Frayed (Connections, #4)(23)

“No, I don’t want to do that like this,” he whispers in my ear. His voice is soft and normal. He’s out of role again and it puts a more serious note in the encounter that I’m not ready for. I have to get us back to playing.

“Okay, but I really want that A.”

He grins. “I think you’re well on your way to earning it. Sit on the table. Spread your legs,” he says, his voice deep again. As soon as I’m in position he pulls me to the edge. The length of him rubs against my belly, stirring the resting butterflies that always seem to be there ready to take flight. He takes his time—milking the moment, drawing out the anticipation of what’s to come.

When he pulls away I reach for him and he gives me a single moment of contact where I’m in control. “Wrap your arms around my neck,” he demands.

I do as he instructs, but in that second I felt his body tremble—I saw the excitement clear in his eyes.

“A nice girl like you shouldn’t be taking my hard cock inside yourself for a better grade.”

“I told you I want an A. I’m determined.”

“Are you sure?” he asks, and I know he’s out of role again, but I pretend he’s not.

“Oh, professor, I’m very sure.”

In the next moment he reaches for his jeans and pulls out a condom. Once he rolls it on he plunges inside me and positions my hands in his on either side of us, flat to the table. Something about being restrained makes every thrust feel deeper, more intimate. Maybe it’s because I’m vulnerable, both physically and emotionally. Again he’s in control, setting the pace, but I don’t care. I just want to feel him.

“I love f*cking you like this . . . you look so hot when your tits bounce up and down.”

I wrap my legs around his waist and move as close to him as I can. I think I’m practically off the table.

He gently licks my ear and blows his warm breath over it. His words come faster now. “Your * wraps my cock so tight, your legs feel so good around me . . . and you like my tongue licking your ear, don’t you?”

“Yes, yes,” I pant.

Whether or not we’re still role-playing doesn’t matter to me anymore. I lose myself in him. In his dirty mouth. He tugs at my lip and I tug back. Then I press my mouth to his and attack it as hungrily as he has attacked mine. I’ve heard girls say, “I f*cked him with my mouth,” but I never knew how that could make sense—until this moment. I moan loudly and call out his name a few times and I’m pretty sure he’s just as far gone as I am.

In fact, I know he is when he stops my assault on his lips to whisper in my ear, “I’m so deep inside you, so close, I want to fill your * up with my hot come. . . . Would you like that?”

I wet my lips, my chest rising and falling rapidly. I nod and answer truthfully, “Yes, yes!” Goose bumps form all up my arms. I cry out this time more frantically, “Yes, yes, yes!” and he does the same as we ride out the wave of unbelievable pleasure we’ve found together.





CHAPTER 7


Maybe Tomorrow

Ben

I can hear the sound of the seagulls above me as my feet hit the sand. I feel the burn—five miles barefoot on the beach has never felt so good. I take the steps two at a time and plop myself on a lounge chair up on the deck, watching the tops of the palm trees sway back and forth and the waves crashing against the shore. I’m drenched with sweat and decide a shower before coffee is in order.

Opening the glass door to my house, I catch my reflection and think about how the last couple of nights have been somewhat of a mind f*ck. While I thought I would be closing the book to my past, instead I opened a new chapter. It feels ironic that the first time I’m more than just hot for a girl she shuts me down, only offering sex. I know I’m not the most romantic guy on the block and haven’t always taken women’s feelings into account, but something doesn’t feel right about a sex-only relationship with S’belle. There’s something else there; I can feel it between us. But she keeps pulling back and distancing herself. And since I’m no expert on women, I’m at a loss as to figure out what comes next.

I hadn’t been with a woman since the night I was arrested. And being with S’belle—well, felt f*cking amazing. Although I hadn’t counted the long days, I do the math quickly—yeah, that’s seven months without sex, a shit ton of time. Celibacy wasn’t a conscious goal. But I’d had my share of too many faceless women. Booze and random hookups, they always went hand in hand. Give up one—you give up the other. The drinking clouded my judgment, and the women were just warm bodies. I wasn’t moving forward living that life. I knew I had to stop and I did.

I had pulled my shit together. I started my own company, one with a goal I’m passionate about—helping struggling publications. I want to breathe life back into words, making magazines that improve people’s lives relevant. And I hope that’s what I’m doing.

Now I have this crazy, absurdly sexy goddess wanting to role-play with me and no strings attached. I know that she’s been trying to appear tough, but I’ve seen the vulnerability clear in her eyes. I know it has to be either because she doesn’t trust me or maybe because she doesn’t see me as dating material. Fuck.

I look up at the towering fifteen-year-old ficus tree in the middle of the two-story atrium and think, Am I dating material? What the f*ck? Now I’m asking a tree. But it is what sold me on the place. Well, the tree and the carefree beach vibe—they make the house feel alive. From an outsider’s point of view, it must look like the perfect bachelor pad. A circular sofa, a sunken dining area, and bleached walnut floors surrounded by shaggy Moroccan rugs and alabaster lights. Stylish, rogue, sophisticated. The Realtor said it would make any woman’s heart skip a beat. Funny, the only women I’ve had here are my sister and the housekeeper.