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“Haven’t done what?”
A flush creeps over her cheeks. “Invited a guy home with me.” She raises her eyebrows, suggesting she means for sex.
“Good,” I say before I can stop the word from coming out. A small part of me is glad she hasn’t been in a relationship with anyone recently despite how hypocritical it is. “I won’t have to worry about any ex-boyfriends trying to come back into your life.”
“What about your ex?”
“She was pretty content with me leaving, so I doubt she’ll be back at all.”
Sara just nods her head. I can tell she’s still unsure of what to do next, so instead of letting her continue to stew, I boost her up onto the counter. My hands land on her hips as I step between her legs. With the added height, she’s only a few inches shorter than me now, allowing us to take each other in.
“So, here’s the deal. My preference is to take over right now. Tell you exactly what to do, when to do it, and fully expect you to follow instructions. The only decision you have to make is whether you want in.” I pause, letting her soak in my words. My hands roam down the side of her legs then back up the top of her thighs. “On the flip side, if you don’t listen, I’ll punish you, which can look any number of ways. A spanking, delaying gratification, whatever works at the moment. All that requires a lot of trust, so we’ll take things slow. One experience at a—”
“Yes.”
“What?”
“I want that. All of it. I need to let go, and I need you to take control so I can. I’m tired of constantly worrying about doing the right thing. Praying that I’m making the right choices. I need you.”
Her words have the spit drying in my mouth. Blood drains straight into my cock so fast, I’m light-headed. There’s one more important piece she needs to know before I let my baser instincts take over. “You have full control. If you say stop, it does. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
“Take off your shirt.”
22
SARA
“Take off your shirt.”
The words pin me to the counter almost as steadily as Ben’s hands. Something in my brain took over when he started laying out all of his preferences, and I said yes. I wanted to say yes. I still want to say yes, but that doesn’t mean I’m capable of turning off my brain immediately, no matter how amazing it sounds.
Ben runs his hands up my sides and underneath the hem of my tank top. “Stop thinking,” he whispers in my ear. The brush of his lips against the outer shell of my ear makes a shiver run down my spine. The feeling of his calloused hands against my skin makes me want more, and I finally follow Ben’s instruction to take off my shirt.
“Good girl.”
Jesus, that should not be as hot as it is.
“Wait.”
Ben’s hands immediately freeze on me.
“I’m sweaty. I smell horrible. Taking off my shirt, I just got an awful whiff of myself.”
A laugh bursts from Ben at my statement, and I realize he was probably worried I didn’t want to keep going.
“I don’t mind a little bit of sweat, Sara.” His hands start to roam again, his thumbs gently brushing over my nipples through my sports bra. They immediately tighten, begging for more. “We’re both sweaty and a little smelly. It’s a part of being human. We can shower later.”
I open my mouth to protest, but Ben bites down on my bottom lip, effectively ending whatever rebuttal I was about to say. My hands lift into his hair as his mouth descends over mine, pulling me into the most drugging kiss I’ve ever experienced. His tongue twines with mine, exploring every inch of my mouth, while his hands begin kneading my breasts.
Needing him closer, I grab my sports bra and awkwardly yank it off my body. Those were not made to take off sexily.
Ben didn’t seem to notice because his hands immediately cup my breasts, squeezing and playing with them like he knows exactly how I want to be touched. I fist the hem of Ben’s cutoff T-shirt and lift it over his head. I’m momentarily struck dumb at the sight of his chest. I’ve seen it before, but not this close and not in this context. It’s just a wall of muscle. Each ab is perfectly outlined, leading down to what I can assume is… Holy shit. “You have a penis ravine.” My hands fist into the waistband of his shorts, yanking them down so I can see it clearly.
Ben laughs, but I think it’s more out of confusion than anything. “What?”
The minute Ben’s shorts are around his ankles, my hands land on his hips to trace the V-lines leading to a fuckingimpressiveerection. He groans at my touch, his muscles flexing his hips forward.
