“Fuck,” he said again. “You feel so good.”
She lifted her knees higher, wanting him deeper. Wanting everything.
When he began to move, his pubic hair put friction on her clit and lit a hundred little sparks of need. May gasped.
“Can you come again?”
“Maybe.”
“Maybe means yes,” he said.
“Probably.”
A slow, disreputable smile. “I’m a lucky man.”
He started slow, with chaste kisses, the featherlight meeting of his mouth with the tip of her shoulder, her collarbone, her chin. He kissed her like they were too young to know how to kiss yet, all the while sinking into her body and withdrawing, a dirty secret happening below their waists.
And then she caught it from him—the need. The heat. She picked up the tempo, digging her fingers into the muscles of his lower back.
“So good,” she said, and he kissed her with more intent. Openmouthed and urgent, rocking into her faster now. Harder. He worked one hand beneath her ass and cupped it, lifting her so he could penetrate deeper, which made him press harder against her clit.
“Oh my God.”
He tongued her nipple. Scraped his teeth over it. Nothing so organized or purposeful as before, and she thought if she could see his eyes they’d be glazing over, losing focus. She looked down to where their stomachs met, ghosting her hands over his quickening hips.
So hot.
And it was like she transmitted the thought to him, because that’s when he lost it, tripping over some threshold of need. He pushed up onto his hands suddenly, braced himself over her and thrust, fast and almost frantic.
May met him stroke for stroke, letting his frenzy infect her, fill her with a hurried demand that pounded in her clutching hands, her hot skin, between her legs, everything united in her body and her head saying, Yes, yes, this.
He tensed and came with a low moan, every muscle in his torso drawing taut. The grimace on his face like agony, but better.
May slid her hand between them, her fingers on auto-pilot answering the demand of her body that it be now, that she go with him, that they do this thing together. Five fast pulses of her fingertip, Ben still hard inside her, and she came. An ugly, beautiful feeling. Dirty and bright, all at the same time.
She never looked away from his face.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
She startled awake, straining for breath.
“May?”
The room was dark, unfamiliar, and she was trapped, a band around her ribcage, unable to get—
“You going somewhere?”
His low, sleep-rough voice dulled her fear, transforming it into bewilderment.
Going somewhere? Was she? She’d been dreaming about a mountain road. Driving a bus. Water rising.
A bad dream.
She was in Ben’s bed, his arm draped over her chest.
Collapsing into the soft mattress, she laid down her head. “No.”
He scooted closer and tightened his arm. “Nightmare?”
“Yeah.”
“Poor May.” Warm fingers brushed her hair away from her neck, and then she felt his lips on her skin.
She closed her eyes, savoring the heat of his mouth and the press of his hard body behind her. Her butt fit neatly into the cradle of his hips, and his knees produced a hard pressure against the backs of her own.
“You have a lot of bad dreams?”
“Not a lot. Some.”
“Is my arm too heavy?”
“No.” She interlaced her fingers with his and closed her eyes. “Do you have them?”
“I can never remember my dreams.”
“I think I was driving a bus in South America.”
He chuckled. “That’s a nightmare?”
“The road kept getting narrower, with this steep cliff on one side, and I didn’t know how to drive the bus, really. And then there was water running over the road. I couldn’t decide what to do.”
“Were there people on the bus?”
“Yeah. And they were all trying to give me advice, but I don’t speak Spanish. And I think I didn’t have a driver’s license.”
“If I had a dream like that, I’d probably be driving around the neighborhood trying to find a parking spot and end up having to parallel park the bus.”
“Can’t you parallel park?”
“I can, but I hate it. And you have to do it a lot, parking around here.”
“I didn’t know you had a car.”
“Mmm-hmm. A van.”
“I have the bus dream pretty often.”
“Fear of failure.”
“You think?”
“And being judged. All those passengers.” His stubbled chin scraped over her shoulder, making her shiver. “You worry about that a lot, huh? What people think of you?”
“I guess.”
May listened to the sound of their breathing and the noises from outside. Every now and then, a car drove by, the headlights illuminating the window, throwing faint light on the room.