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"Ew!" I laugh as I squirm in his arms. I don't really mind sweaty Ben. Given the right situation, it's hot as hell. Ben sets me back on my feet and cups my face as he kisses me. He smells like sweat, freshly cut grass, and gasoline.
"This shouldn't be doing it for me, but it definitely is," I tell him, running a finger over his sweaty chest.
"Glad to hear it." Ben can't contain his smug smile. "I know we said takeout tonight, but I have a better idea," he says.
"Oh, really?"
"Yeah, I'm going to finish up and shower. We've got a reservation at 7." A little thrill runs through me because god do I love it when he takes charge. The feminist in me is still trying to come to grips with it, but my inner sex kitten is all in.
"All right. I'll go get cleaned up," I say in a flirty voice. I smile to myself because I know exactly what I'm going to wear.
I shower and shave my legs, blow-dry my hair and put on a little makeup before digging in my closet for the dress that Sally gave me. It's impossible not to smirk as I lay it on the bed. As much as Ben appreciated it the first time around, he will lose his shit when he sees me in it with a decent bra and my hair done.
I'm ready by 6:30 and just slipping my shoes on when I hear a knock on the door. I peek through the front window to make sure it's Ben before opening the door.
Did I think he was sexy when he was dirty and shirtless? Because now he's all cleaned up in cream-colored chinos and a navy-blue linen dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and my tongue is practically on the floor. I never really got the whole "arm porn" thing until right this second. I think I'm officially converting to the Church of Muscular Forearms.
His normally unruly hair is tamed and styled, making him look even more handsome than usual. The icing on the cake is the intense, hungry way he's watching me from behind his glasses. He's like every hot nerd fantasy I've ever had, all rolled into one.
He looks me up and down, lust painted in his every feature. "You look good enough to eat, Lilah." His voice has that husky, I'm-about-to-give-it-to-you quality it gets when he's turned on, and at this point he's basically conditioned me to ruin panties when I hear it.
It's all I can do to keep from moaning out loud.
"We can just stay in," I tell him, pointing my thumb over my shoulder at the couch. Two nights ago, he had me sprawled out in that exact spot while he ate me out. I would be so, so down for a repeat performance. I lick my lips and adjust the neckline of my dress, trying to coax Ben inside.
Ben gives me a dark, hungry look, a muscle ticking in his jaw as he steps over the threshold. He uses his massive frame to crowd me back against the wall so he has room to shut the front door.
"If I didn't know any better, I'd say you're trying to tempt me to miss our reservation..." his deep, controlled voice sends a shiver right through me and moisture soaking my panties.
"Maybe I am," I say with a shallow breath.
His lips pull up in a smirk. "Naughty girl." He runs a finger under the neckline of my dress, following the dips of my breasts, making goosebumps rise across my entire body. He slides a hand behind my neck, holding me in place as he kisses me hard enough to make my lips tingle. He slips his free hand under my dress and strokes my white satin panties, growling and pressing a finger against the wet fabric to stroke my clit. My gasp is swallowed by his lips as he rubs gentle circles. Ben rests his forehead against mine, lips parted as he watches me melt under his touch.
"Yes," I moan. "Please, yes..."
And then the bastard takes his finger away and, casual as can be, checks the time on his watch.
"What the--?"
"Don't want to be late, Princess," he says with a self-satisfied smirk as he reaches back and opens the front door, gesturing for me to precede him.
"You suck," I say indignantly. He chuckles, his dimples on full display.
He leans in to whisper in my ear, "You started the teasing, but I promise I'll make it up to you later."
I'm tempted to whine about it, but decide it'll be more fun to make it hard on him to hold out. Pun intended. I smooth an imaginary wrinkle on his shirt collar, putting a sweet, innocent look on my face while running my fingernails over his chest.
"That's ok. I can wait. I got myself off in the shower anyway," I tell him, patting his arm and kissing him on the cheek. "Twice," I say before swishing out the front door, leaving him to cope with that mental image.
