We both groan the second our mouths collide, teeth crashing together and tongues desperate for dominance. It’s sloppy and chaotic and real. Our passion. Our fire. How we seem to be clutching and clutching at each other as if we’re both too afraid to let go.
I know I’ll never forget this moment for as long as I live. That when I’m missing Ben when he’s gone, day or night, this will be a memory I go to.
“Angel,” he moans, kissing a line from my jaw to my ear, his hands roaming hungrily over my body. “We really doing this? You stopping those pills?”
“Yeah. We’re doing this.”
“Fuck.”
Ben’s voice, the longing in it, the desire, stirs something wild inside me.
I become frantic, mad with lust and love and want, clinging to and climbing all over his body like some sex-crazed spider monkey, taking my pleasure from him in any way I can and giving it how I know he needs.
I straddle his thigh and rock my hips, grinding on his leg as he licks and sucks on my neck, his hands exploring my ass, my breasts, and mine exploring him, with leisurely pulls under the water.
“I want everything you want,” I whisper in his ear. “I always will, Ben.”
“Angel,” he moans again, repeating his nickname to me as he moves his mouth to my breasts, burying his face there and dipping his tongue between my cleavage. He trembles when I cup his balls. His breath hitches. “Angel.”
Angel . . .
I go perfectly still.
Oh, my God. How did I forget?
“Mia?”
Pushing to my feet, I stand in the tub in front of Ben, the lavender-scented suds dripping down my body and into the water. I wipe some excess foam off my breasts, my stomach, and lower, where I want Ben’s attention.
On the skin just above my hip.
His eyes flicker wider when he notices it, and he leans in, grabbing onto my waist with one hand while his other swipes the bubbles from my flesh.
I watch him study the scripted black word marking my skin.
Temporarily, of course.
“Holy shit,” Ben mutters softly, running the calloused pad of his thumb over the tattoo and staring at it intently. He lifts his head, gazing up at me. “Where did you get this?”
“Tessa. She found it at some store and bought it for me. I stuck it on when you went out to get ice. Hey, careful.”
I grab his wrist to stop him from rubbing over my flesh anymore.
It’s like he’s in some sort of a trance, his fingers moving at their own volition as he stares into my eyes.
“I don’t want it to come off yet. I only have the one.”
I bite my lip when he doesn’t say anything back, just continues looking between the tattoo and my face. His eyes unreadable.
“Do you like it?” I ask nervously. “It matches yours. Well, not the word, obviously, but it’s in the same spot.”
The same spot as my name above Ben’s hip.
I love that spot. Love pressing against it with the tips of my fingers when he’s thrusting in and out of me, or laying kisses on it when I’m teasing him with my hands. I love the way my name stands out against his skin, the three letters heavily out-lined in harsh black ink.
It’s beautiful and intimate. Best anniversary gift ever.
Ben glances up at me once more, then leans closer, so close I can feel his lashes on my skin. “This.” He kisses the word, his nickname for me. Angel. “This is so fucking sexy, baby. Jesus, you have no idea. My balls feel ready to explode just staring at you.”
My head drops back with a moan when he flicks his tongue against my flesh.
“Don’t just stare then,” I whisper urgently, sliding my fingers through his short hair and tugging on what I can. “Take me.”
He growls, standing from the water at the same time as lifting me, guiding my legs around his lean waist and cupping my ass.
Our mouths come together in a harsh, brutal kiss. The kind of kiss that leaves you dizzy and breathless, but still yearning for something else, just a little more, another taste.
An addict is born. Or in my case, an addiction is fed.
Heat, slow moving and scorching, burns under my skin and through my veins as I’m carried out into the room and lowered onto the middle of the bed.
Ben settles over me, kneeling between my legs, gathering my hands together and securing them over my head with one of his wrists. His grip is firm.
I gasp, but I don’t struggle. I know this game.
I fucking love this game.
His other hand ghosts over my body before disappearing between us. After searing my mouth with another rough kiss, Ben ducks his head and sucks on my neck, moving lower over my slippery skin until his warm breath tickles my breast.
A loud, guttural moan tears through my body when two fingers enter me, pumping in and out of my slick heat in practiced rhythm while his thumb shuffles over the smooth rise of my clit, only relenting when I tighten and swell.
It’s exquisite torture. The build, then the pull away. That beautiful battle between anticipation and fulfillment.
And Ben Kelly is a master at it.
I become delirious, thrashing about on the bed, begging for use of my hands so I can touch and stroke, so I can reach out and feel the wild pace of my lover’s heart.