Need Me (Broke and Beautiful #2)(48)

Honey moaned, head tossing in the grass. Drowning. She was drowning. This was what she’d been afraid of, even if she’d secretly wanted to be overwhelmed by him. But she couldn’t take another second of the agony. Reaching deep for the willpower, she extricated her wrists from Ben’s strong grip and surged up, flipping him onto his back. His eyes flashed, jaw slackening. Encouraging her without words. Her limbs were shaking, pulse hammering. She couldn’t think past having him inside her.

The truck’s headlights were still on, partially illuminating his handsome features, the muscular chest he’d exposed by removing his T-shirt. His gaze was feverish as it devoured her body. An image flashed in her mind of what she must look like, naked and straddling him, just outside the glow of the headlights, but his commanding voice broke through her thoughts. “Don’t keep me waiting, Honey. Not after the way you sucked me so good.”

Fingers shaking, she reached between them and rolled the latex down his shaft. She wasted no time sinking down onto him, pausing halfway to breathe before sliding him home. The muscles in her stomach tightened to the point of pain, so intense she fell forward, catching herself with two hands on his shoulders. “Oh my God. Feels too good.”

Ben lifted his hips, bouncing her a few times. “Does it fill you up nice and tight?”

“Yes,” she whimpered, starbursts exploding behind her eyes. She had no choice but to move at that point or risk combustion. Her hips moved on their own, as if they were independent of the rest of her body. They snapped up until she was poised on the tip of Ben’s erection, before scooping back down. His fingers had such a tight grip of her ass they had to be causing bruises, and she reveled in that realization. He was beneath her, head thrown back, chanting f*ck f*ck f*ck in time with her bucking movements. She’d never felt more herself in her entire life, so damn alive it hurt to breathe. Twice she slowed down to stave off her inevitable climax, but the third time it loomed close, she let it take her, embracing it with her whole self. Her scream sounded distant, but it vibrated through her body, making itself known.

Then she was moving, shifting. Ben was still locked inside of her, rigid and thick, with her legs wrapped around his waist. He kept their bodies connected as he moved to his knees. Her body bowed backward over his hard forearm, hair tumbling into the grass. He thrust into her over and over, using his supporting arm to slam her body down to meet his driving hips.

“This is what we both needed, isn’t it? A dirty f*ck in the grass. Get up here.” He jerked her upright so they were eye to eye, mouth to mouth. Being impaled once again on his lap, her hips automatically began to circle, eager and quick. Ben’s hands on her ass urged her even faster. He pressed her mouth to her ear. “Your ex-boyfriend never f*cked you this good.”

“No.” She threw her arms around his neck, hips pumping frantically. Oh Jesus, had he gotten bigger inside her? “No. Never.”

Ben raked his teeth over her shoulder. “That sweet, wet * never came once for him, did it?”

“No,” she sobbed, her actions growing jerky. Again. She was going to orgasm again. “Ben.”

“I’m the only one who belongs inside you,” he growled. “Show me why, babe.”

She tightened her thighs around him and ground herself down as the climax shook through her. Her scream was swallowed by his hungry mouth as it claimed her, tongue pushing her lips wide to tangle with hers. His big body, plastered so tightly against her, began to shudder. He ripped his mouth away with a shouted expletive, eyes squeezed closed as his release took him.





Chapter 17



ONE OF THE most irritating parts of majoring in English had been the constant encouragement to express one’s feelings. Picking English had been a no-brainer for Ben. He’d anticipated critical response papers, arguments in favor of popular theories. Perhaps the occasional assignment that would require him to pull from his own life experiences. Instead, he’d been constantly subjected to stream of consciousness writing exercises. Creative projects that had forced him to use examples of his own past experiences. Experiences he had no wish to revisit. More often than he’d been comfortable with, certain prompts had been given in his creative writing courses.

Write about a defining moment in your life. Write about what’s important to you.

If he’d known then what he knew now, lying in a field with Honey Perribow tucked into his side, his answers would have been vastly different. Until meeting Honey, he’d never been afraid to lose anything. He’d lost everything as a child and he’d survived. Sure, his career was extremely important to him, but he’d only protected it because losing it would make him too similar to his father if the worst happened. But he’d never been afraid. He’d never been shaken by the idea of having to find a new job.

Nothing scared him as much as the idea of losing Honey did. This eight-foot-high electrified fence that had existed inside him as long as he could remember had been breached. She was inside his perimeter. Inside him. If he had to live indefinitely without this feeling, he’d be scared every morning. Scared to walk around without the fence at full strength, an open wound right in the middle of his chest.

Oh yes, he’d write those papers differently. A defining moment in his life? Realizing bigger things were at play than his useless insecurities and fear of the past repeating itself. When you found something that made you feel so much you could hardly stand it, that was the thing that counted. When the thought of being without someone well and truly scared the shit out of you, you decided not to be without that person, no matter what it took. So what was important to him? Keeping the person who made him feel. Keeping Honey. Making goddamn sure she had the same feelings for him. Working his ass off to make sure she never stopped having them.