fingers move to my face as he holds me gently and brushes hair out of my eyes. “I’m going to go take my bath now, and then when I’m done, we should talk.”
He must feel the way my pulse quickens and see the gulp of fear I push down, because his voice softens even more and his fingers massage gently against the back of my neck as his thumb caresses my jaw.
“We need to define slow. Lay out some ground rules.” His eyes darken into stormy seas again as he glances down at the semi-transparent shirt still clinging to my skin. “Or I’ll end up ripping that off of you way too soon.
Ben steps out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped low on his hips and my mouth goes dry. His hair is pushed back in messy waves where he hasn’t had it cut in a little too long, and drops of water glisten against his flawless skin as he looks over to where I sit on the couch, his shirt now dried and partnered with a pair of ratty old shorts.
I curse myself internally for the choice as his eyes roam over me.
“I just need to grab jeans from my bag and then we can talk, yeah?” His eyes meet mine as he smiles.
I nod, lifting my glass to my lips.
“I ordered some food.” I mumble as I try to look anywhere other than at the man on the other side of the room. His perfection is distracting and definitely doesn’t invite restraint.
“Good idea.” He moves over to the couch, grinning when I glance up at him. The towel really does hang low on his hips and my fingers itch to trace those incredible lines of muscles that line his hips and dip down below the white cotton. I swallow against the dryness of my throat as he leans in, his voice low and gritty. “Just need to do something before I go in there and get dressed.”
He leans over the arm of the couch and over me with such casual confidence, his fingers wrapping behind my neck and tangling in my hair as he pulls me closer to him, and pauses. His breath fans over my lips as he runs his tongue over his lower lip and my entire being seems to hum with unbridled lust.
“Yeah.” He whispers to himself as I wait, practically panting. “This was a good idea.”
Before I can respond he traps my lips beneath his.
His kiss is slow and sensual and I shift to my knees, desperate to keep the contact before he can pull away from me again. My fingertips scrape over warm skin and, despite the fact I feel every single cell in my body humming and dancing with desperate need, his kiss is unhurried. He tastes like peppermint and some tiny, distracted part of my mind - the only part that hasn’t already been infiltrated by Benjamin Haston - notes that he must have used my toothpaste since he last kissed me.
When he breaks from me my eyes are still closed and my lips fall into a sad little pout, pulling a chuckle from deep within him, and I feel him back away from me slowly.
“I’ll be two minutes.” His voice is back in the bathroom before I open my eyes and throw myself back onto the cushions.
Kissing Ben is going to be the death of me if I can’t remember how to breathe each time his lips meet mine.
