Beautiful Beginning(5)

silent beats and then leaned down close enough that all I had to do was

lean forward an inch to kiss him. I started to, but he pulled just out of

reach. “When you say ‘please, Bennett, I need it’ I’m going to f*ck you

so hard you won’t be able to sit down for days without remembering it.”

My mouth opened and closed a couple of times without any words escaping.

With a knowing smirk, Bennett turned back to his sandwich preparation.

He hadn’t bothered to put a shirt on, and his bare torso seemed to go on

for miles. His skin was smooth and even, tan from running shirtless in the

spring sunshine. The muscles in his arms popped and tensed as he opened the

jar of mustard, pulled at the silverware drawer to retrieve a knife, opened

the bag of bread. Such simple tasks, but watching him do it felt like the

dirtiest and best porn. I loved his forearms, loved the dark hair, the tan

skin, the carve of muscles.

God, what an *.

I watched his tongue slip out and wet his lips. His hair was a mess and

fell heavily over his forehead. When I let my eyes slide down the length of

his body, I saw the one reaction he couldn’t hide. He was still so hard

his cock pressed against the low-slung waistband of his boxers.

Sweet Jesus.

I opened my mouth one more time and, without looking at me, he bent

slightly to the side so his ear moved closer to my lips. A shaky exhale

escaped and I squeezed my eyes shut.

“Bennett . . . ?”

“What’s that you say?” he asked. “I didn’t quite hear you.”

Swallowing, I whispered, “Please.”

“Please what?”

Please, Bennett, go f*ck yourself was there, on the tip of my tongue. But

who was I kidding? I wanted him to f*ck me. So, I took a deep breath and

admitted, “Please, Bennett, I need it.”

The crash came before I fully registered what happened: with a single sweep

of his arm, Bennett had cleared the kitchen island and everything he’d

taken from the fridge clattered to the floor. Glass shattered and the knife

skittered across the tile and crashed into the baseboard. Bennett crushed

me against him, bending to cover my mouth, force his tongue inside, and

give me the satisfaction of hearing his deep, relieved groan.

It wasn’t playful anymore, it wasn’t gentle or careful. It was his arms

hauling me onto the island, hands pushing me backward to lie flat on the

cold marble, and hold me there with one flattened palm pressed heavily to

my sternum. It was his other hand spreading my legs wide, his impatient

fist pulling at his boxers. And before I could say how much I wanted it,

how sorry I was for teasing—because I was, and something about seeing him

so wild and primal scared me deliciously—he was easily pushing inside, so

deep, and then pulling out just as fast, moving his hips in perfect,

punishing stabs.

Releasing the weight of his hand from my chest, he grabbed my legs and took

a step closer, pulling them over his shoulders and hitting that spot so

deep that I felt the force of him reverberate up my spine. He slid his

hands down to my hips, and held me in place while he f*cked, head thrown

back, taking his pleasure now. The island was sturdy enough to weather the

force of his movements, but I reached over my head, gripping the edge so I

could press myself even farther onto him. It wasn’t enough; I needed more,

and deeper, and wetter, and rougher. He’d told me I couldn’t have this

for days, and he knew better than anyone that his touch was the one thing—

the only thing—that could keep me from disintegrating into a hurricane of

stress. I needed to get him farther inside me than I ever had before, and I

grew obsessed with the idea that I could, somehow.

“God, you’re f*cking soaked,” he groaned, opening his eyes to look at

me. “How can I keep from taking you? You’ll never know how much I need

this.”

“Then why?” I asked. “Why tell me we can’t?”

He bent down, bringing my legs with him so the front of my thighs pressed

tightly to my chest. “Because it’s the only time in my life I’ll be able

to stop, to slow down, to relish just being near you.” He gulped at the

air by my neck and then licked the skin there; his tongue, his teeth, his

touch felt like fire. “I want to not be thinking the whole time about

where I can take you to be alone for ten minutes, for fifteen, for an hour.

I don’t want to resent anyone for keeping us apart, while they’re there

to celebrate,” he said, gasping quietly. “I’m obsessed with you, and

with this. I want to show you I can be measured.”

“What if that’s not what I want?”

Bennett buried his face in my neck and slowed, but I knew his body well

enough to guess that he was just on the cusp of losing it, of reaching that

point of no return. He ground against me, found that place, and that rhythm

that distracted me from my question and made me chase the feeling building