“Liam, just tell your brother I’m dealing with a situation,” he says. There’s a pause. “Once the situation is satisfied, I’ll be home.”
I laugh out loud. He fakes a scowl. What he’s about to do is going to take a lot longer than he thought, I think to myself.
Finally, after his teenage son is happy with his excuse, he ends the call and places the phone onto the bedside table. For a moment, the room is quiet again, the interruption fading as quickly as it came.
“Sorry about that.”
“That was smooth,” I say. “Telling your son you’re busy dealing with a situation.”
I bite back a smile. Only Ben could take a call from his teenage son while kneeling between my legs and sound completely serious.
“You realize,” I add softly, looking up at him, “that now I feel partly responsible for whatever explanation you give him when you go home.”
“I’m sure I’ll come up with something,” he says. “You don’t live with four teenagers and learn to tell the truth all the time.”
“Surely, that’s setting a bad example.”
My arms snake around his neck, pulling him downward. He bends with no hesitation.
“Are you complaining, Ms. Cole?” He dips, his lips brushing mine. “Or do you want to debate my parenting choices some more?”
I shake my head. “No debate needed. I’m sure you have your hands full with four kids.”
“I’m more interested in what I’ve got my hands full with currently,” he murmurs. “Now, where was I?”
He grabs the hem of my sweater, pushing it upward. I lift my shoulders off the bed, and it slips over my head easily. I forgot I didn’t wear a bra. My breasts suddenly free. It’s unlike me. Usually, everything is contained. This is almost as if I planned it.
“Are you trying to kill me?” he groans. “Looking like that, you’re a heart attack on legs.”
I laugh again. Sheer happiness, something I’ve not felt in my bedroom for years. The solitude replaced with impending sex. And I want it, so damn bad.
On his knees between my legs, Ben’s warm lips brush the side of my neck, starting at my ear, down my jawbone. A light flutter of kisses, not hot, not hard, but sweet. Endearing.
He finishes at my chin, carrying on down my neck until he comes to my collarbone, taking his time. There’s no rush. So he says. My hands claw at his back, wanting more.
“Hands above your head,” he whispers, tone sharp. “We’ll move at my pace, and you’ll lie back and enjoy it.”
I do as he says. Now, our only connection is his lips on my skin. My flesh tingles, more intense this time, every part of me heating. He goes lower, lips meeting the waistband of my sweats. His fingers trail behind, curling into the band, then tugging.
I lift my hips, and he drags them down, taking my thong with them.
Naked, I watch as he stands, unfastening his belt. The leather pulls smoothly through the loops of his jeans, cracking as it’s discarded on the floor.
“Let me,” I mumble, pushing myself upward, reaching for his crotch. He grabs my fingers, lowering me back onto the bed, then drops to his knees.
“You first.” It’s not a request but an order. Strong hands take my thighs, spreading them wide. His face disappears between them, so all I see is the top of his head.
But what I feel. Fuck. It takes my breath away.
My clit becomes his focus, my legs held wide. His tongue circles the spot. My back arches, my thighs screaming to close. He holds me in place, keeping rhythm, no mercy. Lapping again and again. His tongue examines every millimeter of me.
My pussy clenches hard. Another swirl. Another flick of the sweet spot.
I moan. He moves faster. My orgasm builds until I’m on the edge. That point between pain and release. My thighs ache, fighting his grip. Sharpness pricks my skin, his nails sinking deeper.
“Hold still,” he whispers, his gaze flicking upwards for a second. “You’re almost there.”
“I know. I need…”