Right. I was. Thank god for your presence of mind. My nipple feels abandoned and unloved, could you please . . . Words flew out of my mind, replaced only by the sensation of Ben’s mouth on my breast, nibbling, licking, and teasing me, my sensations mingling with the ones he was feeling.
I knew that you were ripe for seduction, yes. But that wouldn’t have been what was best for you. You were simply too young, as I quickly realized.
I hope to the stars that you are over such a protective attitude, because it’s very irritating. Would you like me to reciprocate?
Reciprocate making decisions for my welfare?
“No, do you want me to nibble on your nipples? I’ve heard that some men are into that, and others aren’t. Are you go or no go in that respect?”
He lifted his head from where he was nuzzling the underside of my breast. “I’ve never been stimulated that way, no.”
“Ah.” I looked at his chest. “Maybe I should just give it a try and we’ll verify that.”
“If you wish, although I don’t want you to be disappointed when I don’t—” He froze when I gently, ever so gently, bit his nearer nipple.
His eyes rolled back into his head when I stroked one hand down his chest, to his crotch, feeling the hardness beneath the fly of his jeans.
He stopped breathing when I let him feel just how much enjoyment I was receiving from tasting him, kissing his chest, stroking his back, and running my thumb up and down his growing proof of arousal.
“Oh, no, you’re not finding this stimulating at all,” I cooed into his other nipple, licking it until Ben grabbed my shoulders and groaned with unadulterated pleasure. “I really like the taste of you, Ben. I had no idea men could taste . . . well, manly. Without being sweaty or musky or anything unpleasant like that. You taste kind of hot, kind of smoky, like you’ve been out by a camp-fire. You smell . . .” I took a deep breath, relishing the way his scent seemed to quicken my blood. “You smell wonderful.”
He nuzzled my neck as I moved up to kiss his shoulder, silent for a few seconds. Are you sure, Francesca? Absolutely sure? If we do all those things you are thinking of doing, assuming I survive them, and I may not because you have evidently become quite inventive during our five years apart, if we do them, it will mean we are just one step away from Joining.
I gently bit the tendon of his neck, causing him to rear back with a startled flash in his eyes.
“I’m certain. Only . . . it sounds trite to say be gentle, but I’m new to all this, so I’d appreciate any pointers on what you give a green light to, and what leaves you cold.”
“You had no trouble finding several new things I give the green light to,” he said, his body trembling a little as I stroked down the front of his fly again.
“I didn’t say I was naive, just new to—”
The door to the trailer opened. Imogen, out of breath and looking very worried, dashed in. “Fran? Are you here? When you disappeared, I was worried, but then I heard from Desdemona that you and Ben had the most appalling scene, and I knew you must be all—oh. You’re here.” Her eyes took in the fact that neither of us wore shirts. “I . . . uh . . .”
“Are de trop? Yes, you are. That was a scene put on for Naomi’s sake,” Ben answered, handing me my shirt, which I quickly slipped on. “And Francesca is just fine.”
Her brilliant smile lit up the room. “I’m so glad. I worried . . . but I see I was worrying amiss.”
I studied her for a moment. She didn’t look any different, and yet . . . my gaze went from her to Ben, and seeing them together, I suddenly realized what it was. Although Imogen was older than Ben, suddenly she looked younger. The Ben I remembered appeared to be about nineteen or twenty; this Ben looked ten years older.
How did you do that?
He cocked the other eyebrow at me. Do what?
You look older. Which is good, I guess, because I wouldn’t want to spend eternity bound to a guy who looks nineteen. But now you look more mature.
You aged , so I altered my appearance to what was appropriate for you.
You can change your appearance like that?
“I will leave so you two can . . . I will leave. Good night, Benedikt. Good night, Fran.”
I’ll explain the concept of Dark One aging to you later.
“Night, Imogen.” I’ll hold you to that. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
She hesitated at the door. “I just knew things would work out, and now they have, and I’m so happy for you both. But, Fran, where’s your ring?”
She turned inquisitive eyes to her brother.
“Here.” Ben pulled the ring from his pocket, taking my left hand, placing the ring first over my thumb, then forefinger, then middle finger, where he left it. I smiled.