Make Me Bad(63)

I nod and walk toward him, wrapping my arms around his middle. My ear is against his chest and I can hear his heart hammering. I close my eyes for a moment.

“Thanks for the lock and for sharing this very fancy dinner with me.”

He kisses my hair and then I lift my chin to receive a second kiss on my lips. We both keep it short and chaste, but there’s an underlying hunger that nearly splits me in two. I wish he were staying the night.

He groans, runs a hand through his hair, and then makes his way to the door. I shoo him out with plans to see him tomorrow and then steal one last quick kiss. I close the door and lock it behind him.

This sucks.

For some inane reason, I want to cry.

I have to listen to his feet carry him down the stairs, his car’s engine rev to life, his tires kicking up gravel as he drives away, and then…his car pulling back up to my apartment, engine dying, car door slamming, feet thundering up the stairs. I undo the lock and he’s there, laughing and kicking the door closed behind him.

“I guess one night won’t kill me, right?” he asks, wrapping an arm around my waist and lifting me up off the floor.

Oh my god, I’m going to attack him. My arms are around his neck and I’m kissing his jaw, his forehead, the sharp edge of his cheekbone.

My mouth finally finds his, and it’s just like before, in the storage room. We’re so anxious and starved, we’re not so much kissing as we are consuming. His tongue sweeps into my mouth and I moan, tilting my head, somehow still wanting more.

My feet dangle above the ground as he carries me deeper into the room.

The backs of my legs hit the card table and he sets me on top, not realizing my weight will throw it off balance. It’s made to hold five pounds, tops. One of the legs creaks and then gives out. I go crashing to the floor right along with it and I’m laughing so hard, tears gather in my eyes.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he murmurs, trying hard to fight off his own laughter.

He lifts me back up and kisses the smile off my face.

“My butt hurts,” I groan.

He reaches down under the guise of soothing it, but his touch is hot, needy. He fists my dress and tugs it up. My hips roll against his jeans and I feel how hard he is. I can’t do it any longer. Twenty-five years of going without is too damn long.

“Please please please tell me you have a condom.”

“I grabbed one when I went to my house earlier.”

“Oh my god, yes.” I nearly say I love you jokingly, but I stifle the urge—mostly because at this point, it’s not a joke.

It’s so fitting that my first time will be on an old dingy futon. I don’t want calm, quiet sex on a perfectly made bed with a lamp on across the room for soothing ambient light. In here, we’re a mess. The gold lamp gets knocked over as I tug Ben toward the futon. It clatters to the ground right along with the card table, and I’m not fully convinced the rickety excuse for a couch-slash-bed will make it through this either.

There’s a good chance we’ll end up on the floor. I’ll be picking shag carpet fibers out of my hair for days.

“Let’s slow down,” Ben says, yanking my sweater dress over my head and throwing it across the room. In the process, he nearly dislocates my shoulder.

I shudder and nod. “Yes, jeez, let’s take a breath and relax.” Then I yank his shirt apart and one of the buttons flies off and pings against the wall.

We’re not very good at heeding our own advice.

My hands tug impatiently on the zipper of his jeans. It’s only halfway down when I give up and yank the denim down with all the strength I’ve got. He kicks them the rest of the way off and in the process of removing his pants, I nearly took off his briefs too. The tight black material hangs low on his hips. More of him is exposed than ever before, the hard edges of his abdominal muscles pulling tight with each inhale he takes. I’m crouching down in front of him before I fully realize what I’m initiating.

I want to see him. God, I just need him in my hands, and the groan that slips past my lips is only half as lust-filled as it should be. I tug his briefs down his legs and my eyes go wide. Without a thought, I reach out to grip his hard length and run my hand up and down it. Ben bucks his hips forward. I grow courageous and empowered. I do it twice more, pumping, fisting, bringing my mouth closer but not quite touching him there…yet. My lips are a whisper against him.

“Madison,” he says, his voice full of longing.

He seems big, but then I don’t really have much to compare him to. All I know is that when I look at it from this angle, I’m not totally sure how he’s going to fit. The thought sends a spiral of panic through me, but I brush it aside. This is natural, meant to be. It will fit. Hopefully.

I lean forward and drag my tongue across the tip and he fists my hair, a little nonverbal plea for more. I oblige, taking him in my mouth and sucking deep. How did we get here? How did our night turn from innocent construction to clothes-shredding passion?

I take him deeper and suck again and again. I want him so wound up, coiled tight, tight, tight like a spring. My name passes through his lips again and it’s more ragged than the first time, desperate, depraved.

I will keep going until he gives in, until his hips thrust uncontrolled and he releases everything. Before this moment, I’d have turned my nose up at the idea. Now, I don’t want to waste a single drop.