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Ben strokes me more urgently. “Let it happen, Camden. Fuck, I feel how ready you are and I know you’re almost there. You want to come. So let me make you come.”
And yes, yes I am ready. I can’t stop it. I don’t want to stop it.
His fingers commit teasing torture, never too deep, just enough to leave me clenching and shaking.
“Ben. Oh my god!” I’m gasping and I’m coming hard, far more powerfully than I ever have from using my own hand. The orgasm rocks me to my core as I whimper and buck my hips and feel my muscles dissolve on his hand as wave after wave of insane pleasure devours my senses. I’m aware that I’d let Ben do whatever he wants to me right now but he doesn’t. He waits until I calm down before he takes his hand away and gently covers my legs with my dress. I’m still lying on the bench in my bra and now my brain is beginning to zigzag all over the place as I realize I just had almost-sex with Ben Beltran in the stockroom of a gas station market.
“Happy birthday,” he says in a soft voice and I sit up, ready to take offense if he’s making fun of me but he isn’t. Ben isn’t smirking now. He’s thoughtful as he watches me and his brow wrinkles with concern as if he’s worried about what I might be thinking.
I swing my legs around and push my arms through the sleeves of my dress yet I don’t zip it up again. My hand lands on his knee. There are still all kinds of aftershocks going off between my legs and I feel good. Really good. Enough to be bold.
“I can do something for you too.” I move my hand over the hard planes of his upper thigh.
Ben covers my hand with his. “You don’t have to.”
“I really want to.”
He grins. “Then I’ll let you.”
I know he’s watching my face as he unbuckles his belt and I’m hypnotized by the sight of him getting his pants open. He pauses for only a heartbeat before pushing his black boxers down and then showing off how hard he is. I haven’t seen a huge collection of dicks but I’ve seen enough to know that Ben’s is quite impressive. Somehow all my varied sex fantasies never considered how hot it would be to watch a guy stroke his own rigid shaft. He does so with expert ease, making it obvious that this is something he’s used to doing.
And I’m captivated.
I’m insanely aroused.
I’m pretty sure I’m going to be replaying this scene in my head again and again for decades to come.
“Show me how,” I beg and he groans when my hand wraps around him. He lets me do the work, guiding my hand up and down, and I love it. I love the hot feel of his skin and knowing that I get him so hard. I love it when he reaches around my back to undo my bra and then groans when he succeeds. I love it when he loses control and seizes me tightly, kissing me with sudden ferocity. I love the heat of his mouth and the way he trembles the instant he lets go and spills into my hand.
“Holy shit, honey,” he pants, still holding me close.
I wish he’d kiss me again but seconds later he seems almost embarrassed. He grabs a nearby roll of paper towels from a shelf, carefully wipes off my hand and then tactfully mops himself off before zipping up.
Now that we’re done I’m not sure what to say. A long moment of silence stretches out with Ben buckling his pants and me fastening my bra and zipping my dress. His sweatshirt is still folded up on the bench so I hand it over to him. He gives me a wry grin and pulls it over his head.
“It’s not true,” he says.
I miss the sight of his bare chest already. “What’s not true?”
He looks at me for a long time before answering. “Those stories about me hooking up with half the town. Sure, I have fun now and then but as for the mass orgies and the shades of lipstick on my dick, I don’t do that kind of shit. That’s not what I’m like.”
I can feel a smile trying to break through on my face. “I’m glad.”
“Hey.” He nudges my knee. “How are you getting home?”
“I was going to call my dad for a ride.”
“Could I walk with you instead?” He makes a face. “Sorry, I know it’s bitter outside. I’d drive you if I had a car.”
This time I don’t try to hide my smile. “I’d like to walk home with you. I don’t mind the cold.”
Ben checks all the locks and shuts off the rest of the lights before we leave through the main door. I’m mildly horrified when he sheepishly explains that he has no jacket because he left it behind at school and he doesn’t have another.
“You must be freezing,” I say, bundled up in my own down jacket.
He shrugs. “Nah.”
But when I take his arm in the hopes of transferring a little bit of warmth he doesn’t pull away. The walk to my house is not far but we take our time. We talk about Devil Valley. We talk about Black Mountain. Ben has a really wicked sense of humor and he skillfully mimics some of our more obnoxious classmates until I’m giggling uncontrollably. I don’t know why I never realized how funny he is.
