New York Nights (Heart of the City #2)(32)

I panicked that there was nothing for us to say after what felt like such a tender moment. Was he dismissing me after all I had done, all I confessed? 

'Ben, aren't you mad?'

'I'm too tired to be mad any more. Where does it ever get anyone?'

And then before I could stop myself, I let my hand glide over his, squeezing it in the same reassuring way as he had done to me. Something changed, I saw it in the way his eyes shifted to mine. I knew he wasn't mad, not in the slightest, because I had seen that look before, and I knew what it meant. All that was left now was for me to decide.

Do I stay or do I go upstairs?





Chapter Thirty-One


Ben Worthington. A man at times so distant, so controlled, so seemingly shut off from emotion. And then he gradually revealed glimpses of kindness: walking me down the Mall in Central Park; taking care of me; fixing me my favourite dinner. So unexpected were these moments it was hard to imagine they had actually happened, especially when the bad stuff was so much easier to recall. He had lost, I knew that now, and that explained so much about this complicated man. I had struggled to discern his indifferences from his kindnesses, but I had never thought that I would see a change so clear in someone. The change I saw now almost made me want to stay, to close the space between us.

I looked straight into his partly shadowed face, and it took every ounce of strength to remove my hand from his. 'Goodnight, Ben.'

His eyes slowly lifted as I stood; if he was surprised he didn't show it. I had trouble fathoming that a man such as Ben could be vulnerable, but knowing his past, there was no other way to describe him. I wished I could take the pain away, to distract him as I had before. But I couldn't.

I let that thought drive me up the staircase. Every step I took I felt stronger and more grateful for the decision I had made.

I closed the door to my room, pressing my back against it, feeling the safety of its barrier shielding me from all that lay beyond it. I was so certain, so resolved, so proud of how far I had come. I had turned away from those, as my best friend Sammi would put it, come-fuck-me eyes.

If it had been so easy, though, why was I faltering, why was I lingering at my door feeling uncertain, like maybe I didn't want to avoid the mistake? That no matter how good I felt about it, there was something bubbling underneath the surface that kept telling me what I really wanted? Try as I might to convince myself about avoiding temptation, all I could think of was walking back into it. Just for this one night. Break the tension and move on.

Yeah, even I wasn't buying my own bullshit, and yet I pushed from the door and twisted the handle, pulling it open to step out into the hall, ready to descend the stairs at a run.

I stopped dead in my tracks.

There, blocking the stairs, was Ben, and in that stunned silence, it was never more clear: we both wanted the same thing, to hell with the consequences. After all, it was our world now.

And as if reading my mind, he moved. He took determined steps, closing the distance to where I stood. Then he kissed me, pushing me against the wall and pinning me there with the warmth of his body. Nothing romantic, nothing tender or soft, just pure need. He pushed, I pulled, there seemed too much space between us even as he crushed his body against mine. Our clothing was an infuriating barrier, but before I had a chance to remove his jacket with eager hands, we slid to the stairs, caring not for comfort, only for pleasure.

Oh, the pleasure of straddling Ben, cupping his face and thrilling in the power of my position, knowing that the hardness of him between my legs was because of what I was doing to him. It only encouraged me to grind against him as I kissed him so passionately I could feel his fingers clutch my hips before gliding over my arse and pulling me closer to him, urging me on, grinding against the seam of my thin yoga pants. My already stretched top was almost beyond help as Ben pulled the front of it down, groaning as he saw I wasn't wearing a bra, then cupping and squeezing my nipple. I bit down on his lip, causing him to smile and squeeze more firmly. Damn, if he didn't know all the right things to do to me. I pushed away from his mouth, my hands on his heaving chest; he looked at me confused, until I slowly peeled my T-shirt over my head, flicking my ponytail to spill over my shoulder and letting the tee drop next to me on the staircase. Ben ran his eyes over me like a slow caress. I had never felt more wanted, more needed. There may have been things he was unable to communicate with words, but he knew how to convey his desire as he sat up and did something I wasn't expecting. He pulled the elastic from my ponytail, letting my hair spill over my shoulders. The feel of Ben's hands in my hair caused my skin to prickle as he kissed me once more, this time slower, as if he was committing the taste of me to memory.



       
         
       
        

I put my arms around his neck, thrilling in the way the material of his jacket brushed against my breasts. As much as I loved the feeling, I edged the jacket off his shoulders. Leaving it crumpled underneath him as I pushed him down, I leant over him, my hair falling around his face like a veil. Looking into his smouldering eyes  –  I can't believe I had ever thought them cold  –  the moment was almost romantic. I worked at undoing his belt and reached into his briefs to grip the length of him, using the rapid rise and fall of his laboured breath as a guide. Ben swallowed, looking down at my hand on him before his head tilted back with a moan. I don't know whether it was a plea to stop or to keep going but it made me smile, seeing the usually controlled man become so weakened by my touch.

'This is a hell of way to christen the new carpet.' He laughed, his voice gravelly, strained.

I laughed too, loosening my hold on him and moving forward to kiss him tenderly. Before he could protest me letting go, I pulled away from him.

'You have no idea,' I said, shaking my head. I saw the realisation in his eyes as I lowered myself down, and showed him exactly how we were going to christen the new carpet. I took him into my mouth and sucked. He groaned my name, his hands gripping the dampened strands of hair at my scalp, and I had never felt more alive. I was taking great pleasure in tearing down all the defences this man had built up so well.

Every. Last. One.



Ben kicked my door open wider, dumping me on the mattress and, working with strong, assured hands, peeled off my pants and knickers, skimming them over my sensitive skin. He tugged them free and I lay before him, naked but not cold, exposed but not sorry. Ben looked like he was committing every curve, every line to memory as he worked on unbuttoning his shirt in a way that was driving me mad. I knew I should have just ripped those buttons apart when I'd had the chance, but then the shirt was gone, tossed aside, soon followed by his trousers. I didn't have time to take him in as he crawled over me, dividing my legs and opening me to him. He settled between my thighs, arms on either side of me, caging me in. My hands moved to his ribs, making him flinch. I laughed, knowing my hands were colder than any other part of me. He punished me by grinding himself against me and making me gasp; I was so wet for him, I knew he would be able to feel it. The carpet burn on my knees, the taste of him in my mouth. It took every inch of my control to stop him and search through the drawer of my side table, trying to concentrate as Ben kissed my spine. I flung papers and documents everywhere, upending the drawer's contents without care, my passport flying across the room along with some foreign money.

I felt the vibration of Ben's laugh against my back as he nuzzled my neck. 'Going somewhere?' he asked, pressing into my rump, almost diverting me from my mission, until: eureka! I dug into the pocket of my wallet, retrieving the magical silver square from inside. I swear a beacon of light should have shone down on it, I was so happy to see it. God bless Sammi for giving it to me as a bon voyage gift. I had hated her at the time for being such a smartarse, but now I owed her a thank-you card and a basket of fruit. 

Without saying a word, Ben took it from my fingers and ripped it open with his teeth; sitting on his haunches he sheathed himself, and that's when I started to feel my heart race. I knew the size of him  –  I had felt him, tasted him. It had been a long time since I'd been with anyone. I was afraid of what was to come, or worse, that he might come to his senses and stop altogether. I lay on my back looking at him, feeling the pang of nervousness as he lowered himself down to me again, kissing me once, twice, three times while moving my legs apart with his knees. His tongue slipped into my mouth, building the intensity in the place where he would invade me.

Ben teased the most intimate part of me, gliding himself against me but not penetrating, teasing me and loving every moment. I squirmed underneath him, bucking my hips.

'Ben,' I gasped, loving him and hating him all at the same time but, just as he smiled that cocky smile, he hooked my legs over his shoulders. I swallowed, nervous about the position, not knowing how deep or how hard he was likely to go but as soon as he began slowly pushing into me, I forgot to care. I watched him watching where we joined, teasing himself in, inch by inch. I felt so impossibly stretched, there was no way he was going to fit, it just wasn't going to happen, but as he lifted his eyes to mine, my thoughts were calmed by how beautiful he was. I couldn't believe that the man who had once made me feel so small, so intimidated was now tender, watching me manage my breathing  –  in, out, in, out. My fingers pressed sharply into his sides as he pushed fully inside me. My breath fled and I stiffened, so deep was he, filling me completely. I was barely breathing, thinking it was too much, absolutely too much, and then he moved, pushing his weight against my legs. My hands splayed against the bedhead, bracing myself against his long, luscious strokes. He knew what he was doing, and how to build the most delicious friction; the way he looked down and watched himself move in and out of me was almost enough to send me over the edge.